Dragon war dp-3

by James Wyatt

  At night, he watched her sleep in the soft bed, but he kept his axe and shield in hand, standing guard-unnecessarily, he thought, given the importance that House Ghallanda placed on the security of its guests. But on the sixth morning of their stay, when three warforged barged into the room, he was glad he was there to block their entry.

  "Cannith excoriate," one of the intruders said, "surrender and appear before your baron."

  The other two, meanwhile, forced Cart back into the room at sword-point. He gripped his axe and shield, but they circled around him, forcing him to retreat if he wanted to keep them both in his field of vision.

  "Jorlanna has grown desperate indeed," Ashara said, "if she's willing to draw the ire of House Ghallanda as well as the Sentinel Marshals." She stood on the bed, her hair tousled from sleep, clutching a blanket around her out of a sense of modesty that Cart found oddly endearing in the circumstances.

  "The baron will not long have anything to fear from the Houses," the warforged said. He edged toward Ashara, keeping clear of Cart and the other two warforged. Cart considered breaking away from the two that engaged him and charging the leader, but he decided to wait. He didn't want to start fighting until it was clearly necessary.

  "Except perhaps her Kundarak guards in Dreadhold," Ashara said. She was doing something with her hands-Cart realized suddenly that the blanket might not have anything to do with modesty after all. He started calculating his rush at the leader, though he wasn't sure what Ashara would do and how it might alter the battlefield.

  "This is foolish," Cart said. "You three can't take us alone."

  To make his point, he lunged at the warforged on his right, swinging his axe where his opponent could easily block the blow. As he expected, the other warforged brought his sword into a basic parry but at an awkward angle, and Cart's blow knocked the sword from his grip. Without looking behind him, Cart heaved his shield back, where it collided with the other soldier's weapon and sent it flying. He planted his foot on the first one's sword and brought his axe around to rest on the shoulder of the other.

  It was over in seconds, giving the leader no time to react. He stared at Cart, his face unreadable, but his paralysis a sure sign of fear.

  Ashara pulled a short rod from beneath the blanket and touched it to the leader's back. "And now that you know who's in command here," she said, "you will take us to see the baron after all."

  "Well, we finally saw Thuel Racannoch," Mauren said, sliding down the bench of the private booth to make room for Ossa.

  "And?" Aunn asked.

  "Like much of the last week, it was frustrating and not at all productive."

  "What did he say?"

  "He said nothing at all," Ossa said, scowling, "in a great many words. Full of bluster and bile."

  Mauren shrugged. "He said that our investigation overstepped the authority of the Sentinel Marshals, that a plot against the queen-if one existed-would be an internal Aundairian matter and none of our damned business."

  "That… doesn't sound like Thuel," Aunn said. "Bluster and bile? I've seen Thuel angry, but those aren't words I'd use to describe it."

  "I'd say they're accurate enough," Mauren said. "He insulted me enough that I might have arrested him, but I didn't want to create any more trouble than we're already in. Oh, and then there was the leering."

  "Leering?"

  Mauren rolled her eyes.

  Ossa gave a harsh laugh. "He couldn't take his eyes off her. I thought at one point he might drool on her."

  "Now I'm sure that wasn't Thuel," Aunn said. Thuel was refined and polite, a gentleman in every way-even when he was angry. "It was probably Vec."

  Mauren raised her eyebrows. "You think Thuel is dead?"

  "Almost certainly. Vec would have to be a fool to impersonate the Spy Master of the Royal Eyes in his own office if the Spy Master were still alive to get wind of it. Well, in case there was any doubt before, I guess that makes it quite clear that I can't go back to the Tower of Eyes."

  "And it means we can't rely on any help from them, either," Mauren said.

  "Neither can the queen," Ossa added. "If the assassin's posing as the head of the Royal Eyes, he doesn't even need the distraction of a battle to get into the palace."

  "I wouldn't bet on that," Aunn said. "There are enough magical wards protecting the palace that he'd probably be revealed before he got close enough to hurt her."

  "So the plan probably remains in place," Mauren said. "The mercenaries attack, and that's when Vec strikes."

