Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three (37 page)

The soldiers, though, seemed reluctant to approach. Aunn had his mace in his hand and faced them warily, so Gaven slid the sword off his back.

“Give yourselves up!” one of the soldiers ventured, clutching his own sword in a trembling hand. He was a human man of maybe twenty with a long scar down his face, perhaps a mark of the Last War—or of some back-alley scuffle. The other soldier, an older human woman, shot him an incredulous glance.

“You seem to have some inkling what you’re up against,” Aunn said calmly. “I suggest you leave us in peace. You can tell your officers that we were gone when you arrived.”

The older soldier looked as though she were considering the offer, but her eyes went to the two elves who would certainly complain to the watch and contradict that lie. The young man shouted back, “I suggest you surrender. Give yourselves up to justice!”

Gaven scratched his cheek, listening to the patter of rain in the courtyard outside. “We don’t want to fight you,” he said, “and it’s clear you don’t want to fight us, either.”

“You were warned about us,” Aunn said, advancing slowly. “Who told you? What did they say?”

The soldiers exchanged a glance, then the woman spoke up. “The Royal Eyes issued warnings about both of you. They said you killed some people in the Tower of Eyes, and he killed some spies in Chalice Center. Right in the open.”

“I didn’t kill anyone in the Tower of Eyes,” Aunn muttered. “But I should have.”

They were close enough now that Gaven could see past the soldiers and out into the courtyard, where rain was splattering against the cobblestones.

“No, I’m the killer here,” Gaven said. “Once the storm gets started, it’s hard to stop it. Look outside, it’s already raining.”

The soldiers stepped back at that. Clearly they had heard how the spies in Chalice Center met their end.

Even as the soldiers retreated, though, Gaven saw two other figures enter the courtyard at a run, then slow as they splashed into the puddles already forming among the cobblestones. The one in front was a tall woman in a leather coat, wearing chainmail beneath it, a rapier at her belt. Lagging a few paces behind was a dwarf in a scarlet shirt.

“It’s the Kundarak,” he said to Aunn.

“And it looks like she has a new friend,” Aunn noted.

“Too bad. I rather liked Bordan.”

Aunn shrugged. “So much for getting out of here without a fight.”

The two women hurried across the courtyard. At the bottom of the stairs, the human looked up and took in the scene.

“Fairhaven watch!” she cried out. “Stand down, by order of the Sentinel Marshals!”

The soldiers looked relieved, and immediately backed away from Gaven and Aunn, afraid to turn their backs but not too proud to retreat. Gaven followed them outside to the top of the stairs. The rain was cold, but it soothed his skin.

“Thank you, Sentinel Marshal,” he said, resting his greatsword on his shoulder. Thunder boomed overhead, and Gaven felt a thrill pass through his body. His dragonmark was gone—stolen, now—but the storm was willing to answer his call again. He was still the Storm Dragon, he realized.

“Don’t thank me, vermin,” the Sentinel Marshal said. “I was only trying to protect them.”

“I’m grateful you got them out of the way before the storm grew too violent.” Lightning flashed across the sky, casting strange shadows across the plaza.

“Gaven,” the dwarf rumbled. “I suspected I’d find you here.”

“You’re quite persistent, Kundarak, I have to grant you that. But my position hasn’t altered since we last met in Stormhome: You’re wasting your time chasing me. And you don’t have Rienne to take hostage this time.”

“Don’t I?”

A bolt of lightning struck the roof of the temple as fury surged in Gaven’s heart. “You have her? Where is she?”

“I don’t have her,” Ossa said, “but I know where she is.”

“Oh!” Aunn exclaimed from behind him. “I’m sorry, Gaven, I forgot to tell you—Rienne was briefly imprisoned in Thaliost last week.”

“Imprisoned in Thaliost?”

“She left with a Lyrandar pilot who paid her fines.”

Ossa scowled, and Gaven suspected that Aunn had just told him all the information that Ossa had hoped to use as a bargaining chip. So Rienne was with Jordhan. The sky rumbled with his pang of jealousy, but he felt relief as well, knowing that she had safely returned from Argonnessen and escaped whatever prison she’d been in.

The Sentinel Marshal was a few steps up the stairs, with Ossa right behind. “Gaven, excoriate of House Lyrandar,” the Marshal said, “by authority of House Deneith, I place you under arrest for murder. I suggest you come without a fight, rather than adding to your crimes.”

“Oh, so you make that suggestion out of concern for me?” Gaven said. “Not out of fear for your life?”

