Dragon Forge: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Two (43 page)

“You were right about me, Ashara. It’s not enough for me to be a soldier. Now Haldren is dead and no one gives me orders. It’s time for me to be a hero.”

She put a hand on his arm and looked up, her face a mixture of pleasure and grief. “You already are,” she said.

“Time to act like one, then. Where is Gaven?”

“You have led me on quite a chase, Gaven.” Phaine was clearly enjoying himself. With every prick of his blade, he leaned close to Gaven’s ear and whispered some new
taunt or imprecation. He had bound Gaven to a wooden chair and continually pricked at his nerves to deaden his limbs, ensuring he never mustered the strength to break his bonds. Blood trickled from a dozen tiny wounds.

“From Dreadhold to Q’barra. When we found your room in Whitecliff, the bed was still warm.”

“You’ve been following me since Dreadhold?” A personal or House interest in dragonmarks couldn’t explain that kind of interest. Had Phaine come looking for the Storm Dragon as soon as he escaped?

“Indeed. Then to Aerenal, which was most enlightening. It had been some time since I visited my ancestors.”

“It took you this long to catch up to me? Three other Houses got to me first, you know.”

“And failed to capture you. You killed the Deneith Sentinel Marshal, of course. House Tharashk, too, has abandoned the search. House Kundarak is probably still scouring Khorvaire, stinging from the blow of losing two prisoners from Dreadhold. But then, none of them knew what you were.”

“And what am I?”

“You
were
the Storm Dragon. Now, you’re nothing. Nothing but a man who’s responsible for the extermination of the Paelions and the fracture of my House.”

“You can blame your own baron for that.”

That must have angered Phaine—he jabbed his dagger more deeply into Gaven’s upper arm.

“The baron acted on information you planted.”

Gaven’s memories of that period of his life were shrouded in a haze. It had been nearly thirty years, but more than that, he had barely known his own mind at the time. But he knew there was some truth to what Phaine said. He had helped plant false evidence to suggest that the Paelions were plotting against the other Houses. But it had been Baron Elar d’Thuranni who ordered the slaughter of the entire Paelion clan.

“So you’ve followed me all this time to get revenge?”

“That is merely the sweet finish to the chase.” Another jab of pain showed Gaven how much Phaine enjoyed the taste of revenge.

R
ays of sunlight from the shattered ceiling lit clouds of dust as the rubble settled in the great chamber. Smaller rocks shifted and fell within the pile and tumbled from the cracked roof above. Gaven had been there. Rienne was certain of it. But he was gone, and whoever or whatever he had been fighting was gone as well.

She walked in a dream into the chamber, circling the largest pieces of the fallen roof. Something moved in the rubble, and she hurried to the spot, lifting slabs and pushing rocks aside until she found bare floor beneath. There was nothing, no sign that he had been present.

A sparkle of color at the edge of the room caught her eye. Crushed gemstones in pieces ranging from powder to granules filled a pattern of lines engraved into the floor. Shattered granite covered most of the pattern, but she guessed it was a circle lining the perimeter of the room. Magic. Some ritual had taken Gaven away.

The thunder of approaching footsteps filled the hall. She turned to face the doorway, Maelstrom limp in her hand. She wasn’t sure she could muster the energy to fight anymore. Why bother? Gaven was gone.

I could escape, she thought. If I can’t find Gaven, perhaps he can find me.

Sheathing Maelstrom, she bent down and unfastened the slender chain around her ankle and held it up in the sunlight. She could almost feel the magic contained in its fine silver links, promising freedom.

“Rienne!” Lissa appeared in the doorway, more footsteps resounding behind her.

“I have to go, Lissa,” Rienne said.

Three more guards crowded behind Lissa, but she held up a hand to stop them. Her voice was tender and calm when she addressed Rienne.

Tears sprang to Rienne’s eyes. “Promise me that if you find him, you’ll tell him where I’ve gone.” There was no way the dragonborn could have understood her words, but there was understanding in her eyes, and sympathy, and grief.

Rienne snapped the chain. She blinked as one of the tiny links broke, and when she opened her eyes she was in a green courtyard surrounded by orange trees. The citrus smell was intoxicating, but it was carried on a sea wind that told her she was home.

The courtyard was part of a stately house with a blue-tiled roof and white plaster walls. A fountain burbled against one wall, opposite a hall leading to the front door. Rienne looked around nervously. Jordhan had not told her where he got the magic chains, though she trusted his discretion. Presumably, this place belonged to whatever artificer had crafted them.

The roof framed a square of dark sky, dawn just beginning to light one side—or evening fading in the west. It had been morning when she entered the dragon-king’s palace in Argonnessen, far to the east. Morning to the east meant that dawn was still approaching in Stormhome, and the house’s owner was probably still asleep. She crept to the hall, then stopped short.

If Gaven had already broken his chain, he would have come here as well, and the artificer might have seen him appear. If he hadn’t yet, the house’s owner could tell him that she’d been there and give him some message, some idea of how to find her.

