Dragon forge dp-2

by James Wyatt

  Cart circled his arms gingerly around her and held her as she wept. When he looked up again, Gaven was gone.

  Aunn stood at the top of the canyon and surveyed the wake of the storm. Little craters pocked the ground where heavy rain and hail had fallen. Lightning had struck a dry shrub here and there, and one still burned while others smoldered and smoked. His vantage point let him trace a path of devastation a mile or so toward the lake.

  He looked down at the monstrosity of iron and flame squatting below him, like a swollen tick feeding on the magic of the blue crystal jutting up at the head of the canyon. He didn’t have to touch that stone to sense the lines of magic flowing freely out of it and into the eldritch machine, and his stomach revolted at the powerful sense of malice emanating from the whole canyon.

  “His power flows into the world,” Aunn murmured. “If not stopped, soon he will be free.” Marelle’s words were engraved in his memory, and he thought he finally had some insight into their meaning. “Is this a weapon? More terrible than the barbarian foe?”

  A line of people filed out of the iron building, and Aunn backed away from the edge. He found some cover and watched them walking to the edge of the canyon, then crouched down and peered over the edge. The people turned and began climbing a path along the canyon’s edge, and Aunn gasped as he recognized Kelas at the front of the line. His head pounded with anger. The group had climbed well up the path before Aunn realized who else was in the procession. He recognized Arcanist Wheldren from Haldren’s gathering in Bluevine, but the woman beside him was unfamiliar. The woman surrounded by a knot of soldiers, though-that could only be Queen Aurala.

  What in the Traveler’s ten thousand names is she doing here? Aunn thought.

  They were approaching his hiding place, so he withdrew to a point where he could safely see the plateau overlooking the canyon. A few moments later, Kelas emerged from the path and led the cluster of people to a circle scratched into the ground. Arcanist Wheldren busied himself retracing the lines of the circle, which must have been nearly obliterated by the storm, as the queen and the other woman talked together. Kelas stood back from the pair, but Aunn could see the look of smug satisfaction he wore. Clearly, whatever had happened here was a part of Kelas’s greater plan, but it was a part he had kept secret from Aunn.

  Wheldren was preparing the circle for a ritual of teleportation, Aunn realized, which meant that Kelas would soon be out of his reach, and he didn’t know where. He entertained thoughts of attacking Kelas where he stood, the queen and her soldiers be damned. Suicide. Charging into the circle as Wheldren completed the ritual, teleporting along with them? The same. What if he put Haunderk’s face back on and approached Kelas as a friend? Kelas had sent him to the Demon Wastes to die-there was no reason to think he would not order Haunderk’s death more directly.

  His anger and hatred paralyzed him, and he cursed himself for it. Wheldren began his ritual, and it was too late. He might be able to knock Kelas out of the circle at the last moment-but then Kelas stepped out on his own, bowing a farewell to the queen. Another moment, and Kelas stood alone on the plateau, looking tremendously self-satisfied.

  Aunn stood from his crouch and stepped around the boulder that had shielded him. It took Kelas a moment to notice him, but his sword flew into his hand while Aunn was still some distance away.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “You don’t know me?” Aunn said. “I’m an old friend, Kelas.”

  “I’ve never seen you-” Kelas’s eyes went wide. “Haunderk?”

  Aunn changed his face, and he was Haunderk. “Very good. A lifetime of suspicion has served you well.”

  “Haunderk! Your mission was a success!” Kelas smiled, but he didn’t drop his guard as Aunn drew closer.

  “It was. Kathrik Mel is on the march, probably spilling over the Shadowcrags at this moment.”

  “I commend you. Everything is falling into place.”

  “The barbarians have sacked Maruk Dar. Soon they’ll set the Towering Wood on fire. If everything goes according to plan, they’ll meet the armies of Aundair somewhere in the midst of the Eldeen Reaches. And then what, Kelas?”

  “Then we’ll crush them, and the Eldeen Reaches will sing the praise of their liberators.”

  “What if we fail?”

  “We won’t,” Kelas said. He nodded toward the canyon. “The Dragon Forge ensures our victory. And that’s enough questions. Come with me, and we’ll discuss your next mission.”

