by James Wyatt
Now she began to wonder whether that destiny really had anything to do with slaying the Blasphemer at all. Perhaps it was more about providing leadership and hope to these people in the aftermath of the utter desolation of their homeland. She could see it on the faces of the people she saw in the camp-the sacredness of the land was part of who they were, their identity as a people. These weren't Aundairians, she realized, though their political independence from Aundair was only forty years old. They were part of the Eldeen Reaches, part of its land, and it was clear from the way they carried themselves and the expressions in their eyes that the devastation of the Blasphemer was a wound from which they might never recover.
To them, she was Lady Dragonslayer-a symbol, she suspected, of resistance to the Blasphemer. His dragons scoured the earth, but she was the slayer of dragons. Perhaps she could be more than that.
Darkness settled over the camp, and Rienne moved among the cookfires and makeshift shelters, offering what expressions of comfort she could muster. The mere fact of her presence seemed to be a help to many of the people she saw, whose faces brightened when she drew near, who stood and pressed food into her hands, or who leaped to their feet and embraced her, shaking with sobs as they clutched her to their hearts. It was humbling, strangely-it seemed that there was something greater than her at work in her, using her body and her voice as a tool to reach and comfort these people. It made her think of the shaman who had tended her in the grove, with the spirit bear beside her, a conduit between the world and the realm of the spirits of the land. Had those primal spirits chosen her as a vessel?
A cry of alarm arose at the western edge of the camp, and Rienne tore herself from a cookfire to investigate. She expected to find the other group of survivors she had spotted, and at first that's all she saw. Then her eyes distinguished a cloud like roiling smoke behind them-a swarm of flying insects pursuing the Reachers as they ran in a panic toward the fires on the hill. Even at such a distance, she could hear the angry droning of the swarm beneath the screams of its victims.
CHAPTER 36
Cart stood in the bakery's doorway and watched Harkin slink off. Harkin shot one bitter glare over his shoulder, then defiantly kept his back to Cart until he rounded a corner and disappeared. Cart stepped aside to let a mother and small child enter the bakery around him, glancing fearfully at him as they passed, but he kept his eyes fixed on the last place he'd seen Harkin until he was satisfied the human wasn't coming back.
He turned to go back into the bakery and found Ashara standing behind him, her cloak wrapped tightly around her.
"Are you finished?" he asked.
"Isn't it obvious? Cart, that really wasn't wise."
Cart turned back in the direction Harkin had gone. "I don't care," he said. "He deserved it."
Ashara started walking, quickly, in the opposite direction. "What does that have to do with it?"
Cart caught up quickly. "Everything. He was being awful. He interrupted me every time I spoke. He was trying to provoke me."
"He does that. But it doesn't mean you have to rise to it."
"And you just let him do it. You were ignoring me, too."
"I wasn't ignoring you."
"You were. Every time I tried to speak, he cut me off and you listened to him. You could have stopped him. You could have asked me what I was going to say. But you let him cut me off, pretend I wasn't there."
"So you threw a tantrum and threw him out the door."
"Yes I did. Why are you defending him?"
"Don't you see? He's going to find that Sentinel Marshal and tell her everything."
"How much does he know?" Cart said. "He sounded like he had no idea what the Dragon Forge was about."
"He probably knows more than he let on, and we told him enough to get us all in trouble."
"So why didn't you tell the Sentinel Marshal the truth in the first place?"
Ashara stopped in her tracks. "Are you crazy?"
Cart stopped as well and faced her. They were drawing stares, though, so he grabbed her arm and walked her farther down the street, whispering as they walked. "She was looking for something she could arrest Jorlanna for. Why not give it to her?"
"I'm not about to tell a Sentinel Marshal and a marked heir of House Kundarak that I helped build an eldritch machine that stripped the dragon-mark off Gaven. They wanted an excuse to arrest Jorlanna, not an excuse to launch a crusade against all of Cannith West."
"A crusade?"