But that would mean she’d have to know where she was going. At the moment, she had no idea. She crossed the courtyard again and settled herself on a stone bench beside the fountain to plan and wait.

Stormhome was not a safe place for her. She could go to her own family, but the Sentinel Marshals had come to her house when Gaven first escaped. Thordren’s house had been watched
the last time she and Gaven appeared there. Would they still be watching it? Gaven and Rienne had been gone for months. How badly did House Kundarak and the Sentinel Marshals want to find him?

Stormhome had no poorer neighborhoods where Rienne could remain anonymous and unseen. House Lyrandar controlled who lived and worked there. Anyone who couldn’t afford the rather steep price of a place to live in Stormhome went back to the mainland, one way or another. Rienne had no place to hide. She couldn’t linger there, waiting for Gaven to appear.

She had struck out on her own once before—she’d flown to Vathirond, found Gaven, and rescued him from his pursuers. She could do it again.

On the other hand, leaving Stormhome presented its own set of challenges. House Lyrandar operated the only ships passing to and from the mainland, and it would be hard to find a captain who didn’t know her, at least by reputation. Jordhan would have helped, of course, but he might still be half the world away, as far as she knew. What, then?

She had called in plenty of favors before leaving in search of Gaven the first time, but that was no longer an option. She had also turned much of her wealth into a more portable form, a small bag of tiny, perfect gemstones she kept next to her skin. Selling a single stone would provide her with living expenses for weeks. The money, at least, would serve her well.

If she only had some idea of where to look for Gaven.

Her thoughts were going in circles, running through every possibility she could imagine of finding help, departing the city, and leaving word for Gaven. She replayed the last few days in her mind, from her arrival in Rav Magar to Gaven’s sudden disappearance and Lissa’s farewell. Her dream in the shrine of the Prophecy played itself over and over in her mind—Maelstrom in her hand, portentous words describing the Blasphemer, and the tumult of a battlefield.

A battlefield where she, in her dream, had played a decisive role. Perhaps Gaven had been right and Maelstrom was indeed a sword of legend, the weapon of a champion. In her dream, she had faced the demon at the heart of an army. Could it be that her
destiny was to kill that demon, thus preventing or at least putting an end to the devastation described in the Prophecy? The idea turned her stomach. She didn’t want the crowning accomplishment of her life to be ending another life.
Any
other life.

Her eyes drooped and her head nodded, and she slept where she sat beside the fountain.

Maelstrom clashed against a sword that burned red, a ceramic urn shattered on the cobblestones, and a girl’s shriek jolted Rienne from her sleep.

The sky was a little brighter, and sounds indoors suggested that the household was beginning to stir. A girl of perhaps thirteen cowered behind a pillar, peering out at Rienne with round eyes, pieces of the urn littering the floor around her bare feet. She must have been a serving girl, sent to fetch water for the kitchen or bath, shocked to find a stranger sleeping by the fountain.

“I’m sorry,” Rienne said, and the girl stood a little straighter. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?” the girl said, but her voice was more curious than frightened.

“I need to speak to the master of the house. But first let me help you clean up that mess.”

“No no, I’ll do it, Lady. After I take you inside.”

Rienne grimaced. Her accent betrayed her noble birth, despite the dirt and dust of travel matted in her hair and plastered to her skin, after months at sea and weeks spent slogging across a distant continent.

“Please,” she said, “it’s my fault. I’ll help you.”

She crouched down and started gathering the larger fragments, stacking them carefully and setting them aside. Hesitantly, the girl joined her, working from the other side.

“What’s your name?” Rienne asked.

“Ava.”

“I’m Rienne.” She smiled at the girl, and Ava finally seemed at ease. “Is the master of this house an artificer, Ava? Working with magic?”

“Not the master, Lady. But my mistress is very skilled.”

The mistress, of course. Why had Rienne assumed it was the man? A thought jolted her to her feet. A female artificer in Stormhome—“Is this Chanda’s house? Chanda ir’Selden?” Chanda and Rienne had been childhood friends and stayed close up until the time that Rienne fell in love with Gaven. Chanda disapproved of Gaven’s adventuring lifestyle, prospecting for dragonshards. Rienne had made a few efforts to get back in touch with her after Gaven’s imprisonment, but she had always been rebuffed.

Ava looked puzzled, but she nodded. “Shall I take you to her, Lady?”

Would Chanda help her now? Not if word had spread that Rienne had helped Gaven after he escaped from Dreadhold. For the sake of their old friendship, Chanda might refrain from summoning the Sentinel Marshals immediately, but she would not help.

“Actually, Ava, it’s probably best if I just get on my way.”

“Should I tell her you were here?”

“Will she punish you for the broken urn?”

Ava shrugged. “She’ll take it out of my wages.”

Rienne produced a silver coin and pressed it into Ava’s hand. “Best not to tell her I was here. Thank you.”