Storm Dragon: The Draconic Prophecies - Book One

by James Wyatt

  But who had commandeered her for this voyage?

  Rienne settled back into the saddle and urged the mare to even greater speed. She assumed Gaven was responsible for this disaster, which meant he was probably down there. She didn’t know what she’d do if she found him, but she knew she had to be there.

  As she drew closer, she could make out people around the wreck of the airship—and even people still on her deck, trying to get the fire under control. With each pounding hoofbeat, she called on the Sovereign Host to protect the innocent people who were caught up in this maelstrom. A new burst of fire erupted on the deck, sending a group of people scattering, jumping over the bulwarks, shouting.

  While still a bowshot from the wreck, Rienne saw two people running toward her. One was a dwarf—possibly Ossa d’Kundarak, if the scarlet shirt were any indication. That would explain the Morning Zephyr being here: a dragonmark heir on such important business could probably call in favors to secure the use of a Lyrandar ship. And if the human beside Ossa were also an heir of a dragonmarked house—well, that would be twice as many favors.

  “Lady Alastra!” Ossa stopped running and shouted at her, waving his arms wildly over his head. “Stop! You’re in great danger!”

  Danger? From Gaven? But how did he know she was there?

  She reined in the mare right in front of Ossa and her companion. She noticed the human eyeing her carefully, but she ignored him and spoke to Ossa. “What did you tell him?”

  “Tell him?” It seemed Ossa had been unprepared for her leap ahead in the conversation.

  “Gaven. If he knows I’m here and wants to hurt me, I can only assume you told him that I led you to him, which might be technically true but could give the wrong impression.” She saw Ossa and the human exchange a surprised look. “But he thinks I came here with you on the Zephyr, so he’s probably looking for me there.” She nudged her mare forward. “Thank you for the warning.”

  “Wait!” Ossa called, but Rienne ignored her. She urged her mount to an easy gallop and didn’t look back.

  She rode up beside the airship. Another gout of flame burst from the hull—reaching for her, it seemed. Her horse screamed, reared, and backed away from the ship. She guided her mount in an arc around the ship, keeping their distance from the flames.

  “Gaven!” she shouted into the roar of the inferno. She could barely hear herself.

  No one moved on the deck any longer. She saw a clump of people moving away from the ship’s bow, but she didn’t see anyone who looked like Gaven—or any sign of a fight going on among those people. She looked behind her and saw Ossa and the human man running toward her again. She didn’t have much time.

  She guided her mare as close to the airship as she dared, then brought her to a stop. With a word and a calming hand, she steadied the horse then nimbly jumped up to stand on the saddle. The mare shifted slightly, and Rienne teetered, but she found her balance, tensed, and sprang into the air. She somersaulted through the air and landed on the airship’s bulwarks.

  “Gaven!” she cried. Where was he?

  As if in answer to her unspoken question, the deck before her exploded outward in a shower of sparks and splinters. A gust of wind carried tongues of flame and clouds of smoke up from the cabin below, and she threw her arms up to shield her face from the sudden heat. As soon as she dared, she lowered her arms and peered through the billowing smoke.

  He stood on the deck before her, silhouetted by the raging flames. He took a hesitant step toward her, accompanied by a crash of thunder and a bright flash of lightning from above. She couldn’t see his face, and she wasn’t immediately sure whether he intended to use the sword in his hand.

  “Gaven, please hear me out,” she said, holding her palms out to him.

  He took another step then slumped to the deck.

  CHAPTER

  33

  So where do we go now?” Jenns said. He licked his fingers, savoring the last taste of the meal Caura had cooked.

  “Where do you want to go?” Caura avoided his expectant gaze, staring into their little campfire.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Churning Chaos, man! Did you have any thought in your head besides getting out of that camp?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well then, Jenns,” Caura said, leaning back on her hands. “We seem to be safe for the moment. Tell me about yourself. Why were you in such a hurry to get away from the camp?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “I think you’d better.”