  “Why don’t you just stab me in the back this time? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

  “Tempting.” Kelas took a menacing step forward, sword in his hand. “But you’ve got more use in you yet.”

  Aunn slid his mace from his belt and hefted it. “True.” He charged, swinging his mace to bat Kelas’s sword aside and slamming his body into Kelas.

  Kelas staggered backward, caught off guard by the sudden attack. “Haunderk!” he snarled. “You’ll pay for that!”

  “I already have. I’ve paid over and over for the privilege of killing you. I’m done paying now.” He caught Kelas’s cut on the haft of his mace. He changed again, donning the face of General Jad Yeven.

  “I own you,” Kelas said. “You will obey me.”

  “Oh, I forgot. You hate looking at dead people.” Aunn changed again, taking Kelas’s own face. “Here’s another dead face for you.”

  Kelas roared. He had long ago forbidden Aunn from wearing his face, a lesson he’d beaten hard into a young changeling. Aunn sidestepped a fierce thrust, but Kelas’s blade still bit into his arm. Aunn brought his mace around into Kelas’s side in return, doubling him over as he staggered back.

  “That’s enough,” Kelas said. “This is no longer a matter of punishment. Drop your weapon now, or I will have to kill you.”

  “Kill me?” Aunn took Kauth’s face. “You’ve tried to kill me already. You sent me to the Demon Wastes to die, but I didn’t die. Maybe I can’t die.”

  “We’ll see.” Kelas charged again. His sword went wide, and he took another blow in his gut.

  Aunn felt that he was watching the battle from outside his body, totally calm as Kelas grew more and more furious. It was a game, and Aunn knew he was going to win.

  He took Laurann’s young and pretty face. “You made me a killer. Kill or be killed. No one lives forever.”

  “So you remember some of your lessons,” Kelas said. “But you’ve forgotten what happens when you disobey.”

  Aunn stepped forward, swinging his mace back and forth, forcing Kelas back. “I have not forgotten.”

  Kelas stumbled on the rocky ground, and one more blow sent him sprawling on his back. His sword clattered out of reach. It was over.

  Aunn took Faura’s face. “Who do you want to kill you, Kelas? Does this form still arouse you? Do you want this beauty to kill you?”

  Kelas tried to scramble away and get to his feet, but Aunn slammed a foot down on his throat, pinning him to the ground. He wore Haunderk’s face again. “Or this one? You still think of me as Haunderk, don’t you? You gripped my child hand and drove my blade into Ledon’s throat. It was Haunderk you taught how to kill.”

  “Please…” Kelas whimpered.

  “You’re begging for your life? You don’t know remorse or shame, Kelas. That’s what you taught me.”

  He wiped his face clean. Colorless eyes set in blank, gray skin. “My name is Aunn,” he said.

  With one swing of his mace, it was over.

  CHAPTER 43

  Gaven emerged from his hiding place and called to Kelas’s killer.

  “Changeling,” he said.

  The figure whirled around, holding his mace on guard. When his pale eyes fell on Gaven, though, he lowered his weapon.

  “You killed my enemy,” Gaven said, “so I’m willing to call you friend.”

  The changeling’s face changed. A mouth appeared and formed a smile. “I’m glad, Gaven.” The face resolved into Darraun’s. “I hoped I’d find you here.�
��

  “Darraun.” Gaven didn’t know what to think. A changeling was made for deception. Gaven had just seen this one adopt no less than six different faces, and he or she had clearly worked for Kelas before turning on him. How could he trust such a being? Maybe the Darraun standing before him was the same Darraun he’d known, but maybe it was just a fellow spy of Darraun’s, one who knew Darraun’s face and his connection to Gaven.

  The smile fell from Darraun’s face, and he took a few steps closer. “I’m sorry, Gaven. I wish I hadn’t deceived you the way I did.”

  “So do I,” Gaven said. “I trusted you.”

  Darraun’s brow furrowed. “Even though you knew what I was?”

  “I was a fool.”

  “No, but I was. You were right to trust me. I helped you-I freed you from the Kundaraks, I flew the airship, I led you to Haldren-”

  “And then you let him go.”

  “Yes. That was where I betrayed your trust, and I-” Darraun’s face looked strange, his eyes momentarily out of focus, distracted. “I’m sorry,” he said to the air.

