Storm Dragon: The Draconic Prophecies - Book One

by James Wyatt

  As she flew closer, he could make out more details of her shape and construction. She was about the same size as the one he’d seen moored in Vathirond—he wondered if she might be the same one. She came from the right direction, from the north along the wall of mist. Then he wondered what different sizes existed—how large was the largest airship? How majestic a vessel something like a flying galleon would be!

  A sudden thought put an end to his speculation, and he stared blankly into the sky as he ran through its implications. An airship coming from Vathirond, coming closer to where he was, southeast of the city—where was she bound? Would she continue along the mist, heading somewhere in Darguun? Or soar over the Mournland to reach Valenar, perhaps? One of those possibilities, certainly, because otherwise …

  Otherwise she was coming for him.

  He scrambled to his feet and raced down the hill, no other thought in his mind than finding cover to get out of sight. What a splendid view the airship’s decks must offer, indeed! The whole landscape spread out below—one might even be able to make out a person on the ground! Especially if the crew had sighted him while he was still in the Mournland, where he would stand out from the barren ground like an ogre at a society gala.

  Unfortunately, the land offered little in the way of cover. Crawling or crouching his way through tall grasses or crops might have helped him elude a pursuer on the ground, but it would do little to conceal him from the view of watchers on the airship. What shrubs there were held little more promise: they were scattered widely, so while he might be able to hide under one, he couldn’t move from there. So if they had already spotted him, hiding would just give them more time to reach him.

  He jumped back down to the streambank and stopped, surveying the land again. The stream tumbled through a narrow, rocky ravine on its way down from the mountains. It probably passed very near Vathirond by the time it joined up with the Brey River and poured into Scions Sound. The ravine didn’t offer much in the way of cover, but it might be better than nothing. Gaven looked up to the sky.

  The airship was much closer, and she flew considerably lower. That probably meant her crew had spotted him. He crouched back against the side of the ravine, trying to get out of sight. But he couldn’t find a position that blocked his own view of the airship. He cursed and clambered back up to the grassy bank.

  “What am I doing?” he wondered aloud. “I have walked the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor. I sent Vaskar flying away with his tail between his legs. I will not hide any longer.”

  He stood and waited as the airship drew closer.

  * * * * *

  “Fifty crowns!” Ossa slapped her hand on the bulwarks. “I told you we’d find him here!”

  “And I told you I’m not a betting man,” Bordan retorted, peering through a spyglass. “But I have to admit that you were correct. It certainly seems that we’ve found our man.” He watched as Gaven tore down the hillside and crouched in a ravine. “He’s seen us. And he thinks to hide.”

  “Where can he hide out here? Nothing but open field as far as the eye can see.”

  “He appears to have reached the same conclusion.” Gaven had climbed out of the ravine and stood on the streambank, head high, watching the airship approach.

  “Ha! We’ve got him!”

  Ossa was a little too pleased with her victory, in Bordan’s opinion. Certainly it was reasonable to be concerned about the honor of House Kundarak after the dwarves allowed Gaven’s escape from Dreadhold. But part of the reason for Ossa’s crowing seemed to involve the fact that she had been right and Bordan—an heir of House Tharashk who bore the Mark of Finding—had been wrong. With every exclamation of triumph, Bordan heard an undertone of condemnation, as if the dwarf said, “If we’d taken the course you suggested, we’d still be chasing the dragon’s tail.” He had very quickly grown tired of Ossa’s voice.

  “We don’t have him yet,” Bordan said, a little too sharply. “Remember what happened to the Sentinel Marshals.”

  “What did happen to the Sentinel Marshals? I heard some sketchy reports, but I’m not clear on the details.”

  “No one is. I think House Orien and House Deneith are trying to keep it quiet. I can hardly hold it against them. If they blame the storm, House Orien loses business—people won’t want to ride the lightning rail in a lightning storm. If they blame Gaven, House Deneith looks bad for letting such a dangerous fugitive escape again, and we all come under tremendous pressure to recapture him. The whole reason we’re in on this chase is that House Kundarak”—your House, he added in his mind—“wanted to keep the facts of his escape quiet as long as possible.”

