Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three (15 page)

Until he knew more, he had to stick to his own disguise, at least hope to sow enough confusion to find an opening. “Not that face,” he snapped. “You know I hate talking to dead people.” Words straight from Kelas’s mouth.

It worked—the changeling was visibly surprised. “Dead?”

“Yes. I killed him myself. Do you mean to be next, pointing that knife at me?” He was Kelas at his most imperious, and the changeling took a step back from the top of the stairs. Aunn climbed two more stairs.

Haunderk’s face melted off the changeling, leaving only a gray blank-ness and white eyes. Long white hair fell in unruly shocks down to the shoulders. The mouth was a lipless slit in a featureless face. “But you’re Haunderk,” the changeling said.

“Don’t be a fool.” Aunn took two more steps up. He had to browbeat the changeling into believing his lie before he was asked for proof he couldn’t give. He jerked his chin toward the servant’s body lying at the changeling’s feet. “You’ve made enough of a mess as it is.”

The changeling took another step back, giving Aunn room to stand beside the dead woman. “I’m sorry, master.”

Aunn twisted his face into a fury and howled. “You are not sorry!” He stepped forward again until his face was a hand’s breadth from the changeling’s. “Her death is nothing!” Ignoring the knife in the changeling’s hand, he slapped the featureless face. “You don’t feel regret, you don’t know shame, you don’t care!” He punctuated his words with slaps and punches until the knife clattered to the floor and the changeling cowered before his rage. With one final kick, he strode past the changeling and away down the hall.

Before turning the corner, though, he shot a glance back. The changeling was glaring after him with a searing hatred that mirrored Aunn’s own feelings toward Kelas. As their eyes met, though, Aunn realized his mistake—Kelas would never have looked back. And the changeling knew it.

Aunn reached the sanctuary of Kelas’s chamber and sank against the door. Nausea gripped his stomach and chilled his brow, and his pulse still pounded in his ears. In the space of moments, he had let an innocent woman die and—perhaps worse—he had become everything that he had despised in Kelas. What happened? he wondered. Didn’t anything change in the Labyrinth?

“Make it solid,” he muttered. But nothing was solid—he couldn’t find a firm place in the quagmire. He dragged himself to his feet, but nausea brought him back to his knees, vomit splattering on the floor.

*  *  *  *  *

“Where is he?” Gaven said for the third time. He searched the faces in the crowded tavern for Kelas or anyone else who could be Aunn—anyone, really, who might be heading for the table where he sat with Cart and Ashara.

“Stop it, Gaven,” Cart said. “You’re drawing attention. Look at us, look at your drink, or look at the pretty women. But don’t stare at everyone, and don’t make eye contact.”

Gaven laughed. “The warforged is giving me lessons in behavior.” He saw Cart stiffen, and he put a hand on the plated arm of his warforged friend. “I didn’t mean it like that. Clearly, I need the help.”

“When’s the last time you cut loose in a tavern?” Ashara asked.

The smile fell from Gaven’s face as he thought about the question.

“There was our wrestling match in Darguun,” Cart offered. “That wasn’t so long ago.”

“True. But we were just waiting for Haldren, the way we’re waiting now for … whatever his name is.” He started to look around the tavern again, but forced his gaze back to Ashara’s face. “It’s been a very long time.”

“Well, we’ll have to remedy that,” Ashara said, smiling at Cart. “Though I have to say, I wish I’d been there for the wrestling match. Who won?”

“He did,” Cart said.

“Cart was holding back,” Gaven added. “He’d been wrestling hobgoblins and bugbears, so he wasn’t prepared for a real challenge.”

“No, I stopped holding back when I realized what I was up against. You won it fairly.”

“It must have been an epic struggle,” Ashara said. Gaven noticed for the first time how her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes—and how her eyes shone when she looked at Cart. Rienne’s absence hit him suddenly like a mace in his gut. He stared down into his wine glass and saw the red of her silk wrap.

“Sorry I took so long.”

Gaven looked up with a start and saw Aunn, still wearing Kelas’s face, standing by the table. “There you are!” he said. “Is everything all right?”

“I ran into a little trouble.”

He was wearing different clothes than he’d had on an hour before, and his movements were strangely stiff. “Are you injured?” Gaven asked.

