by James Wyatt
She laughed again, feigning delight at his words, but he saw it in her eyes. She realized exactly what he'd just told her: someone else was already carrying on Kelas's plans. Frustrated, he walked out the door before turning back to Janna.
"Listen," he said. "As a Royal Eye, I promised to give my life in service of the queen. Her Majesty is hardly blameless in all that's happened, but I will not stand by and watch a thousand years of Wynarn rule get tossed aside so she can be replaced with the likes of Jorlanna d'Cannith, Arcanist Wheldren, and you. If you continue to pursue Kelas's schemes, you will make me your enemy."
Janna's smile became a wolfish grin. "Oh no," she sneered. "Perhaps you'll bore me to death with your speeches."
Anger boiled in his chest, and he suddenly couldn't believe he'd ever harbored a pleasant thought about this woman. "Don't underestimate me," he said. "Kelas didn't die in the storm at the Dragon Forge-he died at my hand."
"Was that a threat? Why not fight me now, Aunn?" She stepped around the desk, sword at the ready. "I'm not going to turn back. I'll find the others, and together we'll finish what Kelas started. Are you going to stop me?"
Aunn pulled his mace from his belt. "I am."
Her demeanor changed so quickly that he thought for a moment he was facing the changeling after all, but it was still Janna before him-the laughing, flirtatious Janna of a moment before. She toyed with the hilt of her sword as she took a step toward him, looking coyly up at him.
"But why?" she said. "Why do you care so much for the queen? Why cling to your old loyalties when Aundair could be so much more?"
Aunn knew she was trying to distract him as she advanced within reach of him, but whether she meant to or not, she had struck a nerve. He had admitted it himself-the queen was not blameless in this whole affair. She hadn't ordered the construction of the Dragon Forge, but she had willingly accepted its use in destroying Varna. She had been goaded into attacking the Eldeen Reaches-largely through his own actions-but she had only done what she had always wanted to do. The barbarian invasion just gave her a pretext. In short, the queen was already a pawn of the forces that wanted control of the nation, which begged the question of why Nara wanted to overthrow her at all. Why replace a government she already controlled with an illegitimate government that would draw the ire of the rest of Khorvaire?
Only two possible answers made sense. One possibility was that Nara wanted to reignite the Last War, probably believing that Aundair could win it this time-that a new ruler could govern not just Aundair but all of Khorvaire. That had been Haldren's goal, after all, and when Janna spoke of Kelas's vision for a glorious Aundair, he suspected that's what she had in mind.
But if that was what everybody seemed to believe, then in all likelihood the other possibility was the real truth: it was all about the Prophecy-which, as always, made his head spin. But he was finally beginning to glimpse the still center of that whirlwind.
Janna watched his face with evident interest, as if she was trying to guess the thoughts running through his mind. She was close enough to strike with her blade, but she hadn't yet, perhaps waiting for some kind of answer to her question.
It was Aunn's turn to laugh. "You won't sway me, Janna. Kelas's vision wasn't what you think it was. Pore though his papers-see if you find anything about the Prophecy, or any clue who he was working for. I'll bet you won't. Go ahead and chase the dream he sold you, and play right into their hands."
Janna's brow furrowed. "Whose hands?"
"When you figure that out, you find me." Aunn turned his back on her and strode back around the corner, down the main passage, up the stairs, and out of the cathedral.
CHAPTER 27
Slowly, Cart began to understand.
Havrakhad spoke in his mind, words that soothed and guided him. He saw visions amid the explosions of golden light that replaced his sight-visions of memory and history, portent and nightmare. His mind was a stormy sea of emotion-raw terror, exultation, steely determination, love-but Havrakhad's voice coaxed him up above the storm, to float above the waves and ride them through the tumult. It was no different, really, from the discipline of a soldier, fighting on despite the fear and pain, careful not to be carried away by the surge of joy that came with each small victory.
He couldn't express or explain what he came to understand, but he knew that it left him changed.
