Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three (41 page)

“You had better leave, Harkin,” she said, her voice strangled.

“Grow up, Ashara,” Harkin said. “I haven’t said anything you don’t know is true. You’ll be happier in the long run if you face reality now.”

“Please go.”

“Ashara …”

“She asked you to leave,” Cart said. “Don’t make me carry you out again.”

Harkin slammed his hands down on the table and stood. “When this is over, I’m going to be in charge of the forgehold as Baron Merrix’s lieutenant. I could have asked him to reverse Jorlanna’s ban of excoriation, to welcome you back into the family. Instead, I’m going to make sure your life is miserable. You should have listened to me, Ashara.”

Aunn watched him stomp to the door and abruptly stop. He backed away as the Sentinel Marshal and Ossa entered, and his shoulders slumped as they led him back to the table. With Mauren at his back, he sat back in his chair, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“Well, here’s an interesting assembly,” Mauren said, sweeping her gaze around the table.

“We’ve been discussing matters of interest to you,” Aunn said. “I understand you’re acquainted with Ashara and Cart, and clearly you know Harkin.”

“Yes, we’ve all met before. Perhaps you’d like to explain why you’re having a friendly chat with the mastermind responsible for the device that stripped the dragonmark from your friend Gaven.”

Ashara’s knuckles were white again, but Cart put a hand on her arm to reassure her.

“Cart and Ashara have been helping me make more sense out of the plot on the queen. Those mercenaries from Droaam—did you know that Jorlanna armed them?”

“Kol Korran’s beard, changeling!” Ossa grumbled, pulling another chair over to the table. She sat down and crossed her arms, scowling. “You’re not going to convince us to let another criminal go!”

Aunn’s brow went cold. “She can help us get Jorlanna and put a stop to all this.”

“So you’ve decided to cooperate now,” Mauren said, “is that it?” Ashara glanced up at the Sentinel Marshal, then at Cart. “I suppose I have.”

“You heard that I’ve made a few arrests already, and you got scared.”

“No, that’s not—”

“Why didn’t you come clean before?”

“I was afraid—”

“What about you, Harkin? Have you also decided to help in a desperate attempt to save your skin?”

Harkin ignored her, staring at the wall.

Aunn recognized what Mauren was doing—firing off questions more quickly than they could be answered, trying to put Ashara and now Harkin off balance. This meeting was not going as he had imagined.

“Mauren, why don’t you sit down?” he said.

“I don’t want to sit down. I want to take our friends here to the city jail where they can start getting used to spending the rest of their sorry lives in Dreadhold. I’ve been looking for you for five days, Ashara. Now that I’ve got you, you and your baron are going to see just how much trouble you’re in.”

“No,” Aunn said. “We need her help.”

“What in sea or sky do we need her help for? We know the Dragon Forge stripped the Mark of Storm off your friend Gaven. We know his dragonmark powered the storm that destroyed Varna. Ashara told me herself that she was responsible for the project—that’s why Jorlanna excoriated her.” She wheeled on Ashara. “If you’d told me five days ago what I needed to know, I could have protected you from prosecution and even from the reprisals of your House. But now? I have no more need of you. I just want to see you locked up to make sure you can’t strip the dragon-mark off anyone else.”

“Mauren, listen,” Aunn said. “She’s already realized her mistake …”

“Mistake? Stripping off a Mark of Siberys was a
mistake
?”

“Yes!” Ashara said, drawing stares. “We never should have drawn on the power we did.”

“And she helped me disable the Dragon Forge,” Aunn said.

“Then perhaps she’ll receive a lighter sentence,” Mauren said. “But I’m not letting this one run free.”

“Will you sit down and talk this through?” Aunn barked. “Is a moment of civil conversation too much to ask?”

“With the likes of her?” Mauren said.

“Pull up a chair, Mauren,” Ossa said. “Let’s hear the changeling out.”

Finally the Sentinel Marshal complied, settling in a chair and pushing a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear. “Very well, Ashara. Five days ago you told me you had no information to give that would help me bring your baron to justice. What has changed?”

Aunn bit his tongue, unsure what Ashara would or could say to blunt the force of Mauren’s anger toward her. He wished they all had left the Ruby Chalice before the Sentinel Marshal had arrived.