Aunn shook his head and sat in the empty chair. He looked down at his clothes and absently brushed at a dark spot on his coat that might have been dried blood.

“So are you going to tell us what in the Ten Seas is going on?”

Aunn blinked at him, then his face came alive. He leaned forward on the table and words spilled out in a fierce whisper. “There was a spy in Kelas’s house. Another changeling. I think he followed us from the Tower of Eyes. She was the servant you injured and Ashara took care of, and I suspect she heard everything we said in your room after Cart and Ashara left her. He accosted me in the hall when I went back to my room.”

“And you killed her … him?” Gaven said.

“No. I convinced him I really am Kelas.”

There was more to the story than Aunn was telling, Gaven knew—starting but not ending with the spray of blood on his coat. He decided not to press for more details, though … at least, not until he saw Aunn smile again.

“So the spy was a Royal Eye?” Cart asked. “Not spying on the Royal Eyes?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Aunn said.

An awkward silence fell on the table. Gaven could see in Ashara’s face that she wanted to know more, and was holding back as he was.

“We need a plan,” Cart said at last. “And a safer place to talk it over.”

“Right,” Aunn said, sitting back and planting his hands on the table. “That’s why I suggested this place—they have private rooms that are really private, if you know who to talk to. I’ll be right back.” He stood up and weaved his way through the crowded tables to the back of the room.

“Is anyone else getting tired of looking at Kelas’s face?” Gaven said.

“It is unnerving,” Cart said.

“I keep forgetting which side I’m on,” Ashara said. “I worked with Kelas many times … before.”

“Which side?” Gaven dug his fingers into his hair. “I don’t even know how many sides there are, let alone who’s on which one.”

“How long can he keep it up, do you think?” Cart asked.

“He’s good at what he does,” Ashara said.

Gaven thought again of the blood on Aunn’s coat. “I think I want to stay on his side.”

Ashara gave him a grim smile. “Let’s hope he stays on ours.”

*  *  *  *  *

“I’d like to speak to the master cook,” Aunn told the gangly young man at the kitchen door. What if they’ve changed the password? he thought. But the boy nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

I’ve been out of this for too long, he thought. The mad trip to Xen’drik with Janik and Dania, crossing Khorvaire with Senya and Cart to free Gaven and Haldren, the brief time as Caura and Vauren and General Yeven, then the long trek to the Demon Wastes—I’ve been so many other people, I haven’t had time to be a spy.

He recognized the man who emerged from the kitchen, a broad dwarf in silk and lace, a thick beard hiding most of his face. Lukas looked him up and down, but gave no indication that he knew Kelas’s face. “What can I do for you?” he growled.

“I need a quail in silver,” Aunn said.

Lukas’s expression didn’t change. “Certainly, master,” he said. “Will there be anything else?”

Aunn thought for a moment. If he asked, Lukas would send agents throughout the tavern and the rest of Chalice Center, listening for anyone who might be asking after Aunn or his party. But he doubted the other changeling would be so careless. “No, thank you.”

“Very well. Is the rest of your party here?”

“Yes. I’ll gather them. Thank you.” He nodded a slight bow to Lukas and returned to the table where he’d left the others.

“Ready?” Gaven asked as he approached.

“Ready. Lukas will show us the room.”

The dwarf led them outside and into a wide alley beside the tavern. A well-kept staircase took them above the dining room where they had sat before, and Lukas opened a door into a luxurious private dining room.
It was little more than a table with benches on either side, but the benches were padded with upholstered cushions—and so were the walls, to keep sound from escaping the room.

Lukas bowed as they filed past him into the room. “I hope you find the quail satisfactory,” he said.

“I’m certain we will. Thank you.”

Lukas pushed the door closed, and the din of the tavern and the street faded away. Aunn collapsed onto one of the upholstered benches, overwhelmed with exhaustion and anxiety. The relief was so great that he felt his face begin to change under his hands, fading to its natural blank.

Make it solid, he told himself. He fixed Kelas’s face in his mind and molded his face to match, hoping the others hadn’t noticed the slip.

“Are you all right?” Gaven said.

Aunn took a deep breath and lowered his hands, Kelas’s visage fixed firmly on his face once again. “I’m fine,” he said. “And now we can talk.”

R
ight,” Gaven said. “Let’s talk. But can we talk to a different face?”

He saw Aunn stiffen. “What?”

