Dragon Forge: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Two (52 page)

“So it’s Haldren all over again, war for the sake of Aundairian conquest.”

“Yes and no,” Darraun said. “Haldren had dreams of reuniting all of Galifar under his rule, and I’m not sure Kelas ever had any aspiration to the throne. It’s moot now.” He nodded toward Kelas’s body.

“The plan is larger than Kelas,” Gaven said. “Dragons, a Thuranni—”

“The queen was here,” Darraun interjected. “Baron d’Cannith swore fealty, the Arcane Congress—”

“And they’re using my mark as a weapon. Did you see it? They made a storm and sent it to the Reaches.”

“‘But be careful that they don’t use weapons more terrible
than their foe,’” Darraun murmured. He drifted to the edge of the canyon and looked down.

“What?”

“A warning. You’re right. This is much larger than Kelas.”

Gaven led Darraun away from the canyon, toward the place where he’d left Cart. Darraun lost himself in his thoughts as they walked, turning Marelle’s warning over and over in his mind. What Kelas had called the Dragon Forge might well guarantee Aundair’s victory, not only over the Eldeen Reaches but also against the barbarians. Without it, Aundair’s forces might not be able to hold the Carrion Tribes back—Kathrik Mel might lead his horde through the Reaches and across the Wynarn River into Aundair.

But at what cost would victory come? Darraun could still feel the magic coursing out of the crystal prison and through the Dragon Forge, and the evil of the imprisoned fiend with it. It seemed clear that the Dragon Forge was the weapon Marelle had warned him against. Was she right? She had seemed almost like a divine messenger, but did her words carry prophetic weight? Or was she simply expressing the way she would resolve Darraun’s dilemma? Perhaps the evil of the Dragon Forge was actually a lesser evil than the marauding of Kathrik Mel’s horde, or at least a less urgent threat. The eladrin, it seemed, could afford a long-term view of events. When Marelle warned that the Keeper of Secrets would “soon be free,” what was her understanding of “soon”?

And what did dragons have to do with it all? Thinking about the dragons’ Prophecy still made his head spin, and being around Gaven seemed to make its mysterious words and dire warnings a very present reality. For months he’d been out of Gaven’s orbit, pleasantly isolated from any thought of the Prophecy, but as soon as he met Gaven again there were dragons involved and he had to wonder why.

There was another, no less disturbing consequence of being back with Gaven. He was wearing Darraun’s face again, and he found his thoughts running along familiar channels—scheming,
suspicious, convoluted. As Darraun, he was a spy again. He had tried to leave that person behind in the Labyrinth, but he’d slipped back into that mode in order to placate Gaven, to present a familiar face. He didn’t like that familiar face.

That, at least, was a problem with an easy solution. As he walked behind Gaven, he changed again, taking the tall, warm, proud and noble form he’d created for Aunn. When Gaven indicated that Cart should be just over the next rise, Aunn put a hand on Gaven’s shoulder.

“Gaven?” he said.

Gaven turned around and started with surprise at the man before him. “What’s this?”

“My name is Aunn. That’s my real name.” He swallowed, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come. “That’s who I want to be.”

Gaven looked at him for a long time. “Aunn it is,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you.” He turned with a smile and crested the rise.

“Gaven!” Cart’s voice sent a thrill of anxiety through Aunn’s body. “Where have you been?”

“Look who I found.” Gaven turned and took Aunn’s elbow. “Aunn, I believe you know Cart, and this is Ashara d’Cannith. This is Aunn. Cart, you know him as Darraun.”

“Darraun,” Cart said. His voice carried a hint of amusement. “So who did we bury?”

“I found a corpse that bore some resemblance to Darraun’s face, and did my best to disguise it. I’m sorry.”

Cart laughed. “I told you, Gaven, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Gaven didn’t share Cart’s amusement.

“No matter, Darraun. Or Aunn. I’m glad to see you alive.”

“And I’m glad you’re not me,” Ashara added, stepping forward to clasp his hand in greeting.

Aunn didn’t understand the joke, but it made Gaven laugh at last.

To Gaven, the appearance of the storm above the Dragon Forge had seemed like a sign calling him back to destroy the eldritch machine that had stolen his mark. Knowing that the storm
had been a weapon sent to devastate the Eldeen Reaches revolted him, and he felt responsible for the use of his dragonmark. Aunn’s return and Kelas’s death reinforced that message, and Aunn’s concerns about the Keeper of Secrets, the chance the imprisoned fiend might escape, solidified it. He still burned to find Rienne, but the Dragon Forge seemed like a more imminent concern—even discounting the possibility of reclaiming his mark.

“Malathar is my greatest concern,” Cart said, staring into their campfire.

“Malathar?” Aunn asked.

“The dragon-king from Argonnessen,” Gaven explained. “He’s ancient, mighty—”

“Undead,” Cart added.

Aunn raised an eyebrow. “Well, to our advantage, we know what we’re up against. There are preparations we can make, protective wards and enhancements to our weapons.”

“His breath is devastating,” Gaven said.

“I think I’m up to the challenge,” Aunn replied, and somehow he bolstered Gaven’s confidence.