"Punishing Jorlanna wouldn't have been nearly enough. They'd want to lock up everyone involved in that disaster. Including you and me." She shook her head. "Especially me. I'd end up taking the fall and being executed or thrown in Dreadhold, while Jorlanna got a slap on the wrist."
"Executed?" The possibility hadn't occurred to Cart. He slowed his pace.
"Yes!" Ashara stopped and spun to face him again. "Cart, Gaven might say he forgives me, but if he really does, I don't know how he managed it. And all the Houses aren't going to be so quick to forgive a crime like the Dragon Forge. What we did there… can't you grasp the magnitude of it?"
Cart looked into her eyes and saw her fear-the same wild panic that sometimes gripped soldiers on the battlefield when they knew they were trapped. He saw echoes of the nightmares he'd glimpsed, the terror that swept over the sleeping city as the troubled age drew to a close. His eyes fell to trace the lines of the dragonmark on her shoulder. Was her terror at the thought of losing her mark?
"No," he said. "I suppose I can't." He put his hand to her chin and cradled her cheek. "What is it that frightens you so?"
She closed her eyes and nuzzled against his hand, clasping it in both of hers. "Do you love me, Cart?"
The change of topic surprised him, and he wasn't sure how to answer. Her eyes opened, and they were wet with tears.
"Never mind," she said, her face flushed red. She let go of his hand, but he didn't pull it away.
"Ashara," he said. "If I had ever before in my life admitted to loving something or someone, I would have been laughed from the army, mocked by anyone around me. You're the first person who has ever accepted the possibility. If that were all, that would be enough. But there are so many more reasons why I do love you."
She seized his hand again and pressed her lips to his palm. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she smiled between each kiss. "Hold me," she whispered, and he gathered her into his arms.
Her voice came out muffled against his chest. "That canyon was a place of evil, Cart. We should never have gone there, we shouldn't have tried to tap into the power in the crystal there. The forge was evil in its making, evil in its purpose, evil in its use." She sobbed. "We let it out, Cart-I let it out. I'm filthy with the taint of it."
Cart heard again the voice of the Secret Keeper in his mind, a harsh whisper that sapped his will as he walked through the narrow passage to the Dragon Forge.
"You walk boldly to your doom," the presence in shadows whispered. "You think to stand before a power that was already great when Karrn the Conqueror took his first infant steps. Malathar the Damned will consume your body and annihilate your soul."
"It lies," Gaven protested. "Truth would burn its tongue. It's the Keeper of Secrets."
"You think she cares for you? You think she could ever dream of loving you?"
"It's trying to sow despair," Cart said, feeling the despair clutch his chest and squeeze the energy from his body.
"We stopped it," he whispered, stroking her hair with his clumsy metal-bound hand. For a moment he dreamed that he was flesh, like the vision the quori had planted in his mind, and her body was soft and warm against his. In that moment he saw the taint in her, smelled and tasted it on her skin and her soul, and he started to recoil-until he realized that it was in him as well. The revulsion faded, replaced by a new understanding, and he held her closer.
Havrakhad had spoken of the spirit of the age-the unfathomable being at the heart of Dal Quor, the Region of Dreams. The present age had a spirit of malice a
nd darkness, and so many things he saw now as expressions of that spirit: the influence of the Secret Keeper escaping through the Dragon Forge, the barbarians attacking the Eldeen Reaches, the nightmares of the city, Haldren and Kelas's plot against the queen. The turning of the age, Havrakhad said, draws near-and the hope of the kalashtar was that the spirit of that new age would be one of light, il-Yannah, "the Great Light." The darkness could be fought, yes, but even more important were the ways they sought to express the Great Light.
Though his body was wood and metal, fiber and stone, he held Ashara as tenderly as he could manage, clinging to the hope that the love he felt was a bastion against the darkness that threatened to overwhelm her.
Gaven glared at the priest, who wore an expression of smug self-satisfaction. "She told you to let us go," he snarled.
"The sons and daughters of Aerenal will do nothing to impede your departure," the priest said.
"Except keep me busy with questions while someone fetches the watch. I hope you enjoy your next conversation with your ancestor."
