Dragon Forge: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Two (13 page)

“Rienne—”

“And I need more than whatever you think you’re giving me. I do love you, Gaven, and I’m committed to following you into Argonnessen. I’ll cover your back. I hope you can spare a thought to cover mine.”

The look on her face as she turned to leave drove a spear into Gaven’s chest. For the first time, he saw the weight of the past twenty-six years on her face—small wrinkles at her brow and the corners of her eyes, the marks that grief and worry had etched into her face. Then she was gone, and Gaven was alone.

Back in his quarters, Gaven noticed that Rienne’s gear was packed and waiting at the door, ready for their journey. He gathered his belongings, carefully rolling his clothes and packing them tightly into his pack with room to spare. He placed the journey-bread they’d brought from Aundair gently on top and fastened the buckles, tied a bedroll to the top of the pack, and checked the coil of rope and the magic waterskin strapped to the bottom. He was ready.

He considered telling Rienne to stay behind and making the journey alone. He’d survive, he was sure. If she felt no obligation to protect the world from the catastrophe he felt sure was imminent, she could stay on the ship and enjoy her distant view of eternity.

The problem is, he thought, I still love her. I think I do—or why would I feel this way?

A weight greater than his pack had settled into his chest, no longer piercing but just heavy. Walking felt like an effort, and when he sat on his bunk he wanted to lie down and not get up again. I’ll have to show her, he thought, prove it to her.

Those were his thoughts when he felt the anchor chain rumble against the hull, heard the splash as it hit the water. He grabbed his pack and Rienne’s and ran to the deck.

They had arrived. The
Sea Tiger
was tucked into the cove. Mountains rose up on the starboard side, but a sandy beach sloped up to port, turning at the tide line into an emerald plain. A lush forest hugged the feet of the mountains, alive with birds—or were they dragonets?—hopping and fluttering in the branches at the edge of the plain. The crew, still alive with the energy of the morning, was already lowering a launch into the crystal blue water.

Gaven made his way through the crew to the bulwark and found himself face to face with Rienne. She gave him a weak smile.

“Here we are,” she said. “Ready to begin another adventure?”

He returned her smile. “Thank you,” he mouthed—his voice failed him. How could he have thought of leaving her behind?

She took her pack from his hand. Two men waited in the launch for them, holding a rope for them to climb down. Rienne swung herself over the bulwark and slid easily down the rope, settling gently into the little boat.

Gaven was about to follow, but Jordhan’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned to face the captain, but Jordhan’s stern captain face was gone.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Jordhan said. “You are like a brother to me. So come back from this trip. I don’t want to be the one who ferried you to your death.”

“I’ll see you again, this side of the Land of the Dead.” Gaven extended a hand, and Jordhan clasped it.

“Sovereigns keep you,” Jordhan said, “Storm Dragon.”

Gaven clapped his friend on the shoulder and climbed down the rope. The launch rocked fiercely when he alighted, and Rienne bubbled with laughter. He took his seat more carefully, and the sailors rowed toward the shore.

Jordhan’s last words echoed in Gaven’s mind as he watched the beach slide closer.

Gaven and Rienne stood at the tide line, watching the launch crawl back to the
Sea Tiger
. Its departure felt final, like a mausoleum door grinding shut. Jordhan had secured them a return fare, as he called it—two fine silver chains that, when broken, would magically transport them back to Stormhome. Even so, Gaven would have preferred the promise of a ship beneath his feet.

Only when the launch had returned to the shelter of the
Sea Tiger’s
embrace and Jordhan’s ship had pointed her prow back toward the open sea did Gaven turn to face the strange land before them. Even the sand at their feet seemed odd, alien—grains of a bluish stone mingled with the more familiar tan and gray to give the beach an azure glow that intensified the blue of the crystal clear water. The coarse grass that fought for a hold in the sand
gave way, just ahead, to a lush plain rooted in firmer soil. Tall grass danced in the wind blowing off the water, spotted here and there with the sapphire, topaz, and amethyst shades of wildflowers. The plain hugged the edge of the bay as it continued winding around to their left, cutting deeper into the land—deeper than Gaven had been willing to lead Jordhan and his crew.