“My concern is that justice is done.”

“Whose justice?”

The Sentinel Marshal looked perplexed, like the question made no sense to her.

“Enough of this bluster and boasting!” Ossa bellowed, tromping up a few more steps.

“I told you before, Kundarak—you can’t handle me.” Lightning slashed across the sky to emphasize his point, and thrilled in Gaven’s veins.

The dwarf stopped in her tracks, staring at Gaven’s face and neck, bewilderment on her face. “Your dragonmark,” she said. “It’s … not just covered up.”

A dragonmark was a difficult thing to hide, partly because the pattern was typically raised above the level of the surrounding skin, and partly because using its power made it stand out even more, and typically melted away makeup used to cover it. Gaven had never tried to cover his, but as large as it had been, he doubted he would have had any success. Now, of course, his mark was gone, though the storm clearly still flowed in his blood—and the skin of his neck and chest burned furiously as the lightning flashed overhead.

“No, it’s gone,” Gaven snapped. “But that won’t stop me from blasting you to the Outer Darkness if you take another step closer.”

To Gaven’s surprise, Ossa held up her hands, and even the Sentinel Marshal dropped one step back.

“What do you mean, your dragonmark is gone?” the Sentinel Marshal said quietly.

“I mean that House Cannith, House Thuranni, Arcanix, and the Royal Eyes of Aundair built a device that stripped the dragonmark off my skin.” Thunder rumbled as he descended one more step. “They put it into a bloodshard and channeled its power into a storm that brought the siege of Varna to a speedy end. But I understand I’m a threat to society, so you’d better get me back to Dreadhold.”

Lightning struck the steps right next to him, sending the Sentinel Marshal staggering backward, stumbling on the stairs.

“If you can take me!”

Another bolt crashed to the ground between the two women, tossing them aside. Ossa rolled quickly back on her feet, but the Marshal was slower to stand.

“Gaven!” Aunn’s voice was right at his shoulder, and he felt the changeling’s hand on his arm. Power surged in Gaven’s blood, thunder rumbled in the sky and shook the ground, but he bit back a thunderclap that would have thrown Aunn back away from him.

“Give them a chance to talk,” Aunn said.

The Sentinel Marshal was in a crouch, her empty palms turned out to Gaven, her rapier on the ground a few feet away. Ossa, too, had her hands well away from the weapon at her belt, as her eyes continued to search Gaven’s skin for any sign of his mark.

“So talk!” Gaven shouted.

“Where was this device?” Ossa said, glancing at the Sentinel Marshal.

“Near the Blackcaps.”

“I knew it!” the dwarf exclaimed.

“And House Cannith built it—Cannith West?” the Sentinel Marshal asked. “With help from all the others you mentioned? Arcanix and the Royal Eyes—and House Thuranni?”

“Yes,” Gaven said.

“Not exactly,” Aunn interjected. “One officer of the Royal Eyes was involved, but he’s dead now. And I don’t know how involved House Thuranni was.”

“And that officer died in the … catastrophic failure of the device?” Ossa said. Gaven couldn’t read her expression, but there was more she wasn’t saying.

“We destroyed the Dragon Forge,” Gaven said, “but Kelas met his end earlier.”

“Who from House Cannith was involved?” the Sentinel Marshal asked.

“A whole platoon of magewrights,” Aunn said quickly. He was trying to hide Ashara’s involvement, Gaven realized.

“But what about the baron? Was Jorlanna aware of it?”

“I saw her there once,” Aunn said. “She demonstrated the device to the queen.”

Ossa and the Sentinel Marshal shared an excited glance. “We have her!” the Marshal exclaimed.

Ossa grinned. “We’ve got them all.”

A
unn stepped in front of Gaven, hoping the storm might calm if Aunn took the reins of the conversation and let Gaven cool his head.

“You’re looking for information you can use against Jorlanna?” he asked.

The Sentinel Marshal nodded.

“Then you need to know that she’s part of something larger.”

“Larger?”

“At minimum, it’s a plot against the queen, but I fear it’s more than that.”

“I’m listening,” the Sentinel Marshal said.

“Should we go someplace more private to discuss this?” Gaven said.

Ossa scoffed. “So you have a chance to lose us in the city streets?” she said. “I don’t think so.”

“Here is fine for now,” the Sentinel Marshal said. “Let’s hear what you have to say, changeling.”

“My name is Aunn.” It still felt strange to say it aloud. “I was with the Royal Eyes.”

