Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three (43 page)

Then he saw a woman with long, fair hair, trailing an overlong black cloak. Now certain that he was following Vec, Aunn slowed his pace and tried to melt back into the crowd, keeping his eyes fixed on the changeling’s blond hair.

Vec led him on a path circling Crown’s Hall, staying close to the outer edge of the courtyard. She slowed her pace and lingered at a shop window just past the garrison building, pretending to check the wares while she actually watched the reflections of people passing. Aunn continued past her, rounding the corner of the courtyard, turning his face away from her view. He started to regret buying the expensive purple cloak that made him stand out in the crowd.

He made his way to the royal museum and ducked inside. Smiling at the obsequious attendants, he pulled the cloak from his shoulders and handed it to one of them, along with a gold galifar. The attendant bowed
and smiled, then pressed a ticket into his hand that would allow him to reclaim the cloak when his visit to the museum was concluded. Aunn changed then, ignoring the gasps of the attendants, taking the first face and name that sprang to his mind.

Who are you?

As he tightened his belt and adjusted his clothes, he caught a glimpse of himself in glass—long brown hair, soft and curved. I am Caura Fannam, he thought.
You were very kind
.

As the attendants protested, he strode back out of the museum, scanning the people on the street, looking for Vec. His thoughts were a jumble, thinking of Jenns Solven and the green dragon in the forest.

Vec had changed as well—Aunn saw a burly man, dressed in the same gray and black, looking closely at his face as he walked past. When their eyes met, Vec flashed him a grin like a hungry wolf, then hurried ahead of him.

Crown’s Hall loomed across the courtyard. Aunn loosed his belt and changed again, ignoring the gawks and gasps of the people who witnessed the transformation.

Who are you?

He felt solid and strong in his dwarf body. I am Auftane Khunnam, he thought, and Dania ir’Vran called me friend. He touched the silver torc he wore, which was not tight despite the thickness of his dwarf neck, and felt its fire course through him.

The burly Vec glanced over his shoulder and scanned the crowd, and he seemed not to see Aunn. Then Aunn lost sight of him in a knot of people gawking at the darkened sky.

Someone screamed, and many of the people around Aunn pointed down the wide avenue leading south from Crown’s Hall. Aunn glanced down that street and saw a few squads of minotaur warriors marching toward him. He looked back at the hall, where lines of the palace guard were forming up to meet the attackers. The crowd was in full panic, racing in every direction to get out from between the two forces of soldiers before they clashed.

A slender elf in gray darted around the palace guard toward Crown’s Hall, and Aunn ran toward him, changing his face again as he ran.

Who are you?

He was tall and strong, his shirt tight across his chest, with a thick neck and crooked nose. I am Kauth Dannar, he thought, a hard man for hard work. His long strides helped him gain on Vec.

Vor’s face, lying dead on the Labyrinth’s floor, haunted him. Why didn’t you come back? Aunn asked the dead paladin. Was it my lack of faith? Or was it because you had found peace and were content to stay dead?

Crown’s Hall was an enormous structure the size of an arena, consisting of the central audience chamber surrounded by four wings jutting out in the cardinal directions, symbolizing Aurala’s willingness to hear petitions from every quarter of her nation. Four towers rose up at the corners of the structure, containing the rich historical archives of the Royal Collection in one tower, the Courts of Justice and its prison in another, and the residences of the queen and her brothers with their families in the remaining two towers.

Vec darted into a short and narrow alley between one of the wings and towers. At the end of the alley, he threw open a door and disappeared inside. Aunn hesitated—the door was one way into the heart of the palace, but it would ordinarily be heavily guarded with both soldiers and magical wards, easily defensible. Was Vec counting on the distraction of the soldiers in the courtyard, or were there agents on the inside—unwitting Royal Eyes, or soldiers loyal to Janna Tolden—who were responsible for removing both guards and wards?

Aunn reached the door and leaped over the body of a palace guard slumped on the floor. Vec was fast.

I have to catch him before he gets to the queen, Aunn thought.

Who are you?
Tira Miron asked him.

Aunn let Kauth’s face fade and didn’t replace it, reverting to the blank gray and white of his true face. “I am Aunn,” he said aloud, “and I’m yours.”