"Listen carefully, Cart," Havrakhad said to him at last. It had been hours-he had no idea how many hours. "In a moment, I will remove the quori's eye from your mind. But before I do that, I have to restore your own sight. When I do, you must not turn and look at me. You must not. It will try to make you turn, but you must resist. Use what you have learned, and resist it."
"I understand."
"Not yet, but you begin to. Are you ready?"
"Wait. Where's Ashara?"
"I'm here." Her murmur came from across the room. She sounded sleepy. What had she been doing while Havrakhad was in his mind? Cart realized he had no idea.
"Will you sit beside me?" he asked.
He heard rustling and her soft footsteps, then she sank onto the couch beside him and put a hand on his arm.
"Are you ready?" Havrakhad repeated.
Cart nodded slowly.
"Then open your eyes."
He felt Havrakhad's hand at the back of his neck, and then his vision returned like a slow dawning. He saw Havrakhad's apartment, spare and clean, washed in morning light filtered through gauzy curtains over the windows. Ashara leaned into his view and smiled at him.
He had to turn and see Havrakhad. He knew-with all his being he knew-that if he turned, he would see not the beautiful man he knew as Havrakhad, but a monster veiled in flesh. Everything about Havrakhad was a lie. He fumbled for his axe, ready to turn around and strike the monster down.
"Cart?" Ashara was still holding his arm, looking up at him with worry on her face. Her hair was a tousled mess, and her eyes were swollen from sleep.
She's in league with him, he thought. Panic seized his mind, and he crouched, ready to whirl and confront the monster.
"Use what you have learned, and resist it."
Cart stopped and straightened his legs. He felt the panic in his mind, but he rose above it-he observed it and then discarded it. He felt Havrakhad's fingers on his head, probing gently into his mind, and the panic slowly subsided.
Then another jolt of pain stabbed through his head, and the fear and doubt were gone. "It's gone," he said.
"Yes." Havrakhad came around the couch and into his field of vision. He looked more exhausted than Ashara did, but he smiled. "You did well."
"Thank you," Cart said, then he looked back at Ashara. "And thank you as well."
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her head against his chest. He encircled her in his arms and held her.
"I'm sorry," Cart told Havrakhad. "We'll go, and let you rest." Cart stood and lifted Ashara to her feet.
"Il-Yannah shines in you, Cart," Havrakhad said, walking them to the door. "Not in your axe or the strength of your arms."
Cart nodded and clasped the kalashtar's hand, Ashara gave a slight bow, and they stepped out into the stairwell of the apartment building. Ashara sighed and took his arm, and they walked together down the stairs.
"Where to now?" Ashara said.
"Do you need more sleep?"
"No. I slept just about the whole time we were there."
"How long was that?"
"All night. What did he do to you?"
"He taught… or showed me-" Cart shrugged. "He opened my eyes."
"After he blinded you."
"Hm." That was literally true, but at a different level, Cart felt like he had never learned to see before he met Havrakhad.
"So what now?"
"How about some breakfast?"
"What an excellent idea. I know just the place."
"Then lead the way."
Ashara held his arm as they walked away from the apartment building with its str
eaming banners and back in the general direction of Chalice Center. When they left the narrow residential streets and walked along more crowded roadways, though, Cart noticed hostile stares directed at them. Ashara didn't seem to mind, but Cart was uneasy. He patted her hands on his arm, then gently extricated himself from her grasp.
"Who cares what they think?" Ashara said.
Cart didn't want to look at her, so he let his gaze range over the wide street, with its row of trees down the center, bare as winter drew near. "In my experience, I find it better to avoid giving offense than to deal with angry people. Especially when they get violent."
"Violent? Because I'm holding your arm?"
"People get violent when I walk into their favorite tavern. Or because I'm on the wrong side of the street. Or because someone's brother died in the war and somehow I'm responsible. People don't need good reasons to be unreasonable."
Ashara laughed at his choice of words, and Cart hung his head. She could take the matter lightly, because she had never known the reality of life as a warforged. Quite the contrary-as an heir of House Cannith, she had enjoyed the servitude of the House's warforged creations for most of her life. She could still rightly command Cart's loyalty, as much as she wanted him to think of her as a friend.
