Dragon forge dp-2

by James Wyatt

  Dragon forge

  ( Draconic prophesies - 2 )

  James Wyatt

  James Wyatt

  Dragon forge

  PART I

  Three drops of blood mark the passing of the Time Between. The three dragons are joined together in the blood, and the blood contains the power of creation. One drop is shed where the Dragon Above pierces the Dragon Below, the Eye stabs at the Heart. Blood joins them, and so begins the Time Between. One drop unites Eberron with the Dragon Below. Blood is drawn from a serpent binding the spawn of Khyber and the fiend that is bound. Bound they remain, but their power flows forth in the blood. One drop unites Eberron with the Dragon Above. The touch of Siberys’s hand passes from flesh to stone, held within the drop of Eberron’s blood. The Time Between begins with blood and ends in blood. Blood is its harbinger, and blood flows in its passing.

  CHAPTER 1

  General Jad Yeven strode into Kelas’s study and stood at attention, waiting for his superior’s acknowledgment. His eyes scanned the familiar room-the large oak desk with its sheaves of parchment, the bare plaster wall behind. Nothing was out of place.

  “Take off that face,” Kelas snapped. “I hate talking to dead people.”

  Yeven’s face changed-its distinctive nose smaller and hair growing out of the general’s severe military cut. The changeling stood a little less erect.

  “What face would you prefer?” he asked.

  “Haunderk.”

  The changeling sighed. He preferred changing in front of a mirror, especially for Haunderk. He wanted every freckle in place, the eyes just the right shade of amber. Those details could come later, though-as far as Kelas cared, the tousled sandy hair, pasty white skin, and light brownish eyes were enough. The general’s bulky muscles melted into a wiry frame, and he compounded his slouch by losing a handbreadth of height. Haunderk took shape, and he found himself wrapped in the comfort of a familiar body and personality. The general’s austere military uniform began to chafe.

  “That’s better,” Kelas said, smiling. “There’s the spy I trained.”

  Forcing his face into a smile was far easier than changing his entire appearance.

  Kelas stretched, resting his feet on his desk and his hands behind his head. “Have a seat, Haunderk.”

  Haunderk sat straight in the wooden chair across the desk from Kelas. The desk was almost bare-dark, polished wood, with only a single sheaf of papers off to one side. What had Kelas been doing when he entered?

  “I have learned nothing of Gaven’s whereabouts,” Kelas said. “You don’t have any news?”

  “Nothing. The last time I saw him, I expected him to either die or become a god.” Detachment, he reminded himself-Haunderk’s face made it easier. Emotion would cause trouble. Suffering. Report the facts.

  Kelas scoffed. “And he lacked the sense to do either.” Haunderk couldn’t decide whether he agreed or not, so he said nothing.

  “What about the woman?”

  “Rienne.”

  “Yes. She didn’t say anything about plans, goals? Dreams?”

  Haunderk cast his memory back over the time he’d spent with Rienne, from Stormhome to the battlefield at Starcrag Plain. What stood out in his memory was not anything she’d said, but her kindness to him, her acceptance-even once she knew he was a changeling. He realized that he didn’t want Kelas to find her, then chastised himself for letting his emotions interfere with his work.

  He decided on a straightforward, honest answer. “At the time, they were both very focused on immediate concerns.”

  “If I had any idea of the extent of Gaven’s understanding of the Prophecy, I would have given you different orders.”

  “No,” Haunderk said. “It was important to bring the general to you at the moment of his defeat. If he’d had time to repair his ego, he would never have cooperated with you.”

  A question tugged at the corner of his mind. Would he have been able to betray Gaven if Kelas had ordered it?

  He stifled the question. He was a professional. He would do what he was ordered.

  “And how is General ir’Brassek now?”

  “Haldren is firmly in our camp. He’s still driven by ambition, but he knows the best way to achieve what he desires is to work with us.” Detachment, again.

  “Good. The queen still wants his head-and Yeven’s, for that matter.”

  “She needs someone to hang, to appease the Thranes,” Haunderk said.