To their right, the plain thickened into ferns and shrubs lining the edge of the forest. The trees beyond stood smooth and straight or twisted wildly as if reaching for every scrap of available sunlight, some lithe and some solid, with smooth skin of silvery white or jagged brown bark. From Gaven and Rienne’s closer vantage, the flutters in the trees resolved into dragonets, not birds—snaky but elegant creatures with delicate wings and scales of every color flashing in the sunlight. The mountains loomed up behind the forest in a pale blue shadow, draped in the clouds that grayed the sky.

Beneath the rolling plain and verdant forest, the land whispered to Gaven of numberless centuries, millennia in which no native of Khorvaire had set foot on this land. It was not utterly without history, though—there were battles in the memory of Argonnessen, from territorial squabbles between ancient dragons to … yes, the clash of armies. This land had its peoples, then, native children who gathered in tribes or kingdoms.

“Lead the way, Storm Dragon,” Rienne said.

Gaven gave Rienne a sharp glance, but her face was free of bitterness or sarcasm. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the forest, and a faint smile turned the corners of her mouth. What does she see? he wondered.

“Your sword is Maelstrom,” he said, “but you’re an untroubled sea.”

“No, love. I’m the still point at the heart of the whirlpool.”

“The calm at the center of the storm.”

Her eyes met his, then she started walking.

“You said I was leading,” he said to her back. With a few quick steps he caught up, and they walked side by side into the land of dragons.

T
he cathedral in Fairhaven had once been the largest church of the Silver Flame outside of Thrane. Hundreds of Aundairians flocked to its grand dome for worship, and dozens of priests left its chambers and ventured westward to spread the faith. But that was before the Church of the Silver Flame became too closely associated with the government of Thrane. When King Thalin of Thrane died and Aundair’s eastern neighbor fell under the rule of the church, Aundair’s King Wrogar closed the cathedral and its clerics scattered.

For eighty-five years the cathedral lay vacant, the object of superstitious fear though it was haunted only by criminals and fugitives. Kelas had taken over the labyrinthine corridors below the building, and at least one significant criminal organization claimed some of the upper halls, but the sanctuary with its shattered stained glass and tattered tapestries stood empty.

But it was in that once-sacred space that Kelas assembled all the key players in his unfolding drama. The faded grandeur of the cathedral hall lent an impressive aura to the proceedings, suggesting a royal audience chamber. Clearly it made Kelas feel more important, and it cowed his guests into an almost reverent calm.

Cart stood three paces behind Haldren’s chair at the round table Kelas had brought into the sanctuary. Kelas had chosen a round table to give the impression that those seated at the table were all equal, but Haldren had started fuming as soon as he realized that he wouldn’t be seated at Kelas’s right hand. That position of honor, as Haldren saw it, went to Baron Jorlanna d’Cannith, and Haldren sat next to her.

That meant Ashara d’Cannith stood beside Cart, close enough to whisper up to him, naming the other figures at the table. Cart stood stiffly, uneasy with her presence. He had not seen Ashara in the weeks since they had met in the halls, and he still felt that she had been hoping to manipulate him in this morass of politics. But she seemed to be pretending that had never happened, treating him like a friend. Her proximity only increased his feeling of being adrift in all the plots and schemes of the conspirators around the table.

Cart recognized Arcanist Wheldren, seated at Kelas’s left, and Janna Tolden, who had been General Jad Yeven’s second-in-command at the battle of Starcrag Plain. Tolden, sitting at Haldren’s right, didn’t wear a military uniform or any insignia of rank. Ashara mentioned that Tolden had been stripped of her position after that debacle. Certainly better than the fate of General Yeven—the Royal Eyes had hunted him down and killed him, ostensibly because he resisted arrest. Haldren had told Cart that Queen Aurala needed a martyr to blame Starcrag Plain on, and “better him than me.” Still, Cart wondered what part Kelas had played in Yeven’s death.