The soldiers, though, seemed reluctant to approach. Aunn had his mace in his hand and faced them warily, so Gaven slid the sword off his back.
"Give yourselves up!" one of the soldiers ventured, clutching his own sword in a trembling hand. He was a human man of maybe twenty with a long scar down his face, perhaps a mark of the Last War-or of some back-alley scuffle. The other soldier, an older human woman, shot him an incredulous glance.
"You seem to have some inkling what you're up against," Aunn said calmly. "I suggest you leave us in peace. You can tell your officers that we were gone when you arrived."
The older soldier looked as though she were considering the offer, but her eyes went to the two elves who would certainly complain to the watch and contradict that lie. The young man shouted back, "I suggest you surrender. Give yourselves up to justice!"
Gaven scratched his cheek, listening to the patter of rain in the courtyard outside. "We don't want to fight you," he said, "and it's clear you don't want to fight us, either."
"You were warned about us," Aunn said, advancing slowly. "Who told you? What did they say?"
The soldiers exchanged a glance, then the woman spoke up. "The Royal Eyes issued warnings about both of you. They said you killed some people in the Tower of Eyes, and he killed some spies in Chalice Center. Right in the open."
"I didn't kill anyone in the Tower of Eyes," Aunn muttered. "But I should have."
They were close enough now that Gaven could see past the soldiers and out into the courtyard, where rain was splattering against the cobblestones.
"No, I'm the killer here," Gaven said. "Once the storm gets started, it's hard to stop it. Look outside, it's already raining."
The soldiers stepped back at that. Clearly they had heard how the spies in Chalice Center met their end.
Even as the soldiers retreated, though, Gaven saw two other figures enter the courtyard at a run, then slow as they splashed into the puddles already forming among the cobblestones. The one in front was a tall woman in a leather coat, wearing chainmail beneath it, a rapier at her belt. Lagging a few paces behind was a dwarf in a scarlet shirt.
"It's the Kundarak," he said to Aunn.
"And it looks like she has a new friend," Aunn noted.
"Too bad. I rather liked Bordan."
Aunn shrugged. "So much for getting out of here without a fight."
The two women hurried across the courtyard. At the bottom of the stairs, the human looked up and took in the scene.
"Fairhaven watch!" she cried out. "Stand down, by order of the Sentinel Marshals!"
The soldiers looked relieved, and immediately backed away from Gaven and Aunn, afraid to turn their backs but not too proud to retreat. Gaven followed them outside to the top of the stairs. The rain was cold, but it soothed his skin.
"Thank you, Sentinel Marshal," he said, resting his greatsword on his shoulder. Thunder boomed overhead, and Gaven felt a thrill pass through his body. His dragonmark was gone-stolen, now-but the storm was willing to answer his call again. He was still the Storm Dragon, he realized.
"Don't thank me, vermin," the Sentinel Marshal said. "I was only trying to protect them."
"I'm grateful you got them out of the way before the storm grew too violent." Lightning flashed across the sky, casting strange shadows across the plaza.
"Gaven," the dwarf rumbled. "I suspected I'd find you here."
"You're quite persistent, Kundarak, I have to grant you that. But my position hasn't altered since we last met in Stormhome: You're wasting your time chasing me. And you don't have Rienne to take hostage this time."
"Don't I?"
A bolt of lightning struck the roof of the temple as fury surged in Gaven's heart. "You have her? Where is she?"
"I don't have her," Ossa said, "but I know where she is."
"Oh!" Aunn exclaimed from behind him. "I'm sorry, Gaven, I forgot to tell you-Rienne was briefly imprisoned in Thaliost last week."
"Imprisoned in Thaliost?"
"She left with a Lyrandar pilot who paid her fines."
Ossa scowled, and Gaven suspected that Aunn had just told him all the information that Ossa had hoped to use as a bargaining chip. So Rienne was with Jordhan. The sky rumbled with his pang of jealousy, but he felt relief as well, knowing that she had safely returned from Argonnessen and escaped whatever prison she'd been in.
