Storm Dragon: The Draconic Prophecies - Book One

by James Wyatt

  She seized the wheel, grabbing two spokes between the two that Darraun gripped. She felt the elemental’s presence immediately. It pulled away from the touch of her mind like an unbroken horse shying or bucking from a trainer’s hand. She pulled her hands away from the wheel as she imagined a bucking stallion’s hooves lashing out at her—the elemental’s resistance was so violent it felt physical. The ground was dangerously close, though, so she tried again.

  This time she did not pull away when the elemental reacted. She felt Darraun’s mental presence there as well, and she understood what he had meant in Stormhome. It would have been easy for the two of them to pull in two different directions, to give the elemental two competing voices to listen to. Too many warriors did exactly that—they let their minds give one command to their swords and their bodies another. Rienne’s training had taught her the alternative. Rather than throwing another rope around the wild elemental’s neck, she focused her attention on strengthening Darraun’s grip, just as the mind could heighten and enhance the body’s reflexes. One hand at a time, she shifted her grip on the wheel so that she held the same spokes Darraun did, and their hands touched even as they both grasped smooth wood.

  The airship pulled out of her fall so suddenly that the lurch almost threw them overboard, but they held the wheel and managed to keep their feet. Rienne opened her eyes and saw Darraun smiling at her across the wheel, still tense but seeming far less panicked. She returned his smile just as another of Haldren’s fireballs burst between them.

  It stung her eyes with heat and brilliant light, scorched her face, and even seared her lungs as she gasped in surprise. Pain overwhelmed her, and she slumped to the deck.

  CHAPTER

  50

  Gaven fell.

  The cold radiance of the Crystal Spire failed to light the sides of the chasm, so he fell blind, just as he had fallen when he found the nightshard. Time vanished, and his sense of motion failed as well, so he felt as though he hung suspended in the column of light. He might have fallen for a matter of seconds, but it seemed like hours.

  Strangely calm, he kept his feet below him and stretched his arms to the side, one hand clenching the spear he had made from the Eye of Siberys. The Heart of Khyber continued its orbit around his body, but the lightning trailing behind it had vanished in the overwhelming light that bathed him. Air rushing past his ears was the only sound, and it faded into a dull roar.

  Slowly a shape took form below him—the only feature he could make out in the light. A mouth gaped wide to receive him, like the jaws of Khyber waiting to engulf him when he reached the end of his fall. The Crystal Spire seemed to pour out of that mouth like lightning from Vaskar’s maw. The shape grew larger, though he couldn’t tell whether he fell toward it or it surged up to meet him.

  Then it was upon him: the face of a great dragon carved into ancient stone. Though the storm raged far above him now, he called a gust of wind to stop his fall and planted his feet gently to one side of the dragon’s mouth. He barely remembered in time to make sure that Cart landed safely on the other side. To his credit, the warforged made no sound that indicated he’d been worried about the fall. His face, of course, was unreadable.

  The First of Sixteen descended to this gate. The Soul Reaver spoke to his mind, bypassing both ears and language, but carrying the same grumbling roar he had sensed when he first saw the Soul Reaver high above the battlefield. Any who would follow in his paths must be prepared for what lies beyond.

  Gaven peered into the darkness for a sign of the Soul Reaver, cursing the brilliance of the Crystal Spire that blinded his eyes without illuminating the shadows around it. Only the Heart of Khyber in its steady rotation cast a faint strobe of light around the chamber. Gaven had a vague sense of a dome arching overhead and smooth, round tunnels leading off into darkness. “And what if I don’t want to follow his paths?” he called into the nothingness.

  Cart looked at him strangely—the Soul Reaver evidently hadn’t spoken in his mind.

  Then I will kill you.

  A wail filled Gaven’s mind, different from the torrent of thoughts with which the Soul Reaver had assaulted him in the air. That attack had called his own mind up against him, but this was an intrusion, a blast of psychic force so great that his vision began to cloud over. He clamped his hands to his ears but couldn’t block the sound, and squeezed his eyes shut to no avail. He dropped to one knee, searching for the still point he had found in his mind before, the focus that would enable him to shrug off the psychic attack again.