  Jenns sighed and leaned forward, gazing into the fire. “I’m Jenns Solven, from Passage. You ever been to Passage?”

  Caura nodded, remembering the bustling city, and the person she’d been there.

  “So you know it’s a pretty big city, sort of a hub for the lightning rail and caravan routes. And of course House Orien has their big enclave there.”

  “Are you attached to House Orien?”

  “I’m the youngest of three brothers. My father works for House Orien. Both of my brothers work for House Orien. I fled. I joined the army a week before the signing of the Treaty of Thronehold.”

  Caura arched an eyebrow. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty. You don’t look any older. How long have you been in the army?”

  Caura suddenly remembered that the face she wore was a great deal younger than Darraun’s, and quickly covered her mistake. “No, I’m twenty-one. I joined up when I was just sixteen, though, so I thought maybe you were younger than you are.”

  “Just sixteen? What drew you in?”

  Caura tilted her head and glared at him. “We’re talking about you, remember?”

  “I can’t help it,” Jenns said with a sheepish grin. He avoided her eyes. “I find you fascinating.”

  Oh, here we go again, Caura thought. “I think you’re just dodging the question.”

  He looked up and smiled. “Fair enough. I joined the army when I was eighteen. I was still in training when the war ended, and I never saw combat. Truth is, that suited me just fine. I wanted to get out of my parents’ house, and the army was all I could think of. Well,” he added with a mischievous grin, “it was the best way I could think of to make my father crazy.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Oh yeah. He wrote letters, he got various Cannith heirs to write letters, he pulled all the strings he could to bring me home. So one day my sergeant comes to my barracks, sends everyone else away, and asks me if I want to go home. I said, ‘No, sir,’ and that was that. Sergeant Kessel was a good man.” The smile slowly faded from Jenns’s face as he stared into the fire. “So I joined the army to get away from my father. I never wanted to fight. And then the treaty was signed, and I thought I got lucky—I never had to fight.”

  His smile reappeared for a fleeting moment. “Except that for some people, the war wasn’t over. Lord General ir’Brassek ordered my unit into the Reaches, in violation of the treaty. I saw combat after all, which mostly meant that I pissed myself and hid when those damn huge Eldeen bears started tearing into our ranks. Sergeant Kessel was killed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Caura murmured.

  Jenns tried to smile.

  “So the Queen called us back—I still don’t know how she got the Lord General to listen. They put the Lord General up before the Tribunal and sent him to Dreadhold, gave all the units below him drudge duty as far from the borders as possible, and that was that. Two years I’ve been in the army now, and that one assault into the Reaches is my only combat engagement. And that doesn’t bother me a bit.”

  “And then, out of nowhere, you’re mobilized and sent to the middle of nowhere on the coast, no idea why, and you learn that the Lord General’s back and about to violate the treaty again, and you want no part of it.”

  “Pretty much. Though I’m less concerned about the treaty than I am about the bears.”

  “Not to mention the dragons,” Caura added.

  “Please don’t mention them again.”
He smiled.

  “So you fled in panic, without taking the time to put a plan together?”

  “Well, yeah. I figured I had to get out before we started to march.”

  “What?” Caura sat up. “I thought we weren’t marching for another week yet.”

  “You didn’t hear? No, the orders came down just before you found me in the camp. I guess it wasn’t widely known yet, since most people were still asleep. Change of plans, straight from the Lord General.”

  Change of plans, Caura thought. So everything I learned is useless.

  “What’s wrong?” Jenns asked, his voice full of concern.

  I am really slipping tonight, Caura thought. He must have seen me scowl. Control, Caura—it’s all about control.

  She smiled, erasing the tension from her face. “I must just be tired,” she said. “It’s been a long day, and I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “You sleep, then. I’ll keep watch.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m a very light sleeper. I’ll hear anything coming through the woods toward us. And if you’re walking around on watch, I won’t get any sleep.”

  “All right, then. It won’t be the first time today I’ve put my life in your hands.”