  "And so the question remains-when?"

  Mauren leaned over the table. "In your conversations with Nara, she said nothing?"

  The details of his conversations with Nara were a blur in his mind, all but erased by the stress of the encounters, pretending to be Kelas and acting as though he had some idea what Nara was talking about. "She did say something," he said, grasping for the memory. "About how I should lock Gaven away, because he needed to be in place when the time was right."

  "That's all she said? 'When the time is right?'"

  "For the reunion, she said."

  "What reunion?" Ossa said. "Is she planning a gathering of those who are loyal to her?"

  "No, wait," Aunn said. "Gaven said something about the reunion-there was something in the Prophecy." He closed his eyes and let the memory rise to the surface. "'In the darkest night of the Dragon Below, storm and dragon are reunited.' And he said the Time of the Dragon Below was beginning now, or a couple of weeks ago."

  "So what's the darkest night?" Mauren asked.

  "It doesn't matter," Aunn said. As much as he hated trying to wrap his mind around the intricacies of the Prophecy, it seemed to be drawing him along its twisted pathways. "The reunion had something to do with Gaven arriving in Varna. Remember? Gaven said as much before he left."

  Mauren scowled. "So?"

  "Gaven will probably arrive in Varna in the next day or two-he's been traveling almost two weeks. Whatever the darkest night of the Dragon Below might be, that's when it's going to happen. And I'm certain that Nara is planning some kind of grand conjunction of historical events, sending the assassin to strike at Aurala at the same moment the Storm Dragon confronts the Blasphemer. That's the moment we're looking for."

  Ossa clapped her hands together. "I'll contact House Sivis and see if there's any news of a battle near Varna. Last I heard, Aundair's troops were pulling back toward the remains of the city."

  Aunn nodded. Besides scribing arcane marks and official documents, House Sivis also operated a network of magical communication, so they would be the first to know of an impending battle anywhere in Khorvaire. He got to his feet.

  "The time is close, I'm sure of it," he said.

  CHAPTER 41

  Cart and Ashara walked behind the three warforged, leaving no question who was in command of the little procession. All three of the Cannith warforged were unarmed, their weapons on the floor back in the Ghallanda hostel. Cart's axe was at his belt to avoid drawing too much of the wrong kind of attention as they walked through the city, but his hand was never far from its haft, in case one of the warforged tried anything. But they were back to their docile, obedient manner, in the presence of a Cannith heir who had the power-if not the legitimate authority-to command them, and they walked to the Cannith forgehold without ever looking back at him or Ashara.

  Ashara seemed confident, but beyond a hastily whispered assurance that it would be all right, she hadn't had a chance to explain why they were marching willingly into the stronghold of their worst enemy. They had been in the forgehold once already, and it had been all Aunn could do to get them out without turning Ashara over into the baron's custody. Cart was not eager to return, but he trusted that Ashara knew what she was doing.

  They reached the forgehold, spewing its black smoke into the sky. The leader of the warforged pounded a metal fist on the door, and Cart heard the whir of locks and sliding bolts before the door creaked open. Fear surged in his chest, but Ashara quelled it wi
th a smile. The warforged leader looked back at them for the first time, Ashara nodded, and they all strode into the forgehold together.

  A murmur traveled through the forgehold as they entered, and even the din of machinery and working hammers seemed to fade as magewrights and warforged ceased their work to stare down at the excoriate who so boldly entered the enclave of her angry baron. Cart stared around at the angry faces of the Cannith heirs throughout the large room-and the blank expressions of the warforged.

  "What god watches over my people, Gaven?" Cart asked as he stared down into the gaping maw of the stone dragon, the bridge to Siberys. "Which Sovereign has our interests at heart?"

  "Are there gods for each race and people?" Gaven said. "Doesn't the whole Host keep watch over us all?"

  "Perhaps. But the gods made all the other races. We were made by artificers and magewrights. Does Onatar then care for us, the god of the forge? Or perhaps the warlord Dol Dorn, since we were made for war? Or do they see us as many mortals do-simply as tools for war? There is no god of swords or siege engines. Perhaps there is no god for us."