She tried to take his arm again, but he pulled away. They walked in silence the rest of the way to Ashara's choice of breakfast locations-a bakery in Chalice Center. Cart didn't notice its name.
Cart sat with his arms folded across his chest and watched Ashara eat. The sting of her laughter was fading, and he was trying to remind himself to rise above it, to observe the storm of his emotions without being carried away by it. He liked watching people eat, except when they ate things that didn't seem to fit in the category of food-clams, mushrooms, potatoes. He particularly liked the way the muscles of Ashara's jaw flexed as she chewed, and the obvious pleasure on her face as she licked the dusting of cinnamon and sugar from her fingertips.
Her smile vanished as her eyes fell on something behind him, by the door. The smile returned a moment later, but different, perhaps forced. Cart heard footsteps behind him.
"Hello, Harkin," Ashara said.
Cart turned in his seat to see the blond Cannith heir standing behind him. He didn't return Ashara's smile.
"I thought I might find you here." Harkin seized a chair from another table and sat between them.
"What do you mean?" Ashara asked. "We were going to meet for luncheon."
"You were quite the scandal in Fairhaven this morning, walking arm in arm with your warforged like lovers."
Ashara's face turned crimson. "Why is it anyone's business what we do?"
Harkin laughed. "It's not, but that won't stop them from talking. Particularly when they can see the dragonmark on your arm. I understand the baron is in a fury."
"Jorlanna has already excoriated me. What else can she do?"
"You really don't know what you're in the middle of, do you?"
"Why don't you spell it out for me, Harkin?"
"Very well, Ashara. Jorlanna has decided to cast aside the Korth Edicts and swear allegiance to the queen, turning her part of House Cannith into an Aundairian noble family and its enclave into a Ministry of Artifice, responsible for producing armaments for the crown."
"I'm well aware of what Jorlanna has done," Ashara said.
Cart nodded. When the first King Galifar united the Five Nations under his rule, he signed accords with the leaders of the dragonmarked houses that prevented such close ties between the houses and the crown, but in the chaos of the Last War those agreements had grown increasingly tenuous.
"Of course you are." Harkin sneered. "But fourteen other dragonmarked barons are watching very carefully. Some of them have been stretching or outright breaking the Korth Edicts for years. There's no way Lyrandar's operations in Valenar are legal-they have a standing army there, and a fleet of flying warships. Aurala even married an heir of House Vadalis-and now she's gone and destroyed the city Vadalis calls home. No wonder some of the Houses are very nervous about what could happen if Aurala or some other sovereign starts getting ideas. House Orien's headquarters are down in Passage, and I know they're worried that Aurala's going to annex them next. More than any other House, Orien needs to be able to operate across national borders-that's the whole point of the Mark of Passage, right?"
"What are you getting at, Harkin?"
Harkin leaned over the table. "There's a war brewing, Ashara, and we're right in the middle of it."
"The barbarians? What-"
"Not the barbarians. The Houses. Look around you. House Cannith is about to split like Phiarlan and Thuranni did, if it hasn't already. The rest of the Houses are lining up on one side or the other, some trying to preserve the Korth Edicts, the rest trying to continue tearing them down until the dragonmarked rule Khorvaire."
Cart shifted in his seat. Harkin's words rang true, and Cart suspected that this dragonmarked war ranged farther than Harkin was aware. Did he know about the Dragon Forge and Phaine's involvement in it?
"Where does House Thuranni stand in all this?" Cart asked.
Ashara looked at him thoughtfully, but Harkin seemed annoyed at his intrusion. "They haven't made their position known," he said.
"You're thinking of Phaine," Ashara said. Cart nodded. "He was part of Jorlanna's plan, but that doesn't mean his whole house was involved."
"Phaine?" Harkin said. "A Thuranni?"
"Yes," Ashara said, still looking at Cart.
Harkin snorted. "If one Thuranni is involved, you can be sure their baron knows about it."