  “So it’s true,” Ossa breathed. “Just like when I chased him in Vathirond. Gaven caused the storm? Or he brought it down to the lightning rail?”

  “So it appears. Evlan was definitely killed by lightning, and there was significant evidence of wind blowing through the cart. But just the one cart. It seems that Gaven was the center of the storm—and I don’t mean the calm eye of the hurricane.”

  “These storm clouds, then …” Ossa gestured at the sky.

  “Churning chaos!” Bordan swore. “The sky was clear when we spotted him!” He and Ossa gaped at each other for a moment, then Bordan whirled around and shouted to the pilot, “Take us down! Now!”

  A roar of thunder overhead drowned out his last word but made his point just as effectively. Lightning danced around the prow of the airship as a gust of wind set her rocking wildly in the air. Bordan had to clutch the bulwarks to keep his feet as the pilot steered her in a sharp descent. The ground rushed up beneath them, and as they turned in their descent, Bordan lost sight of Gaven.

  Instead of looking overboard, which made his stomach lurch, Bordan found comfort in watching the pilot. All around him, the crew retied broken ropes and retrieved spilled cargo, a whirlwind of activity. But the pilot was a still point in the chaos. His hands were white as they gripped the wheel, but no trace of panic was visible in his eyes. He exuded confidence and competence, which helped Bordan keep the terror from welling up in his own chest.

  Thunder rolled and lightning crackled, and the pilot seemed locked in a war with the wind over control of the ship. Her timbers creaked, the ring of fire leaped wildly around her, something in the prow snapped loudly, but the pilot managed to keep her under control and bring her to the ground. A bump rocked the ship as some part of her keel touched the earth, then an ear-splitting crack as that something broke. The fiery ring disappeared as though the ship had sucked it in, and Bordan had to pull his hand off the bulwarks as it flared hot. The ship groaned loudly as she settled, then everything fell silent. Bordan watched a smile start to form at the corners of the pilot’s mouth.

  A great shout went up from the crew, celebrating a safe landing. Their roar was answered by a rumble of thunder, then a series of deafening cracks as lightning struck the earth around them. Bordan’s eyes went wide as gouts of flame reached out from the ship toward each lightning strike, as if trying to join the heat of the lightning, before disappearing back into the wood. Bordan put a hesitant hand back on the bulwarks, found it perfectly cool and wet with rain, then jumped up to stand on it and look for Gaven.

  A blast of wind dashed him from the bulwarks and clear of the grounded airship, landing him flat on his back in a field of rain-drenched grass. For a moment he could only lie there, staring up at the angry sky, straining to breathe and then to sit up. He raised his head, finally, just in time to see two bolts of lightning strike the airship. Flames leaped up on the deck in the lightning’s wake, and an instant later the entire ship erupted in an inferno. Bordan threw his arm across his face to shield it from the fire’s heat, and he rolled farther away from the ship.

  Sailors jumped off the ship, some of them trailing flames or smoke as they came. Ignoring them, Bordan leaped to his feet and ran to the prow of the ship. As he neared it, the source of the attack finally came into view: Gaven hovered in the air, riding a column of swirling wind that blew dirt, lea
ves, and smoke in a cyclone around and beneath him. The fugitive’s long hair whipped around his face, and the dragonmark on his bare chest and neck crackled with lightning.

  CHAPTER

  32

  Gaven was the storm—raw, destructive fury. Some part of him regretted wrecking the airship, damaging a thing of such beauty. Somewhere in his mind a voice cried out for the safety of the people on board. But that voice was drowned in thunder and roaring wind.

  Lightning struck the downed airship, sparking new fires on the deck, splintering timbers and sending sailors hurtling overboard. He felt a knot of anger in his gut, rage that lashed out in great gusts and rumbling thunder to smash and burn and destroy. Fury that silenced every voice of reason and compassion in his heart.

  Something caught his eye, movement at the edge of his vision, and he turned his head to see a man on the ground, running toward him. He held a sword in each hand, as though he thought he could cut through the cyclone that held Gaven aloft. Lightning followed Gaven’s glance, splitting the ground just behind the man, who tumbled into a forward roll across the grass, found his feet at the end of the roll, and kept running. Gaven scowled, and another bolt struck right in the man’s path. That made him falter. The man leaped to the side and came down hard, one of his swords skittering away across the grass. Gaven looked back at the airship and frowned.