  “That was not a very convincing apology.”

  Darraun turned his back, looking down at Kelas’s body. “He beat it out of me. ‘You are not sorry! You do not care!’ I’m not sure I’ve given a sincere apology since then.” He turned back and his eyes met Gaven’s. “Until now.”

  “Haldren was here. He was part of what they did to me.”

  Darraun’s eyes fell on the raw, bare skin on Gaven’s neck and chest, where his dragonmark had been. Even Ashara’s ministrations had not relieved the pain or healed the skin. He started as if noticing it for the first time.

  “Your mark…” Darraun breathed. “Haldren did that?”

  “He was here, but Cart killed him before Kelas activated the forge.”

  “I had no idea. Kelas never told me this part of the plan.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  Darraun ran his fingers through his hair. “He stirred up the barbarians of the Demon Wastes to attack the Eldeen Reaches. That will give Aundair an excuse to move troops into the Reaches, to defend its own border. For all I know, they might be there already.”

  “So it’s Haldren all over again, war for the sake of Aundairian conquest.”

  “Yes and no,” Darraun said. “Haldren had dreams of reuniting all of Galifar under his rule, and I’m not sure Kelas ever had any aspiration to the throne. It’s moot now.” He nodded toward Kelas’s body.

  “The plan is larger than Kelas,” Gaven said. “Dragons, a Thuranni-”

  “The queen was here,” Darraun interjected. “Baron d’Cannith swore fealty, the Arcane Congress-”

  “And they’re using my mark as a weapon. Did you see it? They made a storm and sent it to the Reaches.”

  “‘But be careful that they don’t use weapons more terrible than their foe,’” Darraun murmured. He drifted to the edge of the canyon and looked down.

  “What?”

  “A warning. You’re right. This is much larger than Kelas.”

  Gaven led Darraun away from the canyon, toward the place where he’d left Cart. Darraun lost himself in his thoughts as they walked, turning Marelle’s warning over and over in his mind. What Kelas had called the Dragon Forge might well guarantee Aundair’s victory, not only over the Eldeen Reaches but also against the barbarians. Without it, Aundair’s forces might not be able to hold the Carrion Tribes back-Kathrik Mel might lead his horde through the Reaches and across the Wynarn River into Aundair.

  But at what cost would victory come? Darraun could still feel the magic coursing out of the crystal prison and through the Dragon Forge, and the evil of the imprisoned fiend with it. It seemed clear that the Dragon Forge was the weapon Marelle had warned him against. Was she right? She had seemed almost like a divine messenger, but did her words carry prophetic weight? Or was she simply expressing the way she would resolve Darraun’s dilemma? Perhaps the evil of the Dragon Forge was actually a lesser evil than the marauding of Kathrik Mel’s horde, or at least a less urgent threat. The eladrin, it seemed, could afford a long-term view of events. When Marelle warned that the Keeper of Secrets would “soon be free,” what was her understanding of “soon”?

  And what did dragons have to do with it all? Thinking about the dragons’ Prophecy still made his head spin, and being around Gaven seemed to make its mysterious words and dire warnings a very present reality. For months he’d been out of Gaven’s orbit, pleasantly isolated from any thought of the Prophecy, but as soon as he met Gaven again there were dragons involved and he had to wonder why.

  There was another, no less disturbing consequence of being back with Gaven. He was wearing Darraun’s face again, and he found his thoughts running along familiar channels-scheming, suspicious, convoluted. As Darraun, he was a spy again. He had tried to leave that person behind in the Labyrinth, but he’d slipped back into that mode in order to placate Gaven, to present a familiar face. He didn’t like that familiar face.

  That, at least, was a problem with an easy solution. As he walked behind Gaven, he changed again, taking the tall, warm, proud and noble form he’d created for Aunn. When Gaven indicated that Cart should be just over the next rise, Aunn put a hand on Gaven’s shoulder.

  “Gaven?” he said.

  Gaven turned around and started with surprise at the man before him. “What’s this?”

  “My name is Aunn. That’s my real name.” He swallowed, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come. “That’s who I want to be.”