  "You want to be one, then?" Gaven asked. "What would you do as god of the warforged? Would you urge them into war?"

  No, Cart thought as he looked around at the blank faces of the Cannith warforged, I would urge them to love.

  "Ashara!" Jorlanna emerged from a workshop somewhere above and leaned over the rail of a balcony that encircled the great room.

  Cart found the sight amusing. The only other time he'd seen Jorlanna, she had sat at Kelas's table like a dignitary, clothed in finery, her hair carefully sculpted to rise from her head in an elegant design. Now she wore comfortable, practical clothes beneath a thick leather apron and boots. She pulled heavy gloves from her hand as she looked down, and pushed wayward strands of hair from her soot-blackened face. The Mark of Making on her cheek said it all-for all her aspirations to nobility, even royalty, she was born to the forge, destined to make.

  "Good morning, Jorlanna," Ashara said, pointedly ignoring the proper way to address the head of a dragonmarked House. "Cart and I were delighted to receive your invitation. It's nice to be here again. I do hope you're serving breakfast."

  "Oh, Ashara." The baron seemed genuinely distraught, making Cart wonder what the real purpose of this audience was. "Let me come down and see you."

  Jorlanna disappeared from the balcony. Ashara glanced at Cart, looking as perplexed as Cart felt. He shrugged, then the baron reappeared at an archway to their left.

  "What a terrible mess this has become," Jorlanna said as she strode toward them. "I would so much rather be working with you than against you in all this."

  "Perhaps you should have considered that before declaring her excoriate," Cart said.

  Jorlanna shot Cart an irritated glance, then looked back at Ashara. "So this is the warforged I hear so much about. It should know its place, Ashara."

  Cart drew himself up and stepped closer to the baron, interposing himself between her and Ashara. "I do know my place, Baron. According to the Treaty of Thronehold I am a free citizen of Aundair, an honored veteran of the Last War, and worthy of the same rights and privileges afforded to every other sentient and civilized race."

  "Perhaps it escaped your notice, warforged, but the Treaty of Thronehold is no longer upheld in Aundair, and the provisions you mention will be among the first things to change in the new Aundair."

  "The new Aundair is a pitiful delusion, Baron."

  "Ashara." Jorlanna stepped around Cart and took Ashara's hands, a strangely intimate gesture. "That Sentinel Marshal has arrested Harkin."

  Cart watched Ashara's reaction carefully, and he was pleased to see not a hint of concern for her former lover. "What of it?" she said. "I expect you'll be next."

  "Me? Ashara, I'm concerned for you."

  "You're concerned." Ashara's disbelief dripped from her voice.

  "Yes." Jorlanna's voice revealed just a hint of steel. "Harkin knows just enough about the Dragon Forge to get you in serious trouble."

  "Is that a threat?" Cart said, putting a heavy hand on the baron's shoulder.

  Jorlanna turned and fixed him with an icy glare. "Unhand me."

  "Funny, that's just what Harkin said to me. And here's what I told him." Cart raised his voice, enough to ensure that every warforged in the room could hear him. "I have this House to thank for my existence, it's true. I was birthed in the womb of your forges. Are you then my mother? If so, you sold your offspring into servitude, to Aundair's army, where I learned to be a soldier, to do my duty. I owe you nothing-you have already been paid for the work you did to bring me into the world. The debts I owe are debts of true gratitude-to the people who have gradually driven the idea through my very hard head that I am a person worthy of respect, of friendship, and even of love."

  Ashara took his hand, and Cart heard gasps of outrage from some of the onlookers.

  "I am not an automaton," he continued, ignoring Jorlanna's furious glare. "I was made for war, just as you were made for making. But that is not all I am. Like you, I am capable of courage, of hope and dreaming, of loyalty, of fear and hatred, and of love. And until you realize that you are lording it over a forge full of people like me, you rule a very precarious domain."

  He let go of Jorlanna's shoulder, and the baron whirled around in a fury, fixing every magewright and warforged in the room with her glare. "Listen and heed me," she said. "I will not tolerate insubordination, not from marked heirs of House Cannith, not from anyone associated with the House, and not from the warforged we made."