  “And to show that she’s still in control. If the other nations see Aundair’s army acting without her command, it will seem as though we have already seized control.”

  “That army took heavy losses at Starcrag Plain.”

  Kelas nodded. “The Thranes did as well, or they might already have retaliated.”

  “I wonder what makes Aurala angrier-the army acting without her command, or its failure.”

  “It’s not a bad situation for her. The renegade generals let her deny any responsibility for what happened. If they’d succeeded, she could have claimed credit. With their failure, she doesn’t have to take the blame. Although she’d be happier if she could bring the generals forward and punish them publicly.”

  “Too bad I didn’t bring Yeven in alive. And we still need Haldren’s help.” Haunderk was cold-hearted, efficient.

  Kelas ran his fingers through his short black hair. “I think it’s time for General Yeven to meet another untimely end,” he said.

  Easy enough for a man already dead. Just a question of how to do it. “A trial and execution? Or an arrest gone awry?” No regret.

  “We don’t need to stage it. I’ll report that our agents located him, he put up a fight, and we were forced to kill him. We’ve kept his body preserved, so we’ll wheel that out and the queen will have a renegade general.”

  “And the illusion of control.” It was a good plan, but for some reason it made Haunderk sad. “It’s done, then, unless there’s anything else the general needs to do before his demise.”

  Kelas put his feet back on the floor and leaned forward on his desk.

  “No, he has served his purpose.”

  Haunderk felt his pulse start to quicken, and he took a slow breath to calm it. Keeping his voice steady, he said, “You have another mission for me?”

  “It’s time to put the next stage in motion.”

  Haunderk’s hands went cold. “Striking west. You’ve found a pretext?”

  “That’s your mission. I received a report this morning that something is brewing in the Demon Wastes. One of the chieftains of the Carrion Tribes is emerging as a sort of warlord. He’s conquering nearby tribes and uniting them under his banner.”

  “Uniting them? The Carrion Tribes?” Haunderk found that hard to believe. The tribes were constantly warring with each other. Many of the tribes’ leaders had the blood of demons running through their veins, and the tribes lived by violence-mindless slaughter, more to the point.

  “Apparently so. Clearly, this is an exceptional chieftain. We don’t know much about him, or what he hopes to accomplish. Most likely, he’s just looking for status and power in the Wastes. He might think to strike against the orcs of the Labyrinth.”

  The orcs were the only common enemy the Carrion Tribes shared. Haunderk saw where Kelas was heading. “But if we can make him strike farther east…”

  “If he attacks the Eldeen Reaches, we’ll have the pretext we need. An attack on the Reaches is a threat to Aundair’s western border. Queen Aurala will be justified in sending troops into the Reaches to ensure the safety of our borders.”

  “And my mission?”

  “Go to the Demon Wastes. Find this warlord. Help him see beyond the Labyrinth. Goad him into attacking the Reaches.”

  Haunderk sat b
ack in his chair, drawing another slow breath. The success of this mission was crucial to Kelas’s plans. But Haunderk’s survival was by no means a prerequisite for success. All his work required was that he let this warlord learn he was a spy from the Eldeen Reaches. And the most likely way for him to obtain an audience with the warlord was to be captured-and recite his lines under torture.

  Then die.

  He kept his face impassive. “Is there anything else?” Kelas smiled. It was a smile that had won over many enemies, softened much hostility. Haunderk felt nauseated.

  “No, that’s all,” Kelas said. “What will you need for the journey?”

  Haunderk looked up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the task at hand. The eastern part of the Eldeen Reaches was much like Aundair, heavily agricultural. The west was largely wilderness, tended by druids and rangers. Haldren’s aborted attempt to restart the Last War, launching an invasion of Thrane to the east, had caused a diplomatic furor that still raged. That meant the borders were closed.

  “Crossing the Wynarn is going to be tricky,” he said.

  “Fly to Wyr. I’ll have someone south of the city to ferry you across the river.”

  Haunderk closed his eyes, visualizing a map of the Reaches. “Then down to… there’s a village not far south of Wyr, on the Eldeen side.”