  Gaven looked at him for a long time. “Aunn it is,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you.” He turned with a smile and crested the rise.

  “Gaven!” Cart’s voice sent a thrill of anxiety through Aunn’s body. “Where have you been?”

  “Look who I found.” Gaven turned and took Aunn’s elbow. “Aunn, I believe you know Cart, and this is Ashara d’Cannith. This is Aunn. Cart, you know him as Darraun.”

  “Darraun,” Cart said. His voice carried a hint of amusement. “So who did we bury?”

  “I found a corpse that bore some resemblance to Darraun’s face, and did my best to disguise it. I’m sorry.”

  Cart laughed. “I told you, Gaven, didn’t I?”

  “You did.” Gaven didn’t share Cart’s amusement.

  “No matter, Darraun. Or Aunn. I’m glad to see you alive.”

  “And I’m glad you’re not me,” Ashara added, stepping forward to clasp his hand in greeting.

  Aunn didn’t understand the joke, but it made Gaven laugh at last.

  To Gaven, the appearance of the storm above the Dragon Forge had seemed like a sign calling him back to destroy the eldritch machine that had stolen his mark. Knowing that the storm had been a weapon sent to devastate the Eldeen Reaches revolted him, and he felt responsible for the use of his dragonmark. Aunn’s return and Kelas’s death reinforced that message, and Aunn’s concerns about the Keeper of Secrets, the chance the imprisoned fiend might escape, solidified it. He still burned to find Rienne, but the Dragon Forge seemed like a more imminent concern-even discounting the possibility of reclaiming his mark.

  “Malathar is my greatest concern,” Cart said, staring into their campfire.

  “Malathar?” Aunn asked.

  “The dragon-king from Argonnessen,” Gaven explained. “He’s ancient, mighty-”

  “Undead,” Cart added.

  Aunn raised an eyebrow. “Well, to our advantage, we know what we’re up against. There are preparations we can make, protective wards and enhancements to our weapons.”

  “His breath is devastating,” Gaven said.

  “I think I’m up to the challenge,” Aunn replied, and somehow he bolstered Gaven’s confidence.

  “I hope you don’t overestimate your skill,” Ashara said. She had a hand at her chin, half-covering a bemused smile. “You are talking about significant infusions of power.”

  “I apologize, Lady Cannith,” Aunn said. “I certainly didn’t mean to discount your own s
kill at artifice. Between the two of us-”

  “Do you know the ninth weaving of Merrix the First?”

  Aunn’s eyes showed no recognition, and Gaven’s confidence faltered. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with House Cannith’s terminology-”

  “Where were you trained?”

  “I had a private tutor. I figured a lot out on my own.”

  “You figured it out on your own,” Ashara repeated. “How can you hope to understand the weavings of artifice figuring it out on your own?”

  “It’s simply a matter of untangling the knots, Lady. I find it quite intuitive.”

  “I require a demonstration.”

  Gaven frowned at her. Ashara was always kind and mild with Cart, but her manner with Gaven, and now with Aunn, could be curt. Imperious-given her position in the House, she was used to issuing commands and having them obeyed. She had to remember that she was not in charge of this group, he thought.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Gaven said. “I’ve seen Aunn do-”

  Aunn interrupted. “It’s all right, Gaven. I’ll give a demonstration.” He made a small bow toward Ashara. “Would you care to name the task?”

  “Cart, would you let Aunn borrow your axe, please?”

  Cart hefted his axe and passed it to Aunn, who looked at Ashara expectantly.

  “Do your best,” she said. “Prepare it for the battle ahead.”

  Aunn closed his eyes and placed his hand flat on the blade. A smile danced at the corner of his mouth. Gaven watched him carefully but couldn’t make sense of what he was doing. He ran a finger down the edge, ran his hand down the haft, traced twisting runes on the head with two fingertips. After a long moment, he opened his eyes, let out his breath, and handed the axe to Ashara.

  As soon as her hand touched the weapon, Ashara’s eyes shot open wide. She examined the axe for only a few heartbeats, then handed it back to Cart.

  “This will serve you well,” she said. Turning her eyes back to Aunn, she returned his bow. “Your skill is at least the equal of mine. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  Now it was Aunn’s turn to look surprised. “That is high praise.”