To Wheldren’s left were the financiers of Kelas’s operations. First was a portly man Ashara named as Bromas ir’Lain, head of the small Aundairian branch of the ir’Lains who held so much power in the city of Sharn in Breland. Bromas was a petty noble with little power but a great deal of money, who would easily be motivated to trade some of his vast fortune for a position of power in a new Aundairian regime. Beside him was a gaunt, aging dwarf called Kharos Olan, a powerful merchant who controlled much of the legal trade in Fairhaven and beyond. Olan had both money and power, Ashara explained, but he had lived in the Eldeen Reaches before it seceded from Aundair, and he wanted to see the Reaches returned to Aundairian rule.

Closing the circle was a half-orc clad in furs and steel, with bones knotted into his beard and his unruly mane of hair. His gray skin was stretched over enormous muscles, and the table shook when he slapped it to emphasize a point or communicate his impatience. Kharos Olan and Janna Tolden sat as far from him as
possible at the table, suggesting to Cart that he either frightened them or offended them with his odor. Ashara didn’t know the half-orc’s name, but she explained that he was an exile from the Shadow Marches working in Droaam. He had promised Kelas that he could lead a force of monstrous mercenaries north from Droaam into the Eldeen Reaches in support of Aundair’s invasion. He was by far the most unsavory character at the table—an outcast and mercenary lord at a gathering of nobles, merchants, military officers, and a dragonmarked heir. His voice was harsh and his words blunt, but Cart liked him almost immediately. The others treated him with barely concealed scorn, except for Kelas.

Kelas was by no means the orator that Haldren was, but his soft-spoken and friendly manner had clearly won over his audience long before this meeting. He looked around the table and met the eyes of each person, smiling warmly—and then he made a second pass around, acknowledging the aides and advisors who formed a larger ring around the table. That was part of Kelas’s power, his ability to connect with the great and small alike.

“Friends,” he began, when everyone was seated and settled, “this is a gathering that will be remembered in the annals of history.” A murmur of approval rose around the table. “This is the moment when all our plans begin to boil into action.”

Kelas stood and extended one arm to indicate the Cannith Baron at his right. “Baron Jorlanna d’Cannith has agreed this day to give the full support of her House to our cause. When our work is accomplished, House Cannith will cease to exist in Aundair. In its place will be a Ministry of Artifice, a prominent branch of the royal government dedicated to advancing the work her House has performed in the past.”

The dwarf, Olan, started a round of polite applause. “Merchants like Olan have much to gain,” Ashara whispered to Cart, “if House Cannith stops operating like a dragonmarked House. House Orien won’t carry Cannith goods any longer, so other merchants will get those contracts. Very lucrative contracts.”

When our work is accomplished, Cart thought. Meaning when we’ve deposed Queen Aurala and ended a thousand years of Wynarn rule over Aundair. Historic work indeed.

“Baron d’Cannith now has an announcement to make,” Kelas continued, taking his seat again.

Jorlanna rose. “In partnership with Arcanist Wheldren and the resources of his esteemed organization, we are pleased to announce that the construction of the Dragon Forge is ready to begin.” More applause greeted her words, louder this time. “We have all pinned high hopes on the construction of this device. The Arcanist and I have personally reviewed the plans, and we feel confident in assuring you all that those hopes will not be disappointed.” She returned to her seat.

“I have asked Lord General Haldren ir’Brassek to secure the construction site,” Kelas said. Cart saw Haldren’s shoulders tense. “He will lead a party including representatives of both House Cannith and Arcanix, along with sufficient force to take and hold the site in preparation for the construction work.”