Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three (5 page)

“Does House Cannith have a circle?” he asked.

“Yes, these could be the sigils for the Cannith circle. But that would mean …”

“That we’ll arrive right on the doorstep of your House, where you’re not exactly welcome.”

“Right. With a warforged, an excoriate from House Lyrandar, and a dragonshard that’s worth about three kingdoms to the right people.”

Aunn wheeled to look at Gaven, but his hands were empty. “Where is the shard?” he said. Panic set his heart drumming.

“I have it.” Ashara patted a pocket in her coat. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten about it, or the need to keep it safe. Can you imagine what people would do to get their hands on it?”

“First they have to know it exists.” Aunn felt like an idiot for having forgotten it—his mind had been on Gaven, not on the shard that Cart took from his hands. It was a terrible oversight.

“Well then,” Ashara said, “let’s start with the people who know it exists—like Baron Jorlanna and Arcanist Wheldren. And Phaine d’Thuranni.
Perhaps one of the dragons that flew out of here when Gaven wrecked the Dragon Forge. That’s enough, but it won’t stop there. Word will spread.”

“Is that thing ready?” Cart called from somewhere behind Aunn.

Aunn saw Ashara brighten, and he smiled to himself. Strange as it was, her affection for Cart seemed genuine, and it was touching.

“The circle’s ready,” she said. “Now we just need—Oh! You’re hurt!”

Aunn turned and saw Cart running toward them. A gash on Cart’s arm, just above the top of his shield, streamed with brownish fluid. His axe was in his hand, blood staining the blade, and he shot a glance over his shoulder as Ashara hurried out of the circle to meet him.

“It’s nothing,” Cart said, pulling his arm away from Ashara’s reach. “But we should get out of here now, if the circle’s ready.”

The tramp of running feet followed Cart up the hill, and Aunn reached for his mace. His hand grabbed empty air, and he glanced down to his belt, where Kelas’s sword hung at his left side. He sighed and fumbled in his pouch for a wand.

“Get in the circle!” Ashara said. “I’ll finish the sigils.”

“But your House—” Aunn began.

“We’ll cross that threshold when we get there.” She knelt near the center of the circle, and Cart joined her, turning back to shield her from the soldiers who were cresting the ridge. Aunn took Gaven’s arm, stood him up again, and led him into the ring of twisting lines and symbols. A soldier shouted and a spear stabbed into the ground just outside the circle. Aunn stretched his mind to feel the lines of magic coursing around the completed circle.

“Just one thing,” Ashara said. “When we get there, nobody move.”

*  *  *  *  *

Activating the circle took only a moment. Once again, Aunn and Ashara were joined together by the weave of magic formed by the circle, and their hands and minds darted over the loom in perfect unison. Aunn saw another spear clang against Cart’s shield, and the world went black.

At first he thought they had failed, and somehow hurled themselves into the Outer Darkness beyond the world. Then his senses caught up with him: he felt the hard stone beneath his feet and hands, heard Ashara and Gaven breathing beside him, and noticed the magic weave of the Cannith teleportation circle. They had arrived in Fairhaven. He almost stood up, then remembered Ashara’s warning.

“What now?” he whispered.

He heard Ashara let out a long, slow breath. “We’re in a large room warded by traps, with a guard outside the door.”

Aunn sighed. “Quite a threshold to cross.” His mind started tracing a possible course, anticipating the traps that were likely in place and how to disable them. The last thing he wanted was to raise an alarm, to be forced to explain what Kelas ir’Darren was doing sneaking around the Cannith forgehold. “Wait a moment,” he said aloud.

He had to start thinking like Kelas, Aunn realized. He drew a deep breath, stood up, and listened. He didn’t hear anything to indicate that he’d sprung a trap, so he called out in a perfect imitation of Kelas’s most authoritative voice, “House Cannith! Open this door, in the name of the queen!”

“What are you doing?” Ashara cried. Before Aunn could answer, magical lights around the room blazed to life and a door swung open.

They were in a large, square chamber, perhaps thirty feet on a side. At a glance, Aunn saw nozzles in the ceiling, probably designed to release a gas that would knock intruders unconscious—or possibly jets to bathe invaders in fire. Holes in the walls were almost certainly designed to release darts or arrows. Every flagstone on the floor, beyond the etched lines of the teleportation circle, could have been a moving plate concealing a trigger for one of the room’s traps.