  “The Bronze Dragon … no, the Bronze Serpent …”

  His mind reeled, and though he rose once more to his feet and opened his eyes to search for the source of the assault, he could do nothing more than stumble half blind along the nearest tunnel, careening off the smooth stone walls.

  * * * * *

  Rienne opened her eyes and cried out—she was falling. Then she realized that an arm was firmly wrapped around her waist, holding her over a shoulder—Gaven? Her fall stopped abruptly, and Darraun crumpled to the ground beneath her. She rolled free and scrambled back to him, trying to get her bearings at the same time.

  The Eye of the Storm loomed over them, grounded again, and Darraun had evidently just jumped off the deck, carrying her over his shoulder. It was not a great fall, and he was back on his feet in a moment. “Come on!” he said, “We have to get to Haldren before he hits us with another fireball.”

  His words reminded her what had happened, and she felt her face as she ran after him. The pain was gone—Darraun must have used some healing magic on her. “Thank you,” she called to him, hustling to catch up. He shot a smile over his shoulder at her.

  “Thank you for landing the airship,” he said. “I was sure we were doomed.”

  “We may yet be,” she said, looking ahead. A white-haired man she could only assume was Haldren was perched on a warhorse not ten paces in front of Darraun. The horse was barded with metal plates engraved with protective runes, and the old man’s hands were raised in the gestures of another spell. In front of the horse, holding a slim elven longsword in a ready stance, was Senya. She met Rienne’s eyes and her lips curled into a cruel smile.

  * * * * *

  “Gaven.” Cart’s voice was calm and gentle, nuanced with his years of studying human tone and cadence. “Shake it off. You can do this.”

  Smooth stone walls. A thought like lightning flashed through his mind, and he saw—not with his eyes, but clearer—the paths of the winding tunnels, the shapes they formed. The words of the Prophecy.

  “The Storm Dragon walks through the gates of Khyber and crosses the bridge to the sky.” He muttered the words to himself, sensing the layers of meaning contained in the tunnels around him. Words formed in his mind and bubbled from his mouth, slowly driving back the psychic scream of the Soul Reaver. “The Dragon of thunder and lightning and wind and rain and hail, the Storm Dragon—enters, walks, passes through, bursts through, shatters the Khyber gates, the dragon-gates below the chasm-gate.” A vision started to form in his mind, and he laughed.

  “Gaven?” Cart had a hand firmly clamped on his shoulder.

  “Crosses the bridge, traverses it, spans it, thwarts it.” Gaven spoke louder now.

  And the Soul Reaver’s mental assault broke on this new barrier of words—I will destroy you!

  The Soul Reaver appeared, looming out of the dark. Shriveled limbs on a slender body, wrapped in a wind-tattered robe and with stoles and sashes bearing twisting runes. Hands like great claws, curling in anticipation of rending either body or soul. And a head like a nightmare from the deep sea—blank white orbs for eyes, surrounded by bony ridges, and four long, twitching tentacles where its mouth should have been. Its skin was living shadow, dusky gray, and its coating of slime glistened in the pulsing light of the Heart of Khyber as it circled Gaven.

  Cart charged the monster, but it flicked two tentacles in his direction, revealing a hint of a suckerlike maw beneath them. The warforged stagger
ed sideways into the tunnel wall and slumped to the ground.

  “Thunder and lightning,” Gaven said, reading the characters inscribed in the wall where Cart had collided, and he sent a bolt of roaring lightning to engulf the Soul Reaver. Gaven felt a psychic echo of its pain in his mind, but it did not flinch or back away. Instead, its four tentacles extended toward Gaven, reaching for his head even as the Soul Reaver’s mind reached out. …

  * * * * *

  Haldren shouted the last syllable of his spell, but at that instant Darraun held up a wand and yelled a word of his own. A brief flare of light and smoke was the only manifestation of Haldren’s spell.

  “Traitor!” Haldren hissed, glaring at Darraun beneath bristling eyebrows. “Spy! I never trusted you!”

  “You didn’t have to,” Darraun said, running forward with his mace over his shoulder and his wand in his other hand. “I still learned everything I needed to know.”

