by James Wyatt
She felt as though she were watching from some other place as Maelstrom launched her body into a whirlwind of death. Each cut and block happened without any act of conscious will on her part, perfectly timed and flawlessly executed. Could she so expertly carry out her destiny, whatever it was?
Lightning burst from the dragon's mouth again as Maelstrom cut a deep gash in its shoulder. She staggered backward, every nerve in her body screaming its agony. She drew a deep breath and felt the pain and all the energy of the lightning pool together, low in her chest. Maelstrom crackled and sparked as it cleaved through the dragon's skull, cutting it neatly in half.
Three dragons had flown toward her position-where was the third? She scanned the battlefield but didn't see it. To one side of her, the Reachers were arrayed in a ragged line, clutching spears and peering anxiously into the darkness. Opposite them, she heard a low roar, slowly growing in volume. As her pounding pulse quieted in her ears, the sound became clearer: hundreds of voices shouting, howling as the barbarians rushed into battle. The darkness of the forest cloaked them, but she felt the same fear that gripped the Reachers bite at the back of her mind. An unseen foe was far more fearsome. Perhaps that was why the Blasphemer had chosen to attack at night.
She settled into a waiting stance and glanced to her sides. A sergeant had placed one of the great bears to her left and another to her right, widely spaced but clearly intended as a first line of defense against the onrushing barbarians. Soldiers clutched their spears and clustered around the bears and around her, as if they were seeking shelter from an onrushing storm. She smiled to herself-in the Reachers' minds, apparently, she was equivalent to one of their bears.
She thought of Gaven, imagined telling him about the three dragons she had slain and how the Reachers made her into a bear. For a moment she saw him as she had in her dream, the strange vulture-Gaven hopping on the airship deck. She lifted her eyes to look for Jordhan's airship, but instead she found the third dragon, just as it joined a circle of wyrms winging around the sky above the barbarian forces. She tried to count them, but they ducked and weaved around each other, and the moonlight gleaming on their scales wasn't enough for her to distinguish them from each other. She guessed at seven.
As she watched, one by one, the dragons dove from the sky. She braced herself for a renewed assault, but the dragons weren't diving at the Eldeen defenders. They disappeared into the dark forest. A moment later, flames erupted in the darkness. The barbarians' yell grew into a howl, a primal scream that made even the Eldeen bears shift backward nervously, and then Rienne saw them, silhouetted against a curtain of fire behind them.
The dragons had ignited the forest behind the Blasphemer's horde, cutting off any possibility of retreat.
The earth groaned in protest and pain as the dragonfire coursed over it. Kathrik Mel crouched down and placed his palm on the ground. The grass died at his touch, and the earth's outcry grew louder in his ears. He lifted his hand, looked at his fingers, and rubbed away flecks of gray ash from the tips. He drew a slow breath, and the mingled aromas of autumn and smoke turned to rot in his nostrils. He stood, stretched his arms wide, and shouted.
"Forward! Trample their bones into the ground! For Kathrik Mel!"
His warriors took up the cry: "Kathrik Mel! Kathrik Mel!"
He felt the heat of the dragonfire at his back and smiled. The warriors before him were too slow. He spoke a word, and fire leaped around him to lash at their backs, impelling them forward. For a moment he was bathed in fire, and he cackled.
As he strode behind his onrushing horde, he listened to the cries of the earth, searching for the painful harmonies of the Gatekeepers' seal and the stifled chorus behind it. Softly, he began to hum his part of that entropic chorus, a song of madness that would unmake the seal-the song that would soon unmake the world.
Lit by the fire behind them and roaring what she guessed was the proper name of their leader, the barbarians charged into Rienne's whirling storm. They were tall, even the women, towering head and broad shoulders above her-which made it easier for her to move them around, crashing them into each other or throwing them sprawling to the ground where Maelstrom could finish them easily. Black hair fell in matted tangles over their shoulders. The men wore old scars instead of beards, and the women too were disfigured by scars that gave them an almost demonic appearance. Their armor was leather or hide, and most of them used heavy, two-handed maces or axes that left them off-balance after a clumsy but powerful swing.