"But why was he involved?" Cart asked. He was trying to piece it together in his mind, but he felt as much adrift as he had when he was working with Haldren-caught up in political games far beyond his expertise. The night before, in the Ruby Chalice, Gaven and Ashara had been talking about what might happen if the dragonshard ended up in Phaine's hands. Perhaps, he thought, House Thuranni sought to undermine House Lyrandar, or maybe they hoped to build more Dragon Forges and steal marks from all the Houses. He wasn't sure if that had anything to do with the Korth Edicts, though. And he didn't want to talk about it in front of Harkin.
Ashara seemed to share his reluctance, which made him strangely glad. She reached across the table and took Cart's hand. "I still don't see what this has to do with me and Cart."
Harkin looked down at their hands as if he were regarding a dead thing on his plate. "Don't you? Aurala and Jorlanna have just thrown the Korth Edicts out the window. The vigilant protectors of the Korth Edicts are the Sentinel Marshals of House Deneith. Or, as some people like to say, House Deneith uses the Marshals to make sure that nobody else violates the Edicts by creating an army that could challenge Deneith. So the Sentinel Marshals are looking for a way to interfere with Jorlanna, to get Cannith West back where it belongs-in a private enclave, and out of the government."
Cart shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Sentinel Marshals. At Haldren's command, he had attacked the Sentinel Marshal who captured Senya. That was not one of his proudest moments.
"There's a marshal in town right now," Harkin continued, "quietly asking questions about this whole affair, and by now I expect she's heard quite an earful about the Cannith heir seen walking through the streets this morning, hanging on the arm of a warforged. The key question, I think, is whether she knows that the baron declared you excoriate. If she doesn't, she might try to use you to trap Jorlanna. If she does, she might be asking for your help."
"I don't want to talk to a Sentinel Marshal." Ashara groaned.
Harkin smirked. "That, my dear, is why you should have kept a lower profile this morning. Now, it's too late. The Sentinel Marshal I spoke of has just walked into this bakery."
Ashara looked at the door, over Cart's shoulder, and her eyes widened. Cart turned in his seat and saw them as well. A tall human woman wearing gleaming chainmail beneath a leather overcoat, resting a hand on the basket hilt of a rapier, cast her eyes around
the room until they fell on Cart. She gestured to her companion, a female dwarf whose scarlet silk shirt provided stark contrast to her deep brown skin, and the two of them made their way to the table where Cart and Ashara sat.
CHAPTER 28
Senya tucked her feet under her and smiled. "So why did you come here?" she asked.
Gaven leaned back in his chair and sighed. Why had he come? "I'm not sure, actually."
"Really?" Senya shifted forward slightly. She wasn't mocking him-she seemed genuinely intrigued.
"Well, I got to thinking about what your ancestor said to me in Shae Mordai. 'The third time, you will finally find what you seek.'"
Senya nodded. "'Twice you have come to me now,' she said. You never did explain that."
"The first time, it wasn't me. A dragon disguised in human form went with Mendaros to see your ancestor."
"What? If it wasn't you…"
"That dragon's memories took root in my mind. That's why-well, basically that's why I went to Dreadhold. So when you took me before your ancestor, she recognized the dragon in my mind. That was the second time."
"The dragon's second time."
Gaven frowned. "Sort of." It didn't make sense, as he thought about it. The dragon had visited Senya's ancestor once, four or five hundred years ago. If Gaven's visit was the second time, then the ancestor had been talking about the dragon, not Gaven. Perhaps he'd been fooling himself to think that Senya's ancestor could give him anything he sought.
"So that's why you asked about Mendaros," Senya said.
"Yes. When we were in Shae Mordai, I was overwhelmed with the memory of being there before, walking up those stairs with Mendaros beside me. I remembered him as a good friend."
"A good friend to a dragon. Hence his disgrace in our family."
"Yes. You said that he opened the door for an invasion of dragons."
"He did. I have learned more about him in the last few months, if you're interested."
Gaven leaned forward. "Quite interested. Please."