  Ashara squeezed Cart's hand. "Let's go," she said, smiling up at him.

  "Goodbye, Baron," Cart said with a hint of a bow.

  "Ashara," Jorlanna said, anger seething in her voice, "I have not finished with you yet."

  Ashara half-turned as they walked toward the door. "You are finished, Jorlanna. All your building has come to ruin."

  Nearing the door, Cart kept an eye on the three warforged who'd been sent to bring them here. They were still unarmed, but for a moment he thought they might try to block their exit.

  Instead, they parted-the leader to one side, the other two to the other. Beyond them, Cart saw Mauren and Ossa striding toward the forgehold, coming at last to make their arrest. Cart nodded his thanks to the war-forged, and as he and Ashara passed between them, the leader put a hand on Cart's shoulder.

  It was enough.

  Four soldiers formed a ragged line blocking access to the bridge across the Wyr that linked Varna to the trade roads of Aundair. Gaven considered storming past them, not wanting to slow his horse to deal with them, but they gripped their halberds as he galloped toward them, and he decided to stop.

  "The bridge is closed," one of the soldiers shouted. Her insignia, a set of linked gold rings at her shoulder, marked her as a sergeant.

  Another soldier snickered. "So's the city."

  The sergeant shot him a rebuking glance.

  Gaven walked his horse forward and stopped in front of the sergeant. "Who's in command here?"

  "I am in command of this bridge, and I'm telling you to find another route. The west bank will be a battlefield in an hour."

  Gaven scratched at his shoulder, growing impatient, and glanced at the sun. "Who's in command of the forces here?"

  "Who's asking?"

  Gaven pulled the Sentinel Marshal's letter from the pouch at his belt and handed it to the sergeant. Her eyes scanned the page, widening as she read, and she handed it back to Gaven.

  "My apologies, master. You'll find Lord Major Parak ir'Velen in a pavilion just inside the remnants of the city wall." She gestured vaguely behind her, across the bridge. "Just follow the road, you can't miss it."

  She moved aside for Gaven to pass, bowing as he walked his horse through the gap she left. "Thank you, sergeant."

  His horse's hooves clattered on the cobblestones of the bridge and scattered broken pieces of rubble left behind by the fury of his storm. The city came into clearer
view as he neared the end of the bridge, its once-proud walls now a shattered ruin. North of the ruins, he saw line upon line of soldiers arrayed on the riverbank, Aundair's blue banners whipping in the wind above them.

  A strange pall of shadow fell over him, and he glanced up at the sun again.

  It has begun, he thought.

  In the Time of the Dragon Below, the moon of the Endless Night turns day into night, and so begins the darkest night.

  He wasn't sure where he learned those words, whether he had read them in his explorations of Khyber or the other, Shakravar, had learned them and shared that knowledge with him through the nightshard. Certainly he had forgotten them for a long time, but now they were as clear in his mind as if someone had just spoken them.

  A single figure stood at the other end of the bridge, waiting for him. Draped in what looked like ceremonial robes, with ornate crests at the shoulders, the figure wore a featureless white mask.

  In the darkest night of the Dragon Below, storm and dragon are reunited, and they break together upon the legions of the Blasphemer.

  His horse's hooves impelled him forward, toward the shrouded figure. The skin of Gaven's chest and neck burned, and the darkening sun hid behind churning clouds that formed from nowhere. Gaven reined in his horse, bringing it it to a stop some ten paces from the end of the bridge, and dismounted.

  "The darkest night of the Dragon Below is upon us," the figure said. The voice, a rich alto, was familiar, but she was too far away for him to place it. He started walking toward her, sliding his sword from its sheath on his back.

  "Storm and dragon are reunited at last!" the masked woman cried.

  "Who are you?" Gaven called.

  "You don't know me?" She withdrew her hands from her sleeves, and Gaven saw a gleaming red stone in one hand-the dragonshard that held his mark. "I certainly know you, Storm Dragon."

  He recognized the voice, finally-the same voice he'd heard from the crystal globe in Kelas's study.

  "Nara," he said. "You have my dragonmark."