She could have closed her eyes-she was not seeing, but feeling the rhythm of their approach and their attacks. She dodged and ducked almost effortlessly, and Maelstrom was a blur of steel and blood in the air around her. The barbarian wave crashed upon her and broke against solid rock, unable to move her.
But it could flow around her. She glanced to one side as a great bear roared in pain, and she saw it go down under the press of warriors. Other barbarians were already sweeping over the lines of militia behind her, pushing them back toward the ancient druids' seal. Rienne could hold her ground, perhaps indefinitely, but she would soon be a lone island in a stormy sea, and her defiance would mean nothing. She began a slow retreat, letting the tide carry her closer to the other defenders even as she continued her deadly dance.
She began to see some variety among the onrushing barbarians. She had heard that the Blasphemer united many disparate tribes to form his horde, and she started noticing differences that might be tribal. Some wore the black feathers of carrion birds and proudly bore the sores and scars of plague on their skin. Others wore patches of scaled black hide on their shoulders and thighs, and bone needles pierced through the skin of their cheeks and bare chests. A few had taken the scarification of their faces to an extreme, actually stripping away skin and muscle to expose their teeth in a hideous grin. She even saw a small pack of shifters, presumably traitors from the Eldeen Reaches, since she had never heard of shifters among the Carrion Tribes before.
No matter how many she killed, more kept rushing at her, around her, past her. If they recognized her as a serious threat, they didn't show it-wave after wave of barbarians crashed around her, undaunted by the corpses around her and the dead she left in her wake. They never spoke, except to chant their leader's name with their last living breaths. As more and more of them came at her and died at her feet, a weight descended on her heart. These barbarians-these people were weapons in the warlord's hands, their wills utterly subsumed to his. Could they have stopped fighting if they wanted to? Could they have avoided an obviously superior foe? Were they capable of giving a thought to self-preservation, or were they just animals herded to the slaughter? Rienne was the instrument of their slaughter, and she did not relish the role.
She also, with some shock, realized that she was getting tired. How long had she been fighting? The first dragon, the gold one, had come in the darkness of night, what seemed like hours ago. A hint of morning tinged the sky-had she been fighting all night? Her shoulder burned where the gold dragon's teeth had torn her flesh, and a hundred other cuts and bruises gnawed at the distant ends of her nerves. The barbarians rarely landed a blow on her, but fatigue alone was wearing her down.
Just as that realization settled upon her, two dragons fell from the sky. Barbarians scattered away from her as the dragons-one scaled in blood red, one plated in iron-settled to the ground on either side of her.
"The Blasphemer wants to know," the red one said in a whispering hiss, "why you aren't dead yet."
"The Blasphemer wants you dead," the iron dragon added, rumbling and loud.
Rienne tried to steady herself, calm her pounding heart and relax the muscles clenched in her shoulder and legs. "Then he'll have to kill me himself," she said.
CHAPTER 19
Why all the interest in the Lyrandar?" Thuel demanded. "I always knew Kelas had an interest in the Prophecy of the Dragons," Aunn said. "It seems that was an interest he shared with Nala."
"And he's supposed to play some part in this
prophecy?"
"It makes me dizzy." Aunn stared into the fire in Thuel's office. "Kelas sent me to help get Gaven and Haldren out of Dreadhold. As far as Haldren was concerned, Gaven was important only because he knew so much about the Prophecy. He thought Gaven would help him and Vaskar achieve their goals-get the Eye of Siberys, find the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor, and turn Vaskar into the Storm Dragon. That's not what happened, and somehow I think that's never what Kelas meant to happen. Or Nara."
"What did they intend to happen?"
"I think they always knew that Gaven would become the Storm Dragon."
"And he did."
"Yes."
Thuel folded his arms and looked intently at Aunn. "And what does that mean, exactly?"
Aunn rubbed his temples. He had been talking with Thuel for hours, and he was exhausted. "I'm not entirely sure. I know he came back from the Sky Caves much more powerful than he was before-beyond what I've read about other Siberys heirs of House Lyrandar. He defeated the Soul Reaver at Starcrag Plain, the leader of all the monsters that spilled from the earth there. Then he went to Argonnessen, and ended up at the Dragon Forge, and Kelas stripped his mark from him. I'm afraid I don't know much more than that."
"And Nara wants him for some kind of reunion."