  Destruction was so easy. He had acquired the power of the Storm Dragon, and it would be so simple to take up that mantle and become a god of devastation, a rival to the Devourer. Simple and so tempting. He looked back at the man. He was still advancing—so determined to meet his doom.

  “Curse you,” Gaven muttered. “Don’t make me kill you.”

  With a breath, Gaven sent a gale to blow the pest away. The man faltered in the face of the wind, turning his head to draw breath, but he strained, still pushing his way forward. Gaven waved his hand, and the wind whipped into a cyclone. Gaven sent it for the man, hoping to lift him off his feet and carry him away.

  But the idiot dropped to his knees, sank his fingers into the earth, and held on tight to wait out the wind. Gaven roared his frustration, and the wind howled in answer before blowing itself out.

  Gaven tried to swallow his rage, and he forced the wind around him to set him down. He was tired, and he clutched the ash-black staff in both hands, leaning on it as his feet settled to the ground. The man looked up, grabbed both swords, and got to his feet.

  “What’s your name?” Gaven called.

  The man gave a small salute with his twin swords. He stood a head shorter than Gaven. He was not strongly built, but his movements were quick and precise. His hair and his neatly trimmed beard were dark brown, but his temples were gray. His armor was well-worn leather, and the shoulders of his cloak had been bleached almost white by the sun.

  “Bordan d’Velderan, heir of House Tharashk,” he said. “I assume the formalities of declaring your arrest and demanding your surrender are pointless.”

  Gaven sighed. Surrender—the idea held some appeal. To stop running, stop fighting for his freedom and whatever feeble hold on sanity he still had. Surrender and let fate run its course.

  No. He shifted the staff to his left hand and drew his greatsword.

  “You’re all alike, you know,” Bordan said, stepping a few paces closer. “You criminals and fugitives. You all think you’re better than the law, more important. You think you’ve done nothing wrong, you’re just misunderstood, you’ve been treated unjustly. You think the law should make an exception for you. Every petty thief and small-time thug thinks the same way you do.”

  “Don’t be so sure you can see into my mind,” Gaven said. At the same time, he wondered—should he not return to Dreadhold and pay for his crimes?

  Bordan stepped closer. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. You all think you’re different than the others. Sure, Gaven, you’re unique—just as every dragonshard that falls from the sky is unique. But they’re all the shattered parts of the same dragon.”

  Gaven saw the sky above the City of the Dead, the Ring of Siberys shining bright as dragonshards rained down, clattering on rooftops and cobblestones. Then the bright streak that was the Eye of Siberys. A shattered part of the same dragon? Perhaps, but one with a part to play.

  Bordan leaped for him, his swords moving in a deadly, whirling dance. Gaven swung his greatsword reflexively, cutting a low arc toward the other man’s legs. Bordan adjusted the pattern of his blades to deflect the blow, their clashing blades sparking, and the momentum of his charge carried him past Gaven.

  No, Gaven decided. He would not surrender. He had a part to play. He jammed the staff into the sheath on his back, then stepped forward, his greatsword whirling toward Bordan’s head. Bordan crossed his blades to stop Gaven’s sword and hold it, trembling against the bigger man’s tremendous strength.

  “You think you’re better than all the others,” he said, “but you’re not.”

  Gaven wrenched his sword free and swung it in another low arc. Bordan stumbled back out of his reach, unable to parry in time. Gaven pressed his advantage, trying to keep him off balance by driving him farther backward. Unable to recover his footing, Bordan threw himself backward into a roll. As he came up, he batted Gaven’s greatsword aside and found a balanced stance again.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” Gaven said.

  “Why not?” Bordan’s swords blurred as they parried Gaven’s swings and exploited every opening, putting Gaven on the defensive. “Would that violate your criminal’s code? You’ve murdered before, Gaven. Why not kill me too?”