  Senya grinned at Rienne. “What do you say we let these two sort out their differences?” she said, jerking her head toward Haldren and Darraun. “And we can sort out ours.” The elf charged, the point of her sword low to the ground.

  Rienne stood still, her sword loose in her hand. “Please tell me you’re not going to fight me in a jealous rage over Gaven.”

  “A jealous rage?” Senya said. “No.” She closed with Rienne, bringing her sword up in a thrust at Rienne’s heart. Rienne lazily swung Maelstrom up to knock Senya’s sword aside, and the elf’s momentum took her around to Rienne’s right. Rienne turned to follow her.

  “What differences, then?” Rienne said, settling into a good defensive stance and awaiting Senya’s next move.

  “Remember the dwarves in Vathirond? The ones you brought to apprehend us? They nearly killed me, you know.”

  Rienne felt a pang of guilt. That had been her fault, though not the way Senya thought. “I didn’t bring them. They followed me.”

  “I don’t care.” Senya lunged, more carefully this time, but she was not at all prepared for the way Rienne fought. Maelstrom beat her sword point to the ground, and Rienne stepped on the blade, yanking it from Senya’s hand. Rienne’s next step landed on Senya’s shoulder, and Maelstrom traced a shallow cut in the elf’s neck as Rienne went overhead and landed behind her.

  Rienne’s new position gave her a clear view of Darraun and Haldren. The sorcerer had still not dismounted, and his horse pranced sideways in a circle around the changeling, keeping Haldren effectively out of Darraun’s reach. Another spell shot from Haldren’s hand only to fizzle in the air, met by something from the artificer’s wand. But Rienne could see that Darraun was tiring.

  Senya circled, then stooped to retrieve her blade from the ground. Rienne saw her opening—Senya’s defenses were down. But at the same moment, Haldren spurred his horse forward to run the changeling down. Instead of attacking Senya, she ran toward the others, placing herself carefully between Senya and Darraun.

  Senya charged again. Rienne stepped to the side and spun as she went past, deflecting the force of Senya’s charge upward. The elf’s own momentum carried her through the air to land at Darraun’s feet, right in Haldren’s path. The horse neighed and reared, and Haldren had to fight to keep his seat. Darraun charged forward and swung his mace into Haldren’s knee. The sorcerer screamed and fell to the ground.

  * * * * *

  The pull on Gaven’s mind was tangible, as though the tentacles had touched him, wrapped around him, and drawn him in. He staggered forward, unwilling, but unable to resist. He felt he could not balance on his feet unless he kept stepping forward. He tried to lean back, against the pull, but sensed immediately that he would fall backward unless he lurched forward again. He stumbled and felt something bang against his arm, sending a tingle of warm energy through his skin.

  The Heart of Khyber. He stretched out a hand and grabbed it, then lost his balance and fell to the ground. The Soul Reaver stepped closer on its spindly legs, and Gaven raised a hand to ward it off—the hand that held the Heart of Khyber.

  The Soul Reaver recoiled, and Gaven felt the pressure on his mind ease. He scrambled to his feet, keeping the nightshard between himself and the monstrous abomination, and hefted the spear in his other hand. A sick, burbling hiss came from the Soul Reaver’s mouth as it crouched, wary of Gaven’s next move.

  “Does this frighten you?” Gaven said, thrusting the nightshard forward. “Or is it the spear, foreordained for your doom?”

  I am your doom. Pain assaulted every nerve in Gaven’s body, an unbearable agony worse than any trauma of body or soul he had ever experienced. His body urged him to flee, to get as far as he could from the source of the pain, to never draw near it again. He turned to run, but the Heart of Khyber held him like an anchor. He would have dropped it in order to flee, but his hand seemed unwilling to release it. It was cool in his palm, an oasis from the pain, and he tried to draw on that coolness to assuage the agony. A soothing chill like water spread out from his hand, and in a moment the pain was gone.

  I will destroy you, the Soul Reaver said, and my hordes will spread over the surface world like a plague. Nothing will stop them!

