Dragon war dp-3

by James Wyatt

  "What now?" he whispered.

  He heard Ashara let out a long, slow breath. "We're in a large room warded by traps, with a guard outside the door."

  Aunn sighed. "Quite a threshold to cross." His mind started tracing a possible course, anticipating the traps that were likely in place and how to disable them. The last thing he wanted was to raise an alarm, to be forced to explain what Kelas ir'Darren was doing sneaking around the Cannith forgehold. "Wait a moment," he said aloud.

  He had to start thinking like Kelas, Aunn realized. He drew a deep breath, stood up, and listened. He didn't hear anything to indicate that he'd sprung a trap, so he called out in a perfect imitation of Kelas's most authoritative voice, "House Cannith! Open this door, in the name of the queen!"

  "What are you doing?" Ashara cried. Before Aunn could answer, magical lights around the room blazed to life and a door swung open.

  They were in a large, square chamber, perhaps thirty feet on a side. At a glance, Aunn saw nozzles in the ceiling, probably designed to release a gas that would knock intruders unconscious-or possibly jets to bathe invaders in fire. Holes in the walls were almost certainly designed to release darts or arrows. Every flagstone on the floor, beyond the etched lines of the teleportation circle, could have been a moving plate concealing a trigger for one of the room's traps.

  The two warforged soldiers in the doorway commanded his attention, however. They gripped halberds, and one had a hand on a copper panel on the wall beside the door. Aunn didn't wait for them to speak.

  "I am Kelas ir'Darren and I am here on the queen's business," he said. "Please escort me and my companions to the nearest exit."

  The two warforged exchanged a glance, one nodded, and the other moved something on the copper panel. "Please approach," the one at the panel said, "and I'll need to see your identification papers."

  Aunn strode forward without glancing at the others, hoping that Cart and Ashara were playing their parts. As he walked, he produced the papers he'd found in Kelas's pouch, and he handed them to one of the warforged. "The half-elf is a prisoner," he said, nodding toward Gaven, who was shuffling along under Cart's guidance. He tried to force his heart into a slow, steady rhythm, but it was like pulling the reins of a wild stallion.

  The warforged studied the front page of Kelas's papers carefully, then turned the page to read the part that identified him as an agent of the crown. He looked at the first page again, examined the portrait and compared it to Aunn's face, then handed it back and turned his attention to Ashara.

  Her Mark of Making was hidden beneath a sleeve of leather armor, so he didn't recognize her as an heir of the House until he read her name from the papers she offered. "Lady Cannith!" he exclaimed, and both of the warforged bowed deeply.

  The other warforged, rising from his bow, held a hand out to Cart.

  "I have no identification papers," Cart said.

  "He's mine," Ashara said. That seemed to satisfy the guard, though Aunn saw Cart stiffen.

  The first warforged still held Ashara's papers. "Lady Ashara d'Cannith?" He exchanged another glance with his comrade, and Aunn saw Ashara's eyes widen with sudden fear.

  "I'm sorry, master ir'Darren," the warforged said to Aunn, "but we are going to have to take Ashara into custody. House Cannith has declared her excoriate."

  CHAPTER 5

  House Cannith?" Aunn said.

  "Whose enclave you have just barged into, yes," said the warforged, Ashara's papers clutched in his fist.

  "House Cannith no longer exists in Aundair," Aunn said. "The Cannith family no longer has legal authority over its members-you're all Aundairians now. And Ashara ir'Cannith is an agent of the queen's Ministry of Artifice, to which this building belongs. She's coming with me. Give her back her papers."

  If the warforged said anything, Aunn couldn't hear it over the pounding in his ears. From what Ashara had told him, Jorlanna should have sworn her fealty to the queen already, if everything had gone according to plan. But nothing was going according to plan, and if Jorlanna remained the head of a House Cannith still protected by the Korth Edicts, he had just talked himself into a very bad position. He could barely breathe as he waited for the warforged to respond.