The two warforged soldiers in the doorway commanded his attention, however. They gripped halberds, and one had a hand on a copper panel on the wall beside the door. Aunn didn’t wait for them to speak.

“I am Kelas ir’Darren and I am here on the queen’s business,” he said. “Please escort me and my companions to the nearest exit.”

The two warforged exchanged a glance, one nodded, and the other moved something on the copper panel. “Please approach,” the one at the panel said, “and I’ll need to see your identification papers.”

Aunn strode forward without glancing at the others, hoping that Cart and Ashara were playing their parts. As he walked, he produced the papers he’d found in Kelas’s pouch, and he handed them to one of the warforged. “The half-elf is a prisoner,” he said, nodding toward Gaven, who was shuffling along under Cart’s guidance. He tried to force his heart into a slow, steady rhythm, but it was like pulling the reins of a wild stallion.

The warforged studied the front page of Kelas’s papers carefully, then turned the page to read the part that identified him as an agent of the crown. He looked at the first page again, examined the portrait and compared it to Aunn’s face, then handed it back and turned his attention to Ashara.

Her Mark of Making was hidden beneath a sleeve of leather armor, so he didn’t recognize her as an heir of the House until he read her name from the papers she offered. “Lady Cannith!” he exclaimed, and both of the warforged bowed deeply.

The other warforged, rising from his bow, held a hand out to Cart.

“I have no identification papers,” Cart said.

“He’s mine,” Ashara said. That seemed to satisfy the guard, though Aunn saw Cart stiffen.

The first warforged still held Ashara’s papers. “Lady
Ashara
d’Cannith?” He exchanged another glance with his comrade, and Aunn saw Ashara’s eyes widen with sudden fear.

“I’m sorry, master ir’Darren,” the warforged said to Aunn, “but we are going to have to take Ashara into custody. House Cannith has declared her excoriate.”

H
ouse Cannith?” Aunn said.

“Whose enclave you have just barged into, yes,” said the warforged, Ashara’s papers clutched in his fist.

“House Cannith no longer exists in Aundair,” Aunn said. “The Cannith family no longer has legal authority over its members—you’re all Aundairians now. And Ashara ir’Cannith is an agent of the queen’s Ministry of Artifice, to which this building belongs. She’s coming with me. Give her back her papers.”

If the warforged said anything, Aunn couldn’t hear it over the pounding in his ears. From what Ashara had told him, Jorlanna should have sworn her fealty to the queen already, if everything had gone according to plan. But nothing was going according to plan, and if Jorlanna remained the head of a House Cannith still protected by the Korth Edicts, he had just talked himself into a very bad position. He could barely breathe as he waited for the warforged to respond.

Then Ashara had her papers again and the warforged were leading them out of the room and up a narrow stone passageway. Aunn glanced back at Gaven, grateful that the dispute over Ashara had distracted the guards from the “prisoner” who shuffled along beside Cart. Satisfied that Gaven was not attracting attention, Aunn concentrated on his stride—purposeful, proud—and tried to become Kelas. For thirty years, he thought, Kelas tried to make me the perfect spy, shaping me into a replica of himself. Now I need to
be
him.

There’s too much I don’t know, he thought as he strode behind the warforged, too many ways I can give myself away. I know more than anyone, probably, about Kelas’s past, but not enough about the plots he was embroiled in when he died. What in the Traveler’s ten thousand names am I getting myself into?

The passage opened into a hall that Aunn recognized as the primary
audience chamber in the Cannith enclave, close to the main entrance from the street. He could just hear the sounds of the busy street outside as evening settled over the city—a donkey braying, voices raised in an argument. A moment more, he thought, and we’ll be out of here. Free.

The warforged stopped in front of a man who bore the Mark of Making, smaller but no less elaborate than Ashara’s, on his left temple. A streak of stark white hair, contrasting with the rich black that covered the rest of his head, started right beside his mark. The warforged bowed slightly and leaned in to explain the situation.

The man stepped around the warforged to confront Aunn. “I’m Harkin d’Cann—” He stopped, grimaced, and corrected himself. “Harkin ir’Cannith, steward of this house.”

Clearly, as a dragonmarked heir, he needed some adjustment to the idea of being an Aundairian noble, changing the honorific in his name from the dragonmarked D to the mark of a noble family of Galifar, the ir’- prefix.