The Sentinel Marshal was a few steps up the stairs, with Ossa right behind. "Gaven, excoriate of House Lyrandar," the Marshal said, "by authority of House Deneith, I place you under arrest for murder. I suggest you come without a fight, rather than adding to your crimes."
"Oh, so you make that suggestion out of concern for me?" Gaven said. "Not out of fear for your life?"
"My concern is that justice is done."
"Whose justice?"
The Sentinel Marshal looked perplexed, like the question made no sense to her.
"Enough of this bluster and boasting!" Ossa bellowed, tromping up a few more steps.
"I told you before, Kundarak-you can't handle me." Lightning slashed across the sky to emphasize his point, and thrilled in Gaven's veins.
The dwarf stopped in her tracks, staring at Gaven's face and neck, bewilderment on her face. "Your dragonmark," she said. "It's… not just covered up."
A dragonmark was a difficult thing to hide, partly because the pattern was typically raised above the level of the surrounding skin, and partly because using its power made it stand out even more, and typically melted away makeup used to cover it. Gaven had never tried to cover his, but as large as it had been, he doubted he would have had any success. Now, of course, his mark was gone, though the storm clearly still flowed in his blood-and the skin of his neck and chest burned furiously as the lightning flashed overhead.
"No, it's gone," Gaven snapped. "But that won't stop me from blasting you to the Outer Darkness if you take another step closer."
To Gaven's surprise, Ossa held up her hands, and even the Sentinel Marshal dropped one step back.
"What do you mean, your dragonmark is gone?" the Sentinel Marshal said quietly.
"I mean that House Cannith, House Thuranni, Arcanix, and the Royal Eyes of Aundair built a device that stripped the dragonmark off my skin." Thunder rumbled as he descended one more step. "They put it into a bloodshard and channeled its power into a storm that brought the siege of Varna to a speedy end. But I understand I'm a threat to society, so you'd better get me back to Dreadhold."
Lightning struck the steps right next to him, sending the Sentinel Marshal staggering backward, stumbling on the stairs.
"If you can take me!"
Another bolt crashed to the ground between the two women, tossing them aside. Ossa rolled quickly back on her feet, but the Marshal was slower to stand.
"Gaven!" Aunn's voice was right at his shoulder, and he felt the changeling's hand on his arm. Power surged in Gaven's blood, thunder rumbled in the sky and shook the ground, but he
bit back a thunderclap that would have thrown Aunn back away from him.
"Give them a chance to talk," Aunn said.
The Sentinel Marshal was in a crouch, her empty palms turned out to Gaven, her rapier on the ground a few feet away. Ossa, too, had her hands well away from the weapon at her belt, as her eyes continued to search Gaven's skin for any sign of his mark.
"So talk!" Gaven shouted.
"Where was this device?" Ossa said, glancing at the Sentinel Marshal.
"Near the Blackcaps."
"I knew it!" the dwarf exclaimed.
"And House Cannith built it-Cannith West?" the Sentinel Marshal asked. "With help from all the others you mentioned? Arcanix and the Royal Eyes-and House Thuranni?"
"Yes," Gaven said.
"Not exactly," Aunn interjected. "One officer of the Royal Eyes was involved, but he's dead now. And I don't know how involved House Thuranni was."
"And that officer died in the… catastrophic failure of the device?" Ossa said. Gaven couldn't read her expression, but there was more she wasn't saying.
"We destroyed the Dragon Forge," Gaven said, "but Kelas met his end earlier."
"Who from House Cannith was involved?" the Sentinel Marshal asked.
"A whole platoon of magewrights," Aunn said quickly. He was trying to hide Ashara's involvement, Gaven realized.
"But what about the baron? Was Jorlanna aware of it?"
"I saw her there once," Aunn said. "She demonstrated the device to the queen."
Ossa and the Sentinel Marshal shared an excited glance. "We have her!" the Marshal exclaimed.
Ossa grinned. "We've got them all."
CHAPTER 37
Aunn stepped in front of Gaven, hoping the storm might calm if Aunn took the reins of the conversation and let Gaven cool his head.