“I hope you don’t overestimate your skill,” Ashara said. She had a hand at her chin, half-covering a bemused smile. “You are talking about significant infusions of power.”

“I apologize, Lady Cannith,” Aunn said. “I certainly didn’t mean to discount your own skill at artifice. Between the two of us—”

“Do you know the ninth weaving of Merrix the First?”

Aunn’s eyes showed no recognition, and Gaven’s confidence faltered. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with House Cannith’s terminology—”

“Where were you trained?”

“I had a private tutor. I figured a lot out on my own.”

“You figured it out on your own,” Ashara repeated. “How can you hope to understand the weavings of artifice figuring it out on your own?”

“It’s simply a matter of untangling the knots, Lady. I find it quite intuitive.”

“I require a demonstration.”

Gaven frowned at her. Ashara was always kind and mild with Cart, but her manner with Gaven, and now with Aunn, could be curt. Imperious—given her position in the House, she was used to issuing commands and having them obeyed. She had to remember that she was not in charge of this group, he thought.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Gaven said. “I’ve seen Aunn do—”

Aunn interrupted. “It’s all right, Gaven. I’ll give a demonstration.” He made a small bow toward Ashara. “Would you care to name the task?”

“Cart, would you let Aunn borrow your axe, please?”

Cart hefted his axe and passed it to Aunn, who looked at Ashara expectantly.

“Do your best,” she said. “Prepare it for the battle ahead.”

Aunn closed his eyes and placed his hand flat on the blade. A smile danced at the corner of his mouth. Gaven watched him carefully but couldn’t make sense of what he was doing. He ran a finger down the edge, ran his hand down the haft, traced twisting runes on the head with two fingertips. After a long moment, he opened his eyes, let out his breath, and handed the axe to Ashara.

As soon as her hand touched the weapon, Ashara’s eyes shot open wide. She examined the axe for only a few heartbeats, then handed it back to Cart.

“This will serve you well,” she said. Turning her eyes back to Aunn, she returned his bow. “Your skill is at least the equal of mine. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Now it was Aunn’s turn to look surprised. “That is high praise.”

“Yes, it is. Now let’s get to work on the rest of our preparations.”

Gaven’s sword was next, and when Aunn handed it back he could feel it sing in his hand, longing for the battle ahead. While Aunn worked on the sword, Ashara handled Aunn’s mace, and then she put her hands on Gaven’s back, weaving magic into his armor.

An ache fell on Gaven’s heart, thinking of Rienne’s hand on his back, the touch that always calmed and soothed him. Where was she? Then he thought of her bitter words on the
Sea Tiger:
“I’ll
cover your back. I hope you can spare a thought to cover mine.” Did she still hold that bitterness in her heart? Did she think he’d simply abandoned her in Rav Magar, forgetting to cover her back once again? Facing Malathar would have been so much easier, he realized, with Rienne fighting beside him.

On Jordhan’s ship, they had talked about the Prophecy, about the Time Between that was just beginning. Now it appeared the Time Between had reached its end. The fleeting time it took for the hourglass of history to reverse itself was over, or would soon be. The Time of the Dragon Below was beginning, and he had no more insight into what the future held than he had on the
Sea Tiger
. The Blasphemer’s legions … Who was the Blasphemer? Malathar?

Gaven stared at the ground between his feet as Ashara finished her work.

I’m lost without you, Ree, he thought.

Then the preparations were complete, and Gaven led the way back to the Dragon Forge.

The dragon and the soldiers who had fenced them into the worgs’ temple hadn’t returned, so they approached the forge the same way Gaven, Cart, and Ashara had fled it. They squeezed between the rock and the blue crystal, and worked their way slowly through the tunnel.

You walk boldly to your doom
.

It was the merest whisper at the back of Gaven’s mind, but he felt it gnaw at his resolve like a rat. Darkness stalked through the crystal, shadowing his movements.

You think to stand before a power that was already great when Karrn the Conqueror took his first infant steps
.

The Keeper of Secrets, that darkness was called, and the Messenger strained to keep it bound. Gaven tried to feel the presence of the Messenger, some shred of good or hope left in the crystal, but he felt only the hatred of the other.

Malathar the Damned will consume your body and annihilate your soul
.

Gaven looked back at Ashara and Aunn and saw a grimness on each of their faces. Cart’s steps were heavy and his head hung low. All of them heard the Keeper of Secrets. All of them were wrestling with doubt and despair.

“It lies,” Gaven said. His voice sounded muffled in his own ears, as though he were calling to his companions through a thick fog. They looked up at him as though lost in that same fog, their eyes distant and distracted.

“It lies,” he repeated. “Truth would burn its tongue. It’s the Keeper of Secrets.”

Aunn murmured something, perhaps a vague echo of the warning he’d repeated several times in their camp.

“It’s trying to sow despair,” Cart said.

“It’s very good at it,” Ashara said.

“Fight it! It speaks nothing but lies.”

Gaven pressed forward, trusting the others to follow. If they could just escape the tunnel, he felt sure, the despair would ease.

You were the Storm Dragon. You bore the touch of Siberys. Now what are you? Nothing. Just another would-be hero marching to certain death
.