“Kelas ir’Darren,” Aunn said. When he needed to be, Kelas could be charming, all smiles and ingratiating warmth. But in situations like this, Aunn knew, Kelas was cold fire.

“Look, ir’Darren,” Harkin said, “I don’t know what Ashara did, but the baron wants her head.”

“I’ll discuss the matter with Jorlanna, then. It’s no concern of yours.”

“It’ll be my head next if the baron finds out that I let her go.”

Aunn folded his arms. “And I’ll have you in a court of law if you try to detain this woman. You have no legal authority to arrest her.”

“Why don’t I just see if the baron’s here now, and we can get this sorted out before Ashara goes anywhere?” His eyes ranged over Cart and Gaven, then settled on Ashara for a moment. Aunn thought he saw the hint of a smile.

“Harkin—” Ashara began, but Aunn cut her off.

“Ashara is helping me on the queen’s business, and it can’t wait. You may tell Jorlanna that I’ll speak with her about this in the morning. But we are leaving now. Good evening.”

Aunn turned his back on the man and swept toward the door. His heart was still pounding, but it was not an altogether unpleasant sensation. Exhilarating, almost. A taste of the power that Kelas wielded. Nobody moved to intercept him before he reached the door, and a glance over his shoulder showed him that Cart and Ashara were right on his heels, leading Gaven along between them. Gaven’s face registered no thought or feeling.

Sorry, friend, Aunn thought. You’re missing quite an adventure.

Harkin watched them leave with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on Gaven. So Jorlanna would know that both Gaven and Ashara were in his custody, as well as a warforged who was most likely the one who killed Haldren.

How am I going to talk myself out of that? he wondered.

We’ll cross that threshold when we get there, he thought as he turned his back to the Cannith enclave and stepped back onto the Fairhaven streets.

*  *  *  *  *

“You did it!” Ashara said, once several blocks lay between them and the Cannith enclave. “You got us out!”

“Lower your voice,” Aunn said. “I haven’t spotted anyone yet, but it’s a safe bet we’re being followed. Keep up appearances.”

Ashara glanced over her shoulder, and Aunn rolled his eyes. It didn’t matter—if the Cannith following them knew what he was doing, he would assume that his quarry knew he was there. And following their strange procession would hardly be a challenge. Gaven walked with Cart, but slowly, and they drew entirely too much attention. The streets were crowded with workers heading home and the well-to-do beginning their nightly revels—far too many people who might remember the strange sight of a warforged leading a catatonic half-elf through the streets.

“I might have gotten us out of there,” Aunn said, “but I’m afraid I talked us into more trouble. Now Jorlanna knows you’re with me—and we have Gaven. That rules out a lot of good lies.”

“Well, at any rate we’re walking through the city, not in a cell somewhere.” Ashara looked around. “Where are we going?”

“House Jorasco. I want to get Gaven back as soon as possible.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Cart said, speaking for the first time since they left the Cannith enclave.

“Bringing Gaven back to his senses?” Aunn said, stopping and turning to face the warforged.

“No, taking him to House Jorasco. We just had one adventure in a dragonmarked enclave. Are you in such a hurry to rush into another?”

“But House Jorasco—”

“Loves to be underestimated,” Cart said. “They took Senya in when she was injured, nursed her back to health, and then summoned the Sentinel Marshals as soon as she was well enough to travel. And that was
in Vathirond. I think it’s wise to assume that House Jorasco in Fairhaven will be at least as well-informed.”

“Damn, you’re right,” Aunn said. “What do we do, then? If not House Jorasco, who can heal him?”

“I have an idea,” Cart said. “A sergeant I knew once had some unusual interests, and a friend of hers here in the city took her once to meet someone she said … hrm. It’s a bit hard to explain.” Cart shrugged. “What if I just find him and bring him to the cathedral?”

“Can I come with you?” Ashara asked.

“If you like.”

“The cathedral?” Aunn said.

“Kelas was using the old cathedral as a meeting place,” Ashara explained.

The old cathedral of the Silver Flame. It struck Aunn as an odd choice of a meeting place for Kelas’s conspiracy. Kelas had never shown anything but contempt for the Church of the Silver Flame, and of all Aundair’s neighbors he hated Thrane the most, with its theocratic government, the Keeper of the Flame at its head. Perhaps, in Kelas’s mind, meeting at the cathedral symbolized Aundair’s victory over Thrane. The idea made Aunn’s stomach turn.