  Then Ashara had her papers again and the warforged were leading them out of the room and up a narrow stone passageway. Aunn glanced back at Gaven, grateful that the dispute over Ashara had distracted the guards from the "prisoner" who shuffled along beside Cart. Satisfied that Gaven was not attracting attention, Aunn concentrated on his stride-purposeful, proud-and tried to become Kelas. For thirty years, he thought, Kelas tried to make me the perfect spy, shaping me into a replica of himself. Now I need to be him.

  There's too much I don't know, he thought as he strode behind the warforged, too many ways I can give myself away. I know more than anyone, probably, about Kelas's past, but not enough about the plots he was embroiled in when he died. What in the Traveler's ten thousand names am I getting myself into?

  The passage opened into a hall that Aunn recognized as the primary audience chamber in the Cannith enclave, close to the main entrance from the street. He could just hear the sounds of the busy street outside as evening settled over the city-a donkey braying, voices raised in an argument. A moment more, he thought, and we'll be out of here. Free.

  The warforged stopped in front of a man who bore the Mark of Making, smaller but no less elaborate than Ashara's, on his left temple. A streak of stark white hair, contrasting with the rich black that covered the rest of his head, started right beside his mark. The warforged bowed slightly and leaned in to explain the situation.

  The man stepped around the warforged to confront Aunn. "I'm Harkin d'Cann-" He stopped, grimaced, and corrected himself. "Harkin ir'Cannith, steward of this house."

  Clearly, as a dragonmarked heir, he needed some adjustment to the idea of being an Aundairian noble, changing the honorific in his name from the dragonmarked D to the mark of a noble family of Galifar, the ir'- prefix.

  "Kelas ir'Darren," Aunn said. When he needed to be, Kelas could be charming, all smiles and ingratiating warmth. But in situations like this, Aunn knew, Kelas was cold fire.

  "Look, ir'Darren," Harkin said, "I don't know what Ashara did, but the baron wants her head."

  "I'll discuss the matter with Jorlanna, then. It's no concern of yours."

  "It'll be my head next if the baron finds out that I let her go."

  Aunn folded his arms. "And I'll have you in a court of law if you try to detain this woman. You have no legal authority to arrest her."

  "Why don't I just see if the baron's here now, and we can get this sorted out before Ashara goes anywhere?" His eyes ranged over Cart and Gaven, then settled on Ashara for a moment. Aunn thought he saw the hint of a smile.

  "Harkin-" Ashara began, but Aunn cut her off.

  "Ashara is helping me on the queen's business, and it can't wait. You may tell Jorlanna that I'll speak with her about this in the morning. But we are leaving now. Good evening."

  Aunn turned his back on the man and swept toward the door. His heart was still pounding, but it was not an altogether unpleasant sensation. Exhilarating, almost. A taste of the power that Kelas wielded. Nobody moved to intercept him before he reached the door, and a glance over his shoulder showed him that Cart and Ashara were right on his heels, leading Gaven along between them. Gaven's face registered no thought or feeling.

  Sorry, friend, Aunn thought. You're missing quite an adventure.

  Harkin watched them leave with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on Gaven. So Jorlanna would know that both Gaven and Ashara were in his custody, as well as a warforged who was most likely the one who killed Haldren.

  How am I going to talk myself out of that? he wondered.

  We'll cross that threshold when we get there, he thought as he turned his back to the Cannith enclave and stepped back onto the Fairhaven streets.

  "You did it!" Ashara said, once several blocks lay between them and
the Cannith enclave. "You got us out!"

  "Lower your voice," Aunn said. "I haven't spotted anyone yet, but it's a safe bet we're being followed. Keep up appearances."

  Ashara glanced over her shoulder, and Aunn rolled his eyes. It didn't matter-if the Cannith following them knew what he was doing, he would assume that his quarry knew he was there. And following their strange procession would hardly be a challenge. Gaven walked with Cart, but slowly, and they drew entirely too much attention. The streets were crowded with workers heading home and the well-to-do beginning their nightly revels-far too many people who might remember the strange sight of a warforged leading a catatonic half-elf through the streets.

  "I might have gotten us out of there," Aunn said, "but I'm afraid I talked us into more trouble. Now Jorlanna knows you're with me-and we have Gaven. That rules out a lot of good lies."