  “Riverweep. I’ll get you papers to ride an Orien coach from there to Varna and on to Greenheart.”

  Haunderk nodded. House Orien operated the lightning rail, but the lines of conductor stones that made that magical conveyance possible did not extend past the Aundairian border into the wilds of the Eldeen Reaches. Roads did, though, and the Oriens also carried passengers on more mundane carts and wagons. Magebred draft horses could pull an Orien coach from Riverweep to Varna in about three days, with overnight stops in villages along the way. A far cry from the five hours it would have taken on the lightning rail, but fast enough for this purpose.

  “What name do you want on the papers?” Kelas asked. What name? He’d need a new one. He didn’t want any of the others to die.

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Very well. From Greenheart you’ll be on foot all the way into the Demon Wastes. You should find some help to make sure you stay alive until you get there.”

  Until I get there, Haunderk thought. Then it doesn’t matter any more. “I think that’s all I need, then.”

  Kelas put his hands on his desk, looking down at the smooth wood. Then he stood and smiled again. Haunderk jumped to his feet.

  “I don’t think I’ve told you how much I appreciate your work all these years,” Kelas said. “You’ve been an enormous help.”

  “Service to the Royal Eyes is my life,” Haunderk said. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  Kelas’s smile faltered, and Haunderk could see the effort it took to force it back onto his face.

  “Very good. Farewell, Haunderk.”

  Haunderk turned and left the room, putting General Yeven’s face back on as he left. Might as well wear the face of a dead man.

  General Jad Yeven stood before a mirror in his apartments, stripped to his plain breeches. Tall, soldier-straight, with a sculpted face-the face of a leader. Strong, well-defined muscles covered his chest.

  “Who are you?” he said. “Jad Yeven, you’re dead.”

  He let the general melt away. Fine blond hair grew out from the general’s severe cut, and he let a day’s growth of beard follow. Tanned, weathered, and handsome. Still strong, though not as muscular as Yeven.

  “Darraun Mennar. You’re dead, too.” He had found a body on the battlefield that bore a passing resemblance to Darraun, and tinkered with it to cement the resemblance. Had Rienne found the body?

  Darraun melted away. Hair darkened to a tawny brown, and spilled down a slender back. Round and soft-the face, breasts, and hips. Not too shapely-the body of a soldier.

  “Caura Fannam.” She stared for a long moment at her face in the mirror. “You weren’t around long enough to die,” she said. “You were very kind.”

  Her eyes burned as Caura melted away.

  “Too kind. You cared too much. Nothing is permanent, and no one lives forever. Remember that, or you will suffer.”

  Short-as short as possible, but broad, strong. A dwarf, male again, with brown skin and black hair. Muscles like polished marble.

  “Auftane Khunnam, damn you. You started all this. All those months you spent with Janik and Mathas and Dania-” His voice broke at the sound of her name. A paladin of the Silver Flame, Dania had sacrificed herself to destroy a rakshasa, a demon that had possessed Janik’s wife-the wife of the man she loved. A year later, thinking of it made a knot in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t quite understand. Such a sacrifice made no sense.

  “And you repayed their kindness by stealing the torc from her lifeless throat and disappearing,” he whispered, leaning close to the mirror.

  “I did my job,” he retorted, stepping back. “I didn’t let emotion get in my way.”

  He snorted, and Auftane melted away.

  “Haunderk Lannath.” Taller again, sandy hair, white skin. He put every freckle in place and found the perfect shade of amber for his eyes.

  “You were born for this, trained your whole life to be a spy. You belong to the Royal Eyes. Do your damned job.” Haunderk’s face dissolved.

  “Who are you?” The voice came from a face that was between faces, as pale as Haunderk’s but longer and thinner.

  “Aunn. My name is Aunn.” With some effort, he shaped his face until it had no shape. Colorless eyes stared out from a blank field of gray skin. White hair fell in tangles over smooth shoulders.