A
unn heard footsteps racing up a staircase through an archway ahead of him, and ran after them.

“Stop!” someone cried.

Aunn reached the stairs and saw Vec, now back in his unremarkable killer’s face, raced up toward a soldier of the palace guard who pointed a spear down the stairs at the approaching assassin. Vec dodged around the soldier’s thrust and knocked the spear out of his hand, but Aunn noted with satisfaction that the soldier already had a sword in his free hand, and he swung a strong, accurate blow at Vec. The palace guard was a cut above the rank-and-file soldiery of Fairhaven.

Vec parried the guard’s blow, slowing enough for Aunn to gain a few steps on him. If the guard could just hold him another moment—

Vec’s blade sliced across the soldier’s neck, and his other hand pulled the man forward so he tumbled down the stairs toward Aunn. Aunn couldn’t get out of the way fast enough, and the soldier’s foot caught him in the face, pulling him back down to the foot of the stairs, with a few hard collisions on the way.

Aunn pulled himself back to his feet and looked up the stairs. Vec was out of sight. Ordinarily, three or four guards would have blocked the stairway, with the two in the back thrusting spears around their comrades in front. Someone—perhaps a traitor in the palace guard, perhaps just someone who viewed the attacking mercenaries in the courtyard as a greater threat than someone sneaking through less obvious passages—had diverted the bulk of the palace guard to deal with the minotaurs.

Aunn raced up the stairs and found himself in a guard post, now deserted. The room stretched ahead a few paces and then bent around the wall of the adjacent tower. He crept to a point where he could see around the corner, expecting Vec to leap out at him as he drew near. He saw another soldier bleeding out her life at the top of another staircase,
but no sign of the assassin. A door of heavy darkwood engraved with arcane sigils stood closed beside each stairway. It didn’t seem that either seal had been broken.

Where did he go? Aunn wondered.

Following the trail of blood, Aunn went to stand beside the fallen soldier. He bent to check the woman’s pulse while he listened for footsteps. The woman was quite dead, and all he heard was the sounds of fighting from the courtyard. Vec might have gone down the other stairs and back out into the fray, but Aunn couldn’t imagine that he would get this far into Crown Hall and then retreat.

Frowning, he stood at the door near the dead guard. He closed his eyes and let his fingertips graze across the surface of the door, not quite touching the wood but feeling the lines of the magic that coursed within it. The ward was strong, but Aunn felt a weakness in it as well, the echo of Vec’s passage through the door.

“Damn,” Aunn muttered, opening his eyes and letting them wander over the sigils on the door. The ward was designed to prevent the door from opening. Vec hadn’t opened it—he’d gone right through it.

Aunn weighed his options. With enough time, he could either bypass the door’s wards or he could weave an infusion into his armor that would let him pass through the door as Vec had done. But time was exactly what he didn’t have. If Vec was on the other side of the door, he could be a blade’s length away from the queen already.

He took a closer look at the sigils on the door, a slightly crazy idea taking form in his mind. His hunch proved correct—the ward wasn’t so much designed to prevent the door from opening, but to kill anyone who opened it without disabling the ward, while raising an alarm throughout the palace. One of those results was actually desirable under the circumstances, and the other …

“I think I can handle it,” he said aloud. “Please, let me survive this.”

He traced a quick ward of his own across the front of his belt, giving himself some protection from fire. It wasn’t enough to shield him completely, but it might keep him alive. With that ward in place, he threw himself against the door.

An inferno erupted around him as the door gave way, and every nerve in his body screamed its agony as he fell to the floor. His ears rang with the noise of it, which at least gave him comfort that an alarm would be raised.

He heaved himself up from the floor and looked around. He was on a narrow balcony, with the magnificent ceiling of Crown’s Hall arching
high above him. Every inch of the ceiling was covered with gold leaf that seemed to glow with an inner fire of its own, bathing the hall in warm light. The balcony extended all around one wing of the great hall, offering a vantage point where the palace guard could keep their watchful eyes on the queen’s visitors below.