"That's what she said."
"And what does he want to do? What's he doing right now?"
Aunn looked to the window and saw the dark evening sky. He and Thuel had talked long past the time he was supposed to meet Gaven and the others back at the Ruby Chalice. He shot to his feet.
"What's the matter?" Thuel said.
"I was supposed to meet him for dinner, along with Ashara and Cart. I came here to get him some traveling papers."
"Sit down. We're not finished here."
Aunn looked at Thuel, keenly aware of the threat in his voice. He sank back in his chair, wondering what Gaven was doing. "Where's he planning to travel?"
"He wants to go to Stormhome."
Thuel's eyes went wide. "An excoriate and a fugitive? To Stormhome? Why?"
"He and Rienne were separated in Argonnessen. He doesn't know where she is, and he's desperate to find her."
"Why Stormhome?"
"They had magic tokens to transport them back to Stormhome. If she made it back from Argonnessen, she probably went there."
"Interesting. I had a report that she was held briefly in a jail in Thaliost last week."
"What? Really?"
"Yes. Traveling without papers, suspicion of stowing away on a Lyrandar galleon. And of course assisting a fugitive."
"But she was only held briefly?"
Thuel snorted. "House Kundarak and House Lyrandar declined to press charges, and her fines were paid. Very heavy fines were paid."
"Who paid them?"
"A Lyrandar pilot, if I remember correctly."
"Is that all? Do you know anything more? Where they might be now?"
"I haven't received any further word. However, before you get too excited, let me remind you that what Gaven does at this point is a matter of national security. He doesn't have much choice in the matter, and I don't think that having him travel to Thaliost or Stormhome or anywhere else at this moment is in anyone's best interest."
Fear clutched at Aunn's stomach. "What do you intend to do with him?"
"Well, he needs to be off the streets, clearly. He's a danger. We can't have him falling into Nara's hands just yet, or Jorlanna's. Or anyone else's, for that matter."
"He can take care of himself."
"Clearly. Which makes him that much more of a threat." Thuel leaned forward. "Look. I can see that you think of Gaven as a friend. But you can't let friendship interfere with your duty. You know that. I know Kelas taught you."
Aunn stared into the fire again. Evidently Thuel saw more emotion on his face than he was used to showing, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Thuel was right-he did think of Gaven as a friend, perhaps his only friend. Thuel said them much more kindly, but the words were right from Kelas's mouth: "You have no friends. If you love, if you care about anything, you will suffer. You will fail!"
What about Aundair? What about the queen and the crown? He was supposed to love his country and queen, wasn't he? That was why he was here, telling Thuel everything he knew-already, perhaps, betraying his friends.
Yes, that was what Kelas was saying: love queen and country, and everything else comes after. And perhaps in this one thing he was right, Aunn thought. If Gaven had to suffer in order to prevent Jorlanna and Nara from overthrowing Aurala and seizing the crown, shouldn't he be willing to let that happen? Weren't the crown and the people of Aundair-hundreds of thousands of people-more important than Gaven or the bond of friendship they shared?
"Yes," he said at last, a heaviness settling in his chest. "I do know that."
"Good."
"Shall I bring him in?"
"I think not. Tell me where to find him, and I'll send a team. I'm not going to take any chances."
"Don't be a fool," Aunn said. He ignored Thuel's glare and pressed on. "Three dragonmarked houses haven't been able to bring him back to Dreadhold yet. You think three of your spies can capture him where Sentinel Marshals, the Ghorad'din, and House Thuranni's best assassins have failed?"
"Yes, I do," Thuel said, his voice cool. "As I understand it, House Kundarak would have returned him to Dreadhold by now if their ranks hadn't been infiltrated by a spy who helped him escape. And if what you tell me is true, Kelas had him in his grip as well. I suggest you put aside your friendship and your pride and do your damned job." Thuel stood and folded his arms. "Where can we find Gaven?"
"I don't know. I was going to meet him at the Ruby Chalice for dinner, and give him papers, which I haven't had time to make up."
"You needn't worry about that now."
"No, I didn't think so."
"Who is he expecting to see? Does he know what you are?"
"Yes, he knows I'm a changeling. I've been wearing Kelas's face, but he knows this one."