  A vision accompanied its words, startlingly real, much like the visions that had haunted Gaven’s dreams in Dreadhold and even his waking since his escape. He saw an unending stream of horrible monstrosities pouring out of the chasm far above him, unleashing devastation far worse than anything the world had experienced in the Last War. It was a vision of the world overcome with madness and horror.

  Doubt began to gnaw at the roots of Gaven’s mind. How could one man hold back such a tide of devastation? To do so would require greater power than even he wielded—would it not require the power of a god?

  Gaven roared, and thunder shook the earth around him. Sheets of lightning shot out from the tunnel walls to engulf the Soul Reaver, lifting it off the ground and holding it in the air as wave after wave of storming fury poured into its sickly flesh. Still howling, Gaven charged forward, leveling his spear at the Soul Reaver’s chest.

  The Eye of Siberys bound to a branch of ash …

  …among the bones of Khyber …

  The Storm Dragon drives a spear into the Soul Reaver’s heart.

  My hand on the spear, Gaven thought as he plunged it into a body that was shadow given twisting form.

  CHAPTER

  51

  One sharp kick from Rienne’s foot sent Senya sprawling facedown on the ground. The elf groaned, but she did not move again. Darraun had overheard only snippets of the banter between the two women as they fought, but it was enough to make him curious what had happened in Vathirond. He wished he’d been there to see it.

  Haldren stirred, so Darraun slammed his mace into the sorcerer’s skull rather harder than was probably necessary, sending a trail of blood arcing from the sorcerer’s mouth. Darraun had been itching to do that almost since he first laid eyes on Haldren in Dreadhold, and he took great pleasure in watching the old man slump into unconsciousness. The artificer put his hands on his knees and paused to catch his breath—and to think hard about what he had to do next.

  At that moment, the earth shook violently, nearly knocking him off his feet. Rienne kept her balance easily enough, but fear clouded her face. “Gaven!” she breathed, and she turned to stare back at the Crystal Spire, still piercing the sky with its unearthly light.

  “Go!” Darraun said, reading her thoughts on her face. So transparent. “I’ll take care of these two.”

  Rienne hesitated only a moment before bolting to Haldren’s horse and throwing herself onto its back. It didn’t seem to mind at all, and eagerly ran out of the valley, heading back into the heart of the storm.

  “So what am I going to do with you two?” Darraun said to the bodies at his feet. He put his hands on his hips and stared down at them, then began looking around the nearby field of battle. “Let’s see what we have to work with.”

  * * * * *

  Writhing shadows gripped the Eye of Siberys and
sucked it into darkness, yanking the spear from Gaven’s hand. The Soul Reaver’s blank white eyes opened wide. Gaven stumbled backward and stared up in disbelief at the creature transforming before him.

  Dusky gray flesh became translucent, hard as crystal, with smoky veins of darkness twisting beneath the skin. A core of molten shadow churned around the Eye of Siberys in its chest, where the spear had torn cloth away and penetrated the skin, as if it were dissolving the dragonshard or absorbing its power. Finally the eyes—pale white orbs that bulged in their bony sockets—began to glow with rich golden light, as if the Eye of Siberys had traveled through the Soul Reaver’s body and lodged itself in its eye sockets.

  As it changed, the Soul Reaver stretched out its clawed hands as if beckoning some distant ally, and in response the earth shook. Great cracks appeared in the walls of the tunnel, and rocks cascaded along the floor. Gaven threw his arms over his head, and for a moment he was back in Dreadhold, cowering in delirious fear as Vaskar smashed the roof over his cell. A great rumbling roar echoed throughout the caverns, answered by a gibbering cry issuing from a thousand inhuman throats. The legions of the Soul Reaver were ready, Gaven knew—no vision had ever been clearer in his mind.

  The Soul Reaver’s next attack was clearly meant to dismiss Gaven just as it had dismissed Vaskar—a psychic blast that overwhelmed his senses and his thoughts and every nerve that could register pain in his body. Gaven howled in fury and pain, joining his voice to the weird ululation of the monstrous hordes, but he did not break as Vaskar had. He struggled to his feet, standing in the Soul Reaver’s path, interposing himself between that monstrous thing of living shadow and the Crystal Spire behind him. He yanked his greatsword free of its sheath and held it before him with both shaking hands.