  “This is my face.” He stared long and hard at the unfamiliar visage, so blank, as if it were waiting for features to be impressed upon it. Waiting for an identity. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  He straightened and began to change. “You’re a spy, damn it-an elite agent of Aundair’s Royal Eyes. You have a job to do. Ugly work,” he said, “so you need an ugly face.”

  Tall and strong. Weathered skin, tan and hard. Dark hair covering a muscular chest. A thick neck, then up to the face. A nose crooked nose from being broken in many brawls. A wide mouth, then a thick beard that went too far up the cheeks. A shaggy mane of dark hair. Then the eyes-the eyes always needed the most attention.

  “Pitiless eyes,” he said. Pools of liquid metal formed in his blank white eyes, dark and hard as steel. “No fear, no mercy.”

  For just an instant as he looked in the mirror, he saw the Traveler-the divine changeling, the great trickster. She wore the face of a half-elf with short red hair, bathed in silver light, and her mouth was bent in a half-smile.

  “Who are you?” He didn’t know if the voice was his or the god’s.

  “Kauth Dannar,” his ugly face answered. “A mercenary during the war, now a drifter, a thug, and an adventurer. Get out of my way.”

  He struck the mirror with the back of his fist, sending it crashing to the floor. It exploded in shards of glass, and Kauth Dannar strode out of the room.

  CHAPTER 2

  Gaven lay in a swinging bunk below the decks of the Sea Tiger, one arm behind his head, the other wrapped around Rienne. Her head rested on his shoulder, her black hair spilling over his arm and off the edge of the bunk. He savored the quiet-the soft creak of the ropes moving with the galleon and the splashing of the hull cutting the water. Moonlight gleamed on Rienne’s dark skin.

  “Jordhan says we’ll be in the Dragonreach soon,” Rienne said. “Then on to Argonnessen.”

  “Here’s what I don’t understand. All the ten seas connect to each other, right? So how do you know when you leave one and enter another? What’s the difference between the Lhazaar Sea and the Dragonreach? Or if we kept sailing around Khorvaire, how would we know when we left the Dragonreach and entered the Thunder Sea?”

  “It’s not much different than traveling on land,” Gaven said. “How can you tell when you leave Aundair and enter Thrane?
”

  “Soldiers come and demand your papers?” Rienne lifted her head and smiled at him, shifting to prop herself up on one arm. The movement sent the bunk into gentle swinging.

  “You know what I mean. There’s no difference in the land. Sometimes you cross a river, sometimes you go through a mountain pass. But many times the lines are totally arbitrary-the border is set where each nation’s control ended at the close of the Last War.”

  “I understand that. But there aren’t any nations in the seas to fight over borders.”

  “True, thank the Sovereigns. In that case, it’s more a matter of how sailors define them. The Lhazaar Sea is full of whales, and that’s how the Lhazaars make their living. They don’t go whaling in the Dragonreach, though, because they’d find their harpoons stuck into a dragon turtle. Or bouncing off its shell, more likely.”

  “Is that what it is? Different creatures in different seas? So we’ll know we’re in the Dragonreach when we spot our first dragon turtle?”

  “Not just that. If you sail east from Lhazaar, you eventually get into the Sea of Rage, and pretty soon you realize you’ve gone too far when you sail into a freak storm or a giant waterspout. The seas are different. They behave differently. Almost like people.”

  “Some are more tempestuous than others,” Rienne said. She started tracing a finger along the winding lines of the dragonmark on his chest.

  Gaven closed his eyes and enjoyed the touch of her fingers on his skin. In his mind, he could see the movements of her fingers, and the patterns of his dragonmark took shape.

  The words of creation. He had been seeing them etched into the land and sea ever since he walked the twisting Sky Caves of Thieren Kor-every part of the world spoke to him of its past and what it might yet become. The Prophecy of the dragons was written upon the world itself. But he had never realized before that it was written on him.

  He saw it now, in the fine lines that weaved across his skin, from just under his chin and down his neck to cover his chest and the upper part of his arm. He saw in those lines all that he had been and was becoming-his past and his potential, his beginning and what might well be his end. He saw the thread of Rienne’s fate bound up in his own. A chill shot up his spine, and he shuddered.