Sliding a healing wand from his pouch, he got his feet beneath him and pulled himself up on the balcony railing, searching the hall below for Vec. Chaos reigned in the hall, with every face upturned to the source of the explosive sound, and many fingers raised to point at him. Shouts of alarm were raised as soldiers ran for stairways and clustered beneath him in case he jumped off the balcony. Aunn swore to himself—with his noisy entrance, he had probably created the distraction that would allow Vec to get close to the queen.

Queen Aurala stood in front of the gilded throne where she granted audiences. Aunn cursed her as he felt the healing power of his wand course through him—she should have retreated to safety when the first alarms were raised. Her pride had almost certainly prevented it.

He spotted Vec, a dark figure lurking at the edge of the hall, perhaps ten yards from the queen. Aunn shouted and pointed down at Vec. “He’s the assassin! Guard the queen!” A few soldiers paused and stared around the hall, trying to follow Aunn’s pointing finger, while Vec darted toward the queen.

More soldiers started to pour onto the balcony from stairways to either side. Aunn had no choice but to jump down and hope he could reach Vec before Vec reached the queen.

“I think I can handle the fall,” he muttered, smiling to himself. “Please, let me survive this!”

He ran along the balcony to get as close as he could to the throne before going over the edge. Soldiers ran toward him—one tossed a javelin that flew right by his ear. No time to lose—he looked over the railing, and saw Vec withdraw a bloody dagger from the queen’s ribs as she sank to the ground.

*  *  *  *  *

“Storm and dragon are reunited,” Gaven breathed, turning the Draconic words over in his mind as he stared up into one of the dragon’s enormous yellow eyes. His chest was tight and his mind reeled at the sight of the magnificent beast. Shakravar had left his memories in a nightshard at least four hundred years ago, and Gaven had always had the sense that
the dragon was already centuries old at that time. How incredibly ancient was the creature revealed before him?

“Listen to me, Storm Dragon,” Shakravar said. “We stand at the culmination of six centuries of planning. You have a part to play. So far, you’ve done everything I desired, unwitting though you were. You need only continue on the course you’ve already chosen for a few more hours, and this will all be over.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Why would you do that? Just to spite me? You can’t refuse. The Prophecy is unfolding exactly as I planned.”

Gaven shrugged. Senya’s tattooed face smiled in his memory.
“Who you are now is who you have been and who you are yet to be.”

“Give me the dragonshard,” he said.

Shakravar chuckled—a low rumbling that Gaven felt in his gut and through his feet. The dragon reached out, and Gaven saw the bloodstone pinched between the scythe blades of Shakravar’s claws. He took it and felt its power coursing through him.

“So what happens next?” he asked.

“Look at the sun, Storm Dragon. ‘The moon of the Endless Night turns day into night.’ We face the Blasphemer’s forces together!”

“Where are they?” Gaven asked. “They approach from the northwest.”

“Then we’d better get moving. This darkness can’t last long.”

The dragon lowered his head almost to the ground. “Climb on my back, Storm Dragon. We will fly as one.”

“And break as one,” Gaven said, stepping up to the dragon’s shoulder. He reached a tentative hand up, found a hold, and pulled himself onto Shakravar’s back.

“As a storm breaks, Storm Dragon—a storm such as this world has never seen.”

Gaven found an awkward seat at the dragon’s shoulders, behind the spiny crest that ran down his neck and in front of the larger spines running down its back. As he was still settling, Shakravar spread his wings and leaped up, beating his wings fiercely to catch the air and lift them skyward.

Gaven scratched fiercely at his neck and chest, and started in surprise as he felt a raised pattern emerging on his skin.

Storm and dragon are reunited indeed, he thought.

Clouds formed above and around them as they flew, thunder echoing
through every part of Gaven’s body and shaking the dragon’s wings. Shakravar flew over the Aundairian legions, sending waves of fear rippling through the soldiers’ orderly lines but not breaking them. They soared across acres of swamped and trampled farmland and swept down upon the massed hordes of the Blasphemer.

Three smaller dragons rose into the air as they approached, circling warily around the ancient Shakravar, who roared a challenge to them. As one, they swooped in to attack from all sides, but Shakravar snapped his wings and thunder boomed around them. Gaven spread his arms and drew lightning out of the surrounding clouds, spearing all three dragons as they reeled in the thunder of Shakravar’s wings. Lightning flowed through him and the dragon beneath him, binding them together in the heart of the storm.