  "Well, at any rate we're walking through the city, not in a cell somewhere." Ashara looked around. "Where are we going?"

  "House Jorasco. I want to get Gaven back as soon as possible."

  "Do you think that's wise?" Cart said, speaking for the first time since they left the Cannith enclave.

  "Bringing Gaven back to his senses?" Aunn said, stopping and turning to face the warforged.

  "No, taking him to House Jorasco. We just had one adventure in a dragonmarked enclave. Are you in such a hurry to rush into another?"

  "But House Jorasco-"

  "Loves to be underestimated," Cart said. "They took Senya in when she was injured, nursed her back to health, and then summoned the Sentinel Marshals as soon as she was well enough to travel. And that was in Vathirond. I think it's wise to assume that House Jorasco in Fairhaven will be at least as well-informed."

  "Damn, you're right," Aunn said. "What do we do, then? If not House Jorasco, who can heal him?"

  "I have an idea," Cart said. "A sergeant I knew once had some unusual interests, and a friend of hers here in the city took her once to meet someone she said… hrm. It's a bit hard to explain." Cart shrugged. "What if I just find him and bring him to the cathedral?"

  "Can I come with you?" Ashara asked.

  "If you like."

  "The cathedral?" Aunn said.

  "Kelas was using the old cathedral as a meeting place," Ashara explained.

  The old cathedral of the Silver Flame. It struck Aunn as an odd choice of a meeting place for Kelas's conspiracy. Kelas had never shown anything but contempt for the Church of the Silver Flame, and of all Aundair's neighbors he hated Thrane the most, with its theocratic government, the Keeper of the Flame at its head. Perhaps, in Kelas's mind, meeting at the cathedral symbolized Aundair's victory over Thrane. The idea made Aunn's stomach turn.

  "No," he said, "meet me at Kelas's real office, in the Tower of Eyes. It faces the west side of Crown Hall."

  Crown Hall was the queen's palace. It made Aunn nervous to get so close to the heart of the whole affair, but he needed a secure place to take Gaven, and few places were safer than the stronghold of Aundair's Royal Eyes.

  "I know where it is," Cart said. "I went there with Haldren once. But how will we get in?"

  Aunn pulled some paper and a small writing set from one of Kelas's pouches. Using Cart's back as a desk, he scrawled a hasty note and signed it in a perfect imitation of Kelas's hand. He touched a ring he'd pulled from Kelas's dead fingers to the paper, felt with his mind for the tiny knot of magic contained in the ring, and tripped it. A pattern of faintly glowing lines appeared on the paper beneath the signature, and Aunn smiled in satisfaction.

  "Show this to the guards at the door and tell them you have an appointment to see me. Tell them to summon me if they give you any trouble. I'll take Gaven there now and wait for you."

  Cart took the paper, scanned the words and nodded.

  "Be careful," Aunn added.

  "Always." Cart held Gaven's arm out for Aunn to take, then Ashara took his arm and they strolled off together toward the eastern side of town.

  Aunn looked at Gaven and smiled. "All right, Gaven, we're going this way. Can you walk with me?"

  Slowly Gaven shuffled along beside him as Aunn made his way to the Tower of Eyes.

  Walking beside Ashara was the opposite of marching in a unit of soldiers, Cart thought. His stride was long and even, like the steady cadence of a drum keeping soldiers in step. Her shorter legs made her steps quicker, and she had trouble keeping up with him, so she'd occasionally take a flurry of little, half-running steps, her boots pattering like hail on the cobblestones. There was a pleasing music to it, somehow-her melody playing against his constant drone.

  Aunn and Gaven were long out of sight, and the busier streets of Fairhaven's downtown soon fell away behind them, replaced by quiet rows of homes and apartments. Cart was lost in the rhythm of their steps.

  "What's wrong, Cart?" Ashara asked, breaking the silence.

  Cart took a few more steps before he answered. "You don't really think I'm yours, do you?"

  "What?"

  "Back there. I said I didn't have papers and you said, 'He's mine.' Like it was nothing."

  "Oh, Cart, no. I just wanted to make sure they didn't give you any trouble, that's all. Sometimes House Cannith can still be very possessive about warforged."