  “I didn’t say I won’t. Just that I don’t want to.” Gaven stomped one foot on the ground, unleashing a thunderous blast of air that knocked Bordan backward, battering him off his feet. He raised his greatsword and advanced. Destruction was so easy.

  Bordan lolled on the ground, still reeling from Gaven’s concussive blast. Thunder rolled overhead, and Gaven growled his fury.

  An axe clanged against his sword as he swung it down, then the dwarf holding it barreled into him and knocked him to the side. He recognized the scarlet-shirted, long-braided leader of the dwarves from Vathirond. He staggered under her weight, and wrestled to free his body and his sword from the tangle.

  Bordan had found his feet and his swords, and was circling around him for a clear swing. With a heave, Gaven swung the dwarf around, planting her between Bordan and himself.

  “Bastard,” Bordan growled. He lunged and cut a long line in Gaven’s arm, the only exposed skin he could reach.

  With a growl of pain, Gaven pushed the dwarf to the ground and sent her axe flying, bringing his sword up to block Bordan’s flurry of steel.

  He was floating, disconnected from the blur of steel, the sweat, the straining muscles. He saw it all—saw it so clearly. The flurry of Bordan’s swords resolved itself into weaving patterns, just as the tunnels of the Sky Caves had revealed their patterns to him. Seeing the paths of the whirling blades, he had no trouble blocking the strikes, cutting through the defenses. The dwarf found her feet and joined Bordan’s assault, but his sword was fast enough to block them both.

  “Velderan,” he mused. “Part of House Tharashk. Do you carry its mark, the Mark of Finding? Is that how you found me?”

  Bordan’s eyes narrowed, and he paused before answering.

  “Rienne led us right to you,” he said.

  Rienne. A fresh surge of rage welled up in Gaven’s chest. A blast of lightning exploded around Bordan, lifting him off his feet and hurling him away. The dwarf staggered back as well, though she kept her feet this time.

  Rienne led them to him. Rienne summoned the dwarves to Krathas’s office in Vathirond. Rienne sent for the Sentinel Marshals who arrested him twenty-six years ago. Why?

  “Rienne is here?” Gaven said. He pushed past the dwarf—she and Bordan no longer mattered—and strode toward the fallen airship.

  Apparently Bordan didn’t realize that he’d become irrelevant. Gaven heard him charge u
p behind him, and swept his sword behind him in a half-hearted, one-handed swing. He half turned around, thrust a palm toward Bordan, and drove him back in a blast of wind. Then he broke into a run, carried by the wind.

  * * * * *

  Rienne hunched down in the saddle and urged the magebred mare to greater speed. The cloudy sky ahead of her grew blacker by the minute, and lightning flashed among the clouds. That probably meant that her pursuers had found Gaven.

  She had first spotted the airship shortly after leaving Vathirond, and she kept telling herself that it was unreasonable to assume the ship was following her. Even so, she had tried to choose paths that blocked her from the sky. She didn’t suppose it mattered—if they were trying to follow her to Gaven, they would have a better chance of finding him than she did.

  And she suspected that was exactly what had happened. When she reached the edge of the Mournland, she turned to the south mostly on a hunch, and she saw the airship do the same. Not long after, though, she lost sight of the ship. When storm clouds had started to form over the sky ahead of her, fear clenched her heart.

  What am I afraid of? she thought. That they’ll catch Gaven? Or that he’ll kill more innocent people?

  She reached the crest of a hill and almost fell out of the saddle in surprise. The land sloped gently down the other side of the hill to a wide, bowl-shaped valley, then rose up into steeper hills, the foothills of the Seawalls. On the far side of the valley, she saw the airship lying askew on the ground, an inferno of leaping flames and splintering wood. Lightning danced in a ring around the ship, occasionally striking a high point on her shell. An enormous thunderhead towered in the sky above the conflagration, as though the smoke billowing up from the ship were somehow feeding the storm.

  As the mare charged down into the valley, Rienne’s stomach sank—the airship was the Morning Zephyr, the same ship she’d taken from Stormhome to Vathirond. The smiling face of the first mate appeared in her mind, and she strained to remember his name. This disaster was her fault. The ship wouldn’t have been in Vathirond if she hadn’t borrowed her for this journey.