Dragon Forge: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Two

Three drops of blood mark the passing of the Time Between. The three dragons are joined together in the blood, and the blood contains the power of creation.
One drop is shed where the Dragon Above pierces the Dragon Below, the Eye stabs at the Heart
.

Blood joins them, and so begins the Time Between.
One drop unites Eberron with the Dragon Below.
Blood is drawn from a serpent binding the spawn of Khyber and the fiend that is bound
.

Bound they remain, but their power flows forth in the blood.
One drop unites Eberron with the Dragon Above.
The touch of Siberys’s hand passes from flesh to stone, held within the drop of Eberron’s blood
.

The Time Between begins with blood and ends in blood.
Blood is its harbinger, and blood flows in its passing
.

G
eneral Jad Yeven strode into Kelas’s study and stood at attention, waiting for his superior’s acknowledgment. His eyes scanned the familiar room—the large oak desk with its sheaves of parchment, the bare plaster wall behind. Nothing was out of place.

“Take off that face,” Kelas snapped. “I hate talking to dead people.”

Yeven’s face changed—its distinctive nose smaller and hair growing out of the general’s severe military cut. The changeling stood a little less erect.

“What face would you prefer?” he asked.

“Haunderk.”

The changeling sighed. He preferred changing in front of a mirror, especially for Haunderk. He wanted every freckle in place, the eyes just the right shade of amber. Those details could come later, though—as far as Kelas cared, the tousled sandy hair, pasty white skin, and light brownish eyes were enough. The general’s bulky muscles melted into a wiry frame, and he compounded his slouch by losing a handbreadth of height. Haunderk took shape, and he found himself wrapped in the comfort of a familiar body and personality. The general’s austere military uniform began to chafe.

“That’s better,” Kelas said, smiling. “There’s the spy I trained.”

Forcing his face into a smile was far easier than changing his entire appearance.

Kelas stretched, resting his feet on his desk and his hands behind his head. “Have a seat, Haunderk.”

Haunderk sat straight in the wooden chair across the desk
from Kelas. The desk was almost bare—dark, polished wood, with only a single sheaf of papers off to one side. What had Kelas been doing when he entered?

“I have learned nothing of Gaven’s whereabouts,” Kelas said. “You don’t have any news?”

“Nothing. The last time I saw him, I expected him to either die or become a god.” Detachment, he reminded himself—Haunderk’s face made it easier. Emotion would cause trouble. Suffering. Report the facts.

Kelas scoffed. “And he lacked the sense to do either.” Haunderk couldn’t decide whether he agreed or not, so he said nothing.

“What about the woman?”

“Rienne.”

“Yes. She didn’t say anything about plans, goals? Dreams?”

Haunderk cast his memory back over the time he’d spent with Rienne, from Stormhome to the battlefield at Starcrag Plain. What stood out in his memory was not anything she’d said, but her kindness to him, her acceptance—even once she knew he was a changeling. He realized that he didn’t want Kelas to find her, then chastised himself for letting his emotions interfere with his work.

He decided on a straightforward, honest answer. “At the time, they were both very focused on immediate concerns.”

“If I had any idea of the extent of Gaven’s understanding of the Prophecy, I would have given you different orders.”

“No,” Haunderk said. “It was important to bring the general to you at the moment of his defeat. If he’d had time to repair his ego, he would never have cooperated with you.”

A question tugged at the corner of his mind. Would he have been able to betray Gaven if Kelas had ordered it?

He stifled the question. He was a professional. He would do what he was ordered.

“And how is General ir’Brassek now?”

“Haldren is firmly in our camp. He’s still driven by ambition, but he knows the best way to achieve what he desires is to work with us.” Detachment, again.

“Good. The queen still wants his head—and Yeven’s, for that matter.”

“She needs someone to hang, to appease the Thranes,” Haunderk said.

“And to show that she’s still in control. If the other nations see Aundair’s army acting without her command, it will seem as though we have already seized control.”

“That army took heavy losses at Starcrag Plain.”

Kelas nodded. “The Thranes did as well, or they might already have retaliated.”

“I wonder what makes Aurala angrier—the army acting without her command, or its failure.”

“It’s not a bad situation for her. The renegade generals let her deny any responsibility for what happened. If they’d succeeded, she could have claimed credit. With their failure, she doesn’t have to take the blame. Although she’d be happier if she could bring the generals forward and punish them publicly.”

“Too bad I didn’t bring Yeven in alive. And we still need Haldren’s help.” Haunderk was cold-hearted, efficient.

Kelas ran his fingers through his short black hair. “I think it’s time for General Yeven to meet another untimely end,” he said.

Easy enough for a man already dead. Just a question of how to do it. “A trial and execution? Or an arrest gone awry?” No regret.

“We don’t need to stage it. I’ll report that our agents located him, he put up a fight, and we were forced to kill him. We’ve kept his body preserved, so we’ll wheel that out and the queen will have a renegade general.”

“And the illusion of control.” It was a good plan, but for some reason it made Haunderk sad. “It’s done, then, unless there’s anything else the general needs to do before his demise.”

Kelas put his feet back on the floor and leaned forward on his desk.

“No, he has served his purpose.”

Haunderk felt his pulse start to quicken, and he took a slow breath to calm it. Keeping his voice steady, he said, “You have another mission for me?”

“It’s time to put the next stage in motion.”

Haunderk’s hands went cold. “Striking west. You’ve found a pretext?”

“That’s your mission. I received a report this morning that something is brewing in the Demon Wastes. One of the chieftains of the Carrion Tribes is emerging as a sort of warlord. He’s conquering nearby tribes and uniting them under his banner.”

“Uniting them? The Carrion Tribes?” Haunderk found that hard to believe. The tribes were constantly warring with each other. Many of the tribes’ leaders had the blood of demons running through their veins, and the tribes lived by violence—mindless slaughter, more to the point.

“Apparently so. Clearly, this is an exceptional chieftain. We don’t know much about him, or what he hopes to accomplish. Most likely, he’s just looking for status and power in the Wastes. He might think to strike against the orcs of the Labyrinth.”