Ashara took a slow breath and reached into a large pouch at her belt. Aunn tensed, and he saw Mauren and Ossa stiffen as well. She produced a battered roll of paper and smoothed it open on the table.

“What is this?” Mauren asked, the anger draining from her voice.

Aunn saw at once what it was—and from the man’s low whistle, Aunn figured Harkin did as well. The paper was covered with intricate diagrams, and Aunn recognized the column of blue stone that featured prominently in every view. Part physical plan and part instructions for the magical artifice, the papers detailed Ashara’s plans for the Dragon Forge.

Ashara pointed to the corner of the paper. “No member of House Cannith can undertake a project of this magnitude without the approval of the baron,” she said.

Aunn peered at the page where she was pointing. The signature was illegible, but the arcane mark beneath it clearly identified it as the seal of Baron Jorlanna d’Cannith.

*  *  *  *  *

To Cart’s tremendous relief, Mauren had proven more reasonable than she had first seemed in the Ruby Chalice. Once she realized the significance of what Ashara had shown her, she arranged for Cart and Ashara to stay in the Ghallanda hostel near the city’s northeastern gate, where they could
be assured of privacy and security until Jorlanna was safely in custody and Ashara could appear at her trial.

They spent a week there, waiting for any word from Mauren or Aunn, enjoying the luxury provided by House Ghallanda’s Mark of Hospitality. Ashara reveled in it—soaking in a hot bath every evening, then wrapping herself in a warm blanket and sitting in front of a roaring fireplace to enjoy the fabulous meals the halflings provided.

Remembering the yearning in her voice when she had described the comforts of her own home, Cart was pleased to see her finding such enjoyment in those simple pleasures. He was even more pleased to find that he could enjoy them with her, or at least vicariously through her. The aromas of the halfling cooking meant nothing to him, but the pleasure on her face as she smelled and then ate their meals brought him new experiences of delight. He began to feel that perhaps, when her life returned to normal, there might still be room in it for him.

At night, he watched her sleep in the soft bed, but he kept his axe and shield in hand, standing guard—unnecessarily, he thought, given the importance that House Ghallanda placed on the security of its guests. But on the sixth morning of their stay, when three warforged barged into the room, he was glad he was there to block their entry.

“Cannith excoriate,” one of the intruders said, “surrender and appear before your baron.”

The other two, meanwhile, forced Cart back into the room at sword-point. He gripped his axe and shield, but they circled around him, forcing him to retreat if he wanted to keep them both in his field of vision.

“Jorlanna has grown desperate indeed,” Ashara said, “if she’s willing to draw the ire of House Ghallanda as well as the Sentinel Marshals.” She stood on the bed, her hair tousled from sleep, clutching a blanket around her out of a sense of modesty that Cart found oddly endearing in the circumstances.

“The baron will not long have anything to fear from the Houses,” the warforged said. He edged toward Ashara, keeping clear of Cart and the other two warforged. Cart considered breaking away from the two that engaged him and charging the leader, but he decided to wait. He didn’t want to start fighting until it was clearly necessary.

“Except perhaps her Kundarak guards in Dreadhold,” Ashara said. She was doing something with her hands—Cart realized suddenly that the blanket might not have anything to do with modesty after all. He started calculating his rush at the leader, though he wasn’t sure what Ashara would do and how it might alter the battlefield.

“This is foolish,” Cart said. “You three can’t take us alone.”

To make his point, he lunged at the warforged on his right, swinging his axe where his opponent could easily block the blow. As he expected, the other warforged brought his sword into a basic parry but at an awkward angle, and Cart’s blow knocked the sword from his grip. Without looking behind him, Cart heaved his shield back, where it collided with the other soldier’s weapon and sent it flying. He planted his foot on the first one’s sword and brought his axe around to rest on the shoulder of the other.

It was over in seconds, giving the leader no time to react. He stared at Cart, his face unreadable, but his paralysis a sure sign of fear.

Ashara pulled a short rod from beneath the blanket and touched it to the leader’s back. “And now that you know who’s in command here,” she said, “you will take us to see the baron after all.”

*  *  *  *  *

“Well, we finally saw Thuel Racannoch,” Mauren said, sliding down the bench of the private booth to make room for Ossa.

“And?” Aunn asked.