  Caura returned his smile, then pulled her cloak around her and lay down facing the fire. She closed her eyes and felt the exhaustion grip her, pulling at her consciousness and stilling every movement of her body.

  “Caura?”

  Her eyes shot open.

  “I’m sorry,” Jenns said. “I just wanted to thank you.”

  “I’m glad for your company, Jenns. We’ll make plans in the morning.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  * * * * *

  Poor boy, Caura thought.

  She stood by the fire, looking down at Jenns as he slept. She thought he looked like a child, though he was only ten years her junior—his body curled tightly around the warmth of the dying fire, his face unlined, untroubled.

  How long will you search for Caura Fannam? she wondered. Will you think I’ve been kidnapped or killed, like a fool? Or are you smart enough to discern the truth?

  “Safe travels, Jenns,” she whispered. His brow twitched, and Caura hurried away, afraid he might awaken.

  As she walked, she made herself a new person, ensuring that neither Jenns nor anyone from Haldren’s camp would ever find a Caura Fannam in all Khorvaire. Of course, Haldren might suspect he was searching for a changeling, but that wouldn’t make it any easier to find the spy who had been in his midst so long.

  Constrained by armor made to fit Caura’s slender body, the changeling decided on a male elf—fewer hearts got bruised when he took male forms, it seemed. Elf eyes were hard to do right, especially without a mirror, but he enjoyed the challenge. He decided on long hair, raven and straight, figuring he’d braid it back when he got a chance. A slim but muscular body, pushing at the limits of the armor. He found a strap he could loosen to give him more room in the chest—room in the right places, anyway. He sketched the face—bright blue eyes in an almond shape, chin a little angular, smooth, fair skin, high cheekbones. He’d fix details when he found some still water or a mirror. He hated traveling without a mirror, but he had left Haldren’s camp rather abruptly.

  That would do for the time, he decided. Except for a name. He passed the time as he hurried through the night turning name ideas over in his mind. By the time the sun came up, he’d settled on Vauren as a given name, and fell back on a family name he’d used as an elf before—Hennalan. Vauren Hennalan. It was funny, he reflected, how the name he chose shaped the persona he adopted. Vauren shared its consonants with the name of a paladin he’d known, lifetimes ago it seemed, and that made him want to act nobly. The last time he’d been a Hennalan, he had been a little mischievous, though, so those two streams flowed together and began to shape a personality for him.

  Crafting a personality took a lot longer than shaping a face and body. He hadn’t really had time to figure Caura out. That seemed to be the time when he was most vulnerable: while he was still deciding what kind of person to be, he was faced with temptation to be the kind of person who opened up, who shared secrets, who cared about people. That probably explained his slips at the camp-fire the night before.

  Perhaps Vauren wasn’t the best name. How could he be as noble as the name demanded and still be a spy?

  CHAPTER

  34

  Gaven!” Rienne rushed forward and gathered him in her arms, trying to get him back to his feet. He seemed unconscious, and he was probably twice her weight even after his stay in Dreadhold. She glanced around, frantic for anyone who could help, but the Morning Zephyr seemed deserted. Worse, flames began to engulf the upper deck, spreading out from the hole Gaven had blasted through it. “Gaven, you’ve got to help me get you out of here.”

  He didn’t stir, and Ossa and the human were too far away to help. Rienne took a deep breath, steadied herself on one knee, and slid her weight beneath Gaven, shifting his limp body onto her shoulder. She groaned. “I must be out of practice, because I know you haven’t gotten any heavier.”

  The heat stung her eyes and face, and she heard the deck creaking beneath her. “Here we go.” She tried to imagine she was deflecting a charging enemy, using his momentum to throw him, but the only momentum Gaven had was what she gave him. So she leaned forward as much as she dared, then quickly rocked back, using the movement of his body to roll her up onto her feet. She staggered backward under the weight, but managed to find her balance.