"And how was he planning to reach Stormhome?"
"He hoped to get on a Lyrandar airship in the morning."
"Very good. This interview is concluded. We will resume in the morning, early. And you will remain in this tower until that time."
Aunn got slowly to his feet. "Am I a prisoner, then?"
"Not yet. But if you attempt to leave, I will imprison you. Good night."
Thuel let Aunn make his own way out of his office, but he knew the Spy Master was already issuing orders-his every move within the Tower of Eyes would be watched, and if he tried to leave, he would be stopped. There was no denying it, he was a prisoner. He had some freedom, for now, but it was a precarious and very limited freedom.
What have I done? he thought. I'm sorry, Gaven.
"I don't think he's coming," Ashara said.
Cart leaned forward on the table. "Something must have happened to him."
"So what do we do?" Gaven said. "Head back to the Tower of Eyes and try to rescue him?"
"I think that would be foolish," Cart said. "If he's been discovered, we have no friends there."
"Thunder!" Gaven leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "Nothing's ever simple, is it?"
"No, it never is," Ashara said.
"I have no idea how we would go about finding him," Gaven said. "In the past, he's always found me. How do you find a Royal Eye, or someone who's been captured by the Royal Eyes? Especially when he's a changeling?"
"Shh." Ashara glanced around at the empty tables surrounding them. They had waited in the Ruby Chalice for hours, and the crowd of dinner patrons had long since departed, leaving them alone with the few serious drinkers getting an early start on their late-night revels.
"Maybe we just have to trust that he'll find us again," Cart said. "He has proven himself resourceful enough in the past."
"But what do we do in the meantime?"
Cart shrugged. "Carry on with what we were doing, I suppose."
"How can I do that? Without papers, I can't get to Stormhome. I can't even get a room to sleep in tonight."
"We can get you a room, at least," Ashara said. "Perhaps by morning Aunn will reappear."
"All right, then. Let's go." Gaven pushed his chair back from the table and stood. His body ached, and the thought of spending a full night resting in a real bed suddenly sounded very appealing, even if it meant a sleep haunted by dreams.
Ashara and Cart followed him out of the Ruby Chalice and into the plaza outside. The night air was cold, promising a bitter winter, but the sky was bright. The Ring of Siberys stretched across the southern sky like a glowing golden cloud. The light of half a dozen moons and a thousand brilliant stars washed the plaza in silver light. All around the square, lovers strolled arm in arm, groups of revelers stumbled to their next amusement, and a few travelers emerged from late-arriving Orien coaches.
Gaven's eyes kept drifting to the airship he'd seen earlier, now moored at the tower that defined one end of Chalice Center. Crew members were still moving around on the deck, loading or unloading cargo, checking her for wear. As he looked, a group of three travelers, probably the last passengers to disembark, emerged from the base of the tower. Gaven stopped, his heart suddenly racing. The one in the middle-a woman in flowing silk, a sword stuck through a sash at her waist, long black hair draped over her shoulders-it was Rienne.
If he was to be confined to the Tower of Eyes, Aunn decided to make the best of it. Wearing Kelas's face again, he sat in his old master's study and started reading. A small key in Kelas's pouch opened the drawers in the desk, where he found a few files-precious little, considering Kelas's position and the number of projects he'd been involved in. Either Kelas had more files elsewhere-in a secure vault in the tower, or perhaps in his home-or he'd kept most of his secrets in his mind. Unfortunately for Aunn, the latter seemed more likely.
He found almost nothing written in Kelas's hand-only letters and documents from agents and other contacts, some of them in code. The papers seemed to be organized by author, wrapped in packets of thin leather and bound with string to keep letters from the same agent grouped together. He opened each one, checking the authors of the documents inside. He made a mental list of names to watch for: Nara, of course. Jorlanna, Ashara, or Wheldren. Any of the other conspirators Cart and Ashara had mentioned-Bromas ir'Lain, Kharos Olan, Janna Tolden, or the half-orc from Droaam. Arnoth d'Lyrandar, for Gaven's sake. Or a mysterious, nameless changeling, but he didn't really expect to find anything from the spy he'd faced in Kelas's house, any more than he thought to find a letter or report he'd written himself. Kelas and his agents were smarter than that.