  "But those were warforged we were talking to."

  "Warforged who might as well still be slaves owned by the House," Ashara said. "They're not legally slaves, but they don't get paid what human guards do."

  It came to Cart like a dawning realization, full of wonder. "Nobody owns me," he said.

  Ashara clutched his arm. "Of course not."

  Cart walked in silence again. They approached a group of young men, who stopped their boisterous conversation and stared as they walked past, arm in arm. Ashara shifted her grip and Cart thought for a moment that she might release his arm in embarrassment, but she held on. Her hands were warm where they touched the cords and sinews between his armored plates.

  "I think," Cart said, "that I would like to get identification papers. Would you help me?"

  "You've never had papers?"

  "I had military identification, but that was before the Treaty of Thronehold. Those papers showed me to be the property of Aundair. I belonged to Haldren. Right up until I killed him."

  "So now you're free."

  "I suppose I am," Cart said. "I'm not sure what to do now."

  "What did you do while Haldren was in Dreadhold?"

  "I waited."

  "That's all? Just waited?"

  "I did odd things here and there to pass the time. I worked in Passage for a while, carrying crates. Senya dragged me into an old Dhakaani ruin once with some half-elf wizard who promised her a fortune. Mostly I waited."

  "So what do you want to do with your freedom?"

  Cart looked down at her, into her warm, brown eyes. He eased his arm free of her hands and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side. She put one arm around his waist and laid the other hand on his chest, and her head rested beside her hand. It was confusing to him-he hated the thought of being owned: her dismissive words to the Cannith warforged had cut him like daggers. But the urge to hold her close, keep her beside him, protect her-it was a fiercely possessive urge.

  "Freedom is a strange thing," he said. With her body so close to his, he slowed his step and she matched it, so they found a slower rhythm together. "Nobody owns me, but Gaven and Aunn and you seem to have a hold on me anyway. What I want to do is to be with you."

  "Freedom is the ability to choose your commitments," Ashara said, "to choose what owns your loyalty."

  "Then perhaps I am yours after all."

  Her smile spread all across her face, touching every one of the tiny muscles beneath the skin-such an intricate construction, he thought, like the work of a divine artisan.

  "And I'm yours," she said.

  Aunn stood at the door to Kelas's study. Out of habit, he cast his mind over his body, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, making
sure every detail was in place for Kelas's inevitable scrutiny. Only this time the details were those of Kelas's own appearance, and no one would be in the study to inspect him. He glanced at Gaven, motionless at his side, then pulled a ring of keys from one of Kelas's pouches and found the right one. Taking a deep breath, he turned the key in the hole and pushed open the door.

  Nothing had changed. He knew the room at least as well as his own suite, which he hadn't seen in months. The large oak desk gave the room its color and character, dark and solid. For an absurd moment, Aunn wasn't sure where to sit. A wooden chair between the desk and the door was Aunn's accustomed place; the one behind the desk, upholstered in leather, was where Kelas would sit. He shook his head to clear it, then led Gaven to the wooden chair and walked around the desk to Kelas's chair.

  "Well, Gaven," he said, "perhaps you're wondering why I've brought you here."

  He ran his hands over the chair's leather, worn but well cared for. He sat gingerly, then settled back against the cushions. It was a comfortable seat-it fit Kelas's body perfectly.

  "Frankly, I'm wondering the same thing. This seems a bit like madness."

  He spread his palms over the oak of the desk, which he had never touched before. It was smooth, immaculately clean, warm. Only a single sheaf of papers on his left side marred the dark, polished surface.

  "But here we sit, until Cart and Ashara come back with whoever they think can bring you back to your right mind." He looked at Gaven, whose eyes were fixed on some point behind the wall, then pulled the sheaf of papers closer. "Let's see what Kelas was reading, shall we?"

  The writing on the paper was written in thick, angular letters that made Aunn think at first they were in Dwarven, but the letters were Common: The servant seeks to free the master, seizing flesh to unbind spirit, to break the serpent's hold. Touched by flame, the champion recapitulates the serpents' sacrifice, binding the servant anew so the master cannot break free.