  Something gave way, and the airship rolled hard to starboard, nearly throwing Rienne back into the flame-ringed hole in the deck. Just trying to keep her feet beneath her got her moving, and she managed to run around the shattered planks to reach the starboard bulwark and struggle over it. Her feet kicked open air. With Gaven on her shoulder, she couldn’t see how far she was above the ground, so she tried to brace herself for a hard landing and protect Gaven as much as she could.

  To her surprise, the ground wasn’t far at all. Her feet hit first, and she toppled forward, sending Gaven sprawling. The impact knocked the breath out of her. She rolled onto her back to look at the inferno behind her. The airship’s hull started collapsing under its own weight, devoured by flames, but she had landed clear of the snapping timbers and leaping flames. She fought to fill her lungs again, panted to catch her breath, then scrambled over to where Gaven lay. The position of his limbs looked awkward, and his head seemed twisted around too far—panic rose in her throat.

  “Sovereigns, no, he can’t be dead,” she said.

  He coughed weakly, and she breathed again. Eyes still closed, he turned his head to a more natural position and shifted one leg.

  She clutched his face, leaning in close. “Gaven? Wake up, Gaven.”

  To her amazement and relief, his eyes fluttered open. It was a moment before recognition registered on his face, then when he tried to speak no sound came from his throat.

  “Come. We need to get away from this ship.”

  “Are you—?” Gaven began, then he broke into a fit of coughing.

  “Take it easy,” she murmured, stroking his cheek.

  “Are you going to turn me in again?”

  “What?” she said. “I just saved your life. Can you get up?”

  Gaven lifted an arm and tried to lift his body after it, without much luck. Rienne got to her feet and took his hand, and managed to get him sitting up. He held up a finger and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

  “Why are you doing this?” he said.

  Rienne put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. “Because I love you, damn it. I’m not going to turn you in again. But I need you to tell me what’s going on. If you can do that, I’ll get you out of here, I’ll join you on the run, I’ll make myself a criminal for you. Just let me in.”

  Gaven lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I’ll explain everything,” he said.

  “Wonderful. Now let’s get
out of here.”

  He held his hand up. She took it and heaved him to his feet, then wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Lean on me,” she said, and they hobbled as quickly as he could manage away from the burning wreckage of the Morning Zephyr.

  Rienne spotted her mare—as well as Ossa and the human, trying to grab the mare’s reins as she bucked and neighed. “That’s a good girl,” Rienne whispered. “Don’t let the bad people catch you.” She whistled, high and long and loud, and the mare’s ears pricked. The horse reared up again, backing away from the others, then ran past them to reach Rienne.

  As the mare ran by, the human saw his opportunity. He grabbed the horn of the saddle and leaped onto the mare’s back. The horse tossed her head and screamed, but the man held on. His feet found the stirrups and he clutched the reins, but he let her keep running to Rienne.

  “No!” Rienne shouted, waving her arms over her head. “Go back or throw him or something!”

  “Bordan d’Velderan,” Gaven muttered. “And his Kundarak friend.” His hand went over his shoulder to his scabbard, but he found the ash staff instead of his greatsword’s hilt. He looked at Rienne with wide eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It must still be on the Zephyr.” As she spoke, she drew Maelstrom from its scabbard.

  She saw the man, Bordan, draw back at the sight of her steel, but then he hunched over the mare’s back again, guiding the horse directly toward her.

  “He’s going to try to use you to get at me,” Gaven said. “Clearly, he doesn’t know you very well.”

  Rienne shot him a grim smile and focused her thoughts as she settled into a ready stance, Maelstrom poised over her head. She waited, utterly motionless, as Bordan drove the mare forward, faster and faster. As he drew near, he leaned out, reaching down as if to grab her waist and hoist her up.

  Rienne only wished she could see his face as she grabbed his arm and used the mare’s speed to throw herself into the air. Her feet went up in a wide arc, and her body followed. Suspended above her would-be captor, she slammed both feet into the side of his head, sending him tumbling from the saddle. She landed astride the mare and pulled on the reins. The mare wheeled around and trotted back to where Gaven stood over Bordan.