“I’m sick of staring at his face. Could you be Darraun again, or Aunn, if you prefer?”

“I’m sorry,” Aunn said, and Kelas’s face was gone.

Gaven had never seen the changeling alter his appearance before, and he watched in fascination. First the features that most defined Kelas’s face softened—the black hair lightened to gray, thick brows thinned and faded, and the dark, deep-set eyes lightened as their surrounding wrinkles smoothed. Gaven caught just a glimpse of a face that wasn’t a face at all, just a blank gray surface waiting for shape and color, then it molded into the proud, commanding face the changeling called Aunn. That was his real name, he’d said, but it clearly wasn’t his real face. Was this face somehow supposed to represent his true self? he wondered. Or was it just another disguise?

“Nice to see you again, Aunn,” Gaven said.

Aunn didn’t return his smile. He seemed lost in concentration, as if perhaps he were still shaping some part of his face or body. Gaven noticed that his clothes didn’t fit this new form well—Aunn was taller and more muscular than Kelas. He wondered why Aunn didn’t alter just his face, especially when he knew he’d be changing back into Kelas before long.

“So now what?” Ashara asked.

Gaven stared at the table. For a brief moment, his path had seemed clear to him, shining in the darkness, and he had accepted it with all its consequences. That clarity was gone, crowded out in all the scheming and intrigue going on around them, which Aunn seemed to understand so much better than he did. One thing burned like a beacon in his mind, though—he had to find Rienne.

No one had answered Ashara’s question. Aunn still seemed lost in some aspect of his transformation, so Gaven cleared his throat. “I need to go to Stormhome,” he said. “I have to find Rienne, and I want to find out why my father was corresponding with Kelas.”

“Stormhome?” Aunn said. “Last time you were there, I had to break you out of manacles.” His voice was deeper and clearer than it had been as Kelas.

“You were also part of the team of dwarves it took to get the manacles on me in the first place. They’ll never capture me without your help.”

“Rienne threw me into the kitchen. Believe me, I wasn’t much help.”

Gaven laughed, but it was strange to think of the man sitting across from him as the dwarf who had barged in through Thordren’s back door, as well as Darraun, and also Kelas. The changeling could take any face, could be anyone. How could Gaven trust him?

“Nevertheless,” Gaven said, “that’s where I have to go.”

“But there’s so much we have to do here,” Aunn said. “I have to make sure that the army takes Kathrik Mel seriously and prepares to meet him, instead of just fighting the Reachers. Kelas can do that. I need to figure out what Nara is going. And assuming Jorlanna doesn’t give up on her plans just because the Dragon Forge is destroyed, we need to stop her from seizing the throne and stealing any more dragonmarks.”

“So it seems our destinies lie along different paths,” Gaven said.

Aunn frowned. “Nara said I should keep you here until the reunion, whatever that means. If you leave now, and she finds out about it, it’s going to be very hard for me to explain.”

“Are you thinking about locking me up after all?”

“Of course not. I’m just saying maybe you should wait, see what Nara has in mind—”

“And continue to be her pawn? No, I’ve done enough of that. Even when I thought I was doing what I wanted, I was playing into her hands.”

Aunn leaned forward and opened his mouth, ready to argue, then slumped back on the bench. “What can I say to that?” he said. “Except that I’m sorry for the part I played in it all.”

Gaven frowned. He had always liked Darraun, but he’d never quite understood his role in events so far. He had used his intelligence contacts to get himself invited along with Cart and Senya to free Gaven and Haldren—which meant that Kelas had arranged it, most likely. At Nara’s command? When Gaven escaped Haldren’s custody, it was Darraun that brought him back to Starcrag Plain, but not to help Haldren. Was Nara
behind that as well? Then Darraun had faked his own death and disappeared. When Gaven saw him next, he’d just killed Kelas at the Dragon Forge. Presumably Nara had not ordered that, since she had addressed Aunn as Kelas without a hint of irony. He couldn’t help it—he still liked Aunn, this new incarnation of Darraun, even if he couldn’t think of a reason to trust him.

Aunn interrupted his musing. “Cart? Ashara?” The changeling’s gaze flicked between the two of them, who had been listening in silence. “Where do your destinies lie?”

Ashara looked at Cart, and Gaven thought he saw her hold her breath.