“That much I knew,” the Sentinel Marshal said. “The Royal Eyes issued a warning to the city watch about you. I’m Mauren d’Deneith.”

“Mauren,” Aunn repeated. It was a name he might have used for one of his faces. He had been a Vauren, a Maura, and a Laurann in the past. He felt a sudden strange pang—he missed them, somehow, or grieved the life they represented. It was followed by a sudden stab of suspicion: What if Mauren was the changeling, Vec? Vec had used one of Aunn’s faces, appearing as Haunderk. Might he also use a name similar to one he would use?

“Mauren, forgive my impertinence,” he said, “but could I please see your dragonmark?”

Mauren’s mouth quirked in a funny smile. “You don’t want to see my papers or my badge? Just my mark?”

“I’m a Royal Eye, Sentinel Marshal. I know how easy it is to acquire papers and badges.”

“You’re also a changeling,” she said. She fumbled at a buckle near her shoulder as she climbed the steps. “And you know how hard it is to imitate a dragonmark.”

“Exactly.”

“It is not easy to show,” Mauren said, still smiling, her fingers working at a different buckle. Ossa climbed the stairs behind her.

Aunn tensed. That could be a convenient excuse, though Mauren didn’t look like she was preparing an attack.

Mauren slipped her leather coat down off her shoulders and turned partly away from Aunn. “Come here,” she said.

Aunn stepped beside her, feeling awkward.

“There’s a flap at the shoulder you should be able to open,” Mauren said.

Aunn reached out and pulled at the chainmail that covered her shoulder. As Mauren had said, a flap of mail attached to leather and backed with cotton pulled away, revealing bare skin beneath—and the tracings of the Mark of Sentinel, a bit like a rampant dragon, with its head, tail, and wings forming a sort of cross shape. If she was a changeling, she had mastered a talent he found impossible.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” he said quietly. It was a strange moment of intimacy.

“I’m glad you’re satisfied. Maybe now we can work together from a position of trust.” She pulled the armor flap back over her mark and her coat back over her shoulders as Aunn stepped back. “You were going to tell me about Jorlanna’s involvement in a plot against the queen.”

“Yes. We believe that Nara ir’Galanatyr is behind the whole scheme, though almost everyone else involved thought that the mastermind was Kelas ir’Darren.”

“I know the Galanatyr name,” Mauren said. “She was head of the Royal Eyes during the war, right?”

Aunn nodded.

“But I don’t know ir’Darren.”

“He was my superior in the Royal Eyes. He brought together Jorlanna, Arcanist Wheldren of the Arcane Congress, former Colonel Janna Tolden, and a few financial backers to overthrow the queen.”

“You said you feared it was more than just a plot against the queen. What more did you mean?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He turned to Gaven. “Listen. You know how the Prophecy confuses me. But I realized something this morning.”

“Is this the time to talk about it?” Gaven said, glancing sidelong at Ossa and the Sentinel Marshal.

“We don’t have much time left, Gaven. Listen. Nara’s been masterminding this whole affair, from breaking you out of Dreadhold”—he saw Ossa stiffen—”to the Dragon Forge. When I talked to her she was excited about the ‘storm and dragon reunited’ line. But that’s crazy. That means that she knew you were the Storm Dragon, even when Haldren thought it was Vaskar. She knew you would face the Soul Reaver but you wouldn’t become a god, because you had to be around for the Time of the Dragon Below. Each time you’ve thought you were taking control of your own destiny, you were doing what she expected you to do. You were fulfilling the Prophecy in the way she planned for it to be fulfilled.”

Gaven scowled. Aunn could understand why he might not want to think along these lines, but he had to convince him.

“So she’s planning to overthrow the queen, but now Kelas is dead and her plan is in a shambles. Or is it? Maybe she’s counting on someone else carrying it out—she already has another changeling lined up to stab the queen, and Janna Tolden is snooping around Kelas’s office in the old cathedral. But maybe she’s planning for them to fail as well, because she knows that we’re aware of her plot. Maybe the Prophecy says she’s going to fail—but that means it’s not a failure! It’s what she wants to happen, because it’s not her true goal.”

“So what is her real goal?” Mauren said.

“I have no idea!” Aunn put his hands on Gaven’s shoulders. “You’re the only other person who could possibly know. There has to be something in the Prophecy that’s her real goal, something that’s supposed to happen in the Time of the Dragon Below. Or maybe something that’s supposed to happen years from now.”