“Like much of the last week, it was frustrating and not at all productive.”

“What did he say?”

“He said nothing at all,” Ossa said, scowling, “in a great many words. Full of bluster and bile.”

Mauren shrugged. “He said that our investigation overstepped the authority of the Sentinel Marshals, that a plot against the queen—if one existed—would be an internal Aundairian matter and none of our damned business.”

“That … doesn’t sound like Thuel,” Aunn said. “Bluster and bile? I’ve seen Thuel angry, but those aren’t words I’d use to describe it.”

“I’d say they’re accurate enough,” Mauren said. “He insulted me enough that I might have arrested him, but I didn’t want to create any more trouble than we’re already in. Oh, and then there was the leering.”

“Leering?”

Mauren rolled her eyes.

Ossa gave a harsh laugh. “He couldn’t take his eyes off her. I thought at one point he might drool on her.”

“Now I’m sure that wasn’t Thuel,” Aunn said. Thuel was refined and polite, a gentleman in every way—even when he was angry. “It was probably Vec.”

Mauren raised her eyebrows. “You think Thuel is dead?”

“Almost certainly. Vec would have to be a fool to impersonate the Spy Master of the Royal Eyes in his own office if the Spy Master were still alive to get wind of it. Well, in case there was any doubt before, I guess that makes it quite clear that I can’t go back to the Tower of Eyes.”

“And it means we can’t rely on any help from them, either,” Mauren said.

“Neither can the queen,” Ossa added. “If the assassin’s posing as the head of the Royal Eyes, he doesn’t even need the distraction of a battle to get into the palace.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Aunn said. “There are enough magical wards protecting the palace that he’d probably be revealed before he got close enough to hurt her.”

“So the plan probably remains in place,” Mauren said. “The mercenaries attack, and that’s when Vec strikes.”

“And so the question remains—when?”

Mauren leaned over the table. “In your conversations with Nara, she said nothing?”

The details of his conversations with Nara were a blur in his mind, all but erased by the stress of the encounters, pretending to be Kelas and acting as though he had some idea what Nara was talking about. “She did say something,” he said, grasping for the memory. “About how I should lock Gaven away, because he needed to be in place when the time was right.”

“That’s all she said? ‘When the time is right?’”

“For the reunion, she said.”

“What reunion?” Ossa said. “Is she planning a gathering of those who are loyal to her?”

“No, wait,” Aunn said. “Gaven said something about the reunion—there was something in the Prophecy.” He closed his eyes and let the memory rise to the surface. “‘In the darkest night of the Dragon Below, storm and dragon are reunited.’ And he said the Time of the Dragon Below was beginning now, or a couple of weeks ago.”

“So what’s the darkest night?” Mauren asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Aunn said. As much as he hated trying to wrap his mind around the intricacies of the Prophecy, it seemed to be drawing him along its twisted pathways. “The reunion had something to do with Gaven arriving in Varna. Remember? Gaven said as much before he left.”

Mauren scowled. “So?”

“Gaven will probably arrive in Varna in the next day or two—he’s been traveling almost two weeks. Whatever the darkest night of the Dragon
Below might be, that’s when it’s going to happen. And I’m certain that Nara is planning some kind of grand conjunction of historical events, sending the assassin to strike at Aurala at the same moment the Storm Dragon confronts the Blasphemer. That’s the moment we’re looking for.”

Ossa clapped her hands together. “I’ll contact House Sivis and see if there’s any news of a battle near Varna. Last I heard, Aundair’s troops were pulling back toward the remains of the city.”

Aunn nodded. Besides scribing arcane marks and official documents, House Sivis also operated a network of magical communication, so they would be the first to know of an impending battle anywhere in Khorvaire. He got to his feet.

“The time is close, I’m sure of it,” he said.

C
art and Ashara walked behind the three warforged, leaving no question who was in command of the little procession. All three of the Cannith warforged were unarmed, their weapons on the floor back in the Ghallanda hostel. Cart’s axe was at his belt to avoid drawing too much of the wrong kind of attention as they walked through the city, but his hand was never far from its haft, in case one of the warforged tried anything. But they were back to their docile, obedient manner, in the presence of a Cannith heir who had the power—if not the legitimate authority—to command them, and they walked to the Cannith forgehold without ever looking back at him or Ashara.