Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three (8 page)

“When we delved into Khyber together,” Rienne’s voice said from the darkness, “when we sailed with Jordhan, when we worked for your House together, we were partners. Equals. We fought as a team. You covered my back, and I covered yours. We don’t fight like that any more. You used to give a damn about me—you used to love me, and I don’t think you do anymore.”

“Of course I do,” Gaven called. “Rienne!”

“You left me here to die, Gaven. Here in the land of dragons. You abandoned me.”

“I couldn’t—! They captured me—!”

“Gaven?” Her voice was fading. “Gaven, help me!”

“Rienne!”

She was gone.

*  *  *  *  *

The kalashtar stood, staggered away from Gaven, and slumped against Cart, exhaustion etched onto his face.

“What happened?” Aunn asked. “What did you see?”

“I’d accept that chair now, if the offer is still open,” Havrakhad said.

“Of course,” Aunn said.

Cart helped the kalashtar around the desk to Kelas’s chair as Aunn waited, breathless.

Havrakhad slumped into the chair and covered his face with his hands. “He carries many burdens,” he said, “along a twisting path.”

Aunn’s thoughts jumped to the Labyrinth, and the demon he fought there after leaving Maruk Dar. He looked at Gaven. Was a similar battle raging inside his mind?

“I don’t understand,” Cart said.

Havrakhad wiped his face and dropped his hands to his lap. “Something has trapped him, imprisoned him in a maze of his own thoughts. There his guilt, his shame, and his fear can prey on him, devouring his spirit. I tried to break through the maze, to find him and lead him out, but there were too many obstacles. Too much darkness.”

“You have to try again,” Aunn said, a sudden urgency seizing him. “If the darkness takes him—”

“I will try again,” the kalashtar said. “In a few hours. I must rest.”

“We all could use some rest,” Ashara said.

Cart shrugged. “I’m fine,” he said.

*  *  *  *  *

A distant light appeared in the darkness, dim and flickering, like a beacon calling him home. Gaven tried to lift himself from the ground and move toward it, but he was mired in mud and filth. It took all his strength just to lift his head, to see the light a little better.

At the sight of it, though, he felt strength surge in his limbs, and he fought harder to pull himself up. The sludge slithered and hissed around him, resentful of the disturbance. He kept his eyes on the light, and he thought he heard a voice calling his name.

“Stay with us,” someone whispered in the darkness. “You belong with us.” Bony hands gripped him, and faces surrounded him. They were dark-eyed and gaunt elves, the phantoms of the Paelions—the third branch of the Phiarlan family, slaughtered because of him. “Your destiny lies with us.”

“No,” Gaven murmured, “I’m sorry. No.”

The distant light sent a tingle of warmth into his icy skin, and he longed to let it fill him, penetrate to his bones. Mustering his strength, he lifted one foot from the mire and set it down in front of the other.

“You can’t leave,” the voices around him said. “You deserve this fate, though we did not. Stay.”

“I’m sorry,” Gaven said. His voice sounded stronger. He raised the other leg. Sticky tendrils of shadow snapped off him, leaving behind round sores on his skin. His strength surged, and soon he was walking in slow, stumbling strides toward the amber glow.

Faces crowded around him, smears of shadow trying to hide the light from his eyes, Paelion ghosts seeking to keep him in their clutches. He pushed them aside.

Rienne’s voice wailed behind him, “Bring me with you! Don’t leave me here!”

He turned around to find her, and the darkness enfolded him again. He tried to turn back to the light, but it was gone, and shadows coiled around him again.

*  *  *  *  *

“Another will is opposing me,” Havrakhad said. His face was pale, and shadows pooled beneath his eyes. “Someone is trying very hard to keep him imprisoned.”

“Who?” Aunn asked.

“I don’t know. It might be helpful if you could tell me what happened to him.”

Cart and Ashara turned to Aunn, and Havrakhad followed their eyes.

“Very well,” Aunn said. “Ashara, you still have the shard?”

“Of course,” she said. She drew the dragonshard out of a pouch at her belt. The lines of Gaven’s mark burned red as hellfire in the pinkish crystal, throwing stark shadows on the walls. Havrakhad recoiled.

“Already I think I understand a great deal more,” the kalashtar said. He looked at Ashara. “That’s the evil I sensed around you. I apologize for misjudging you.”

Ashara set the shard down on the desk in front of Havrakhad, who leaned forward for a closer look without touching it.

“What is this?” Havrakhad said. “The pattern inside—it resembles a dragonmark.”

“That’s what it is,” Aunn said. “It’s Gaven’s dragonmark, the Mark of Storm.”

Havrakhad’s eyes shot to Gaven and scanned his skin. “You say it’s his mark. Do you mean …?”

“Yes. His mark was removed and transferred into the dragonshard.”

“Leaving him in this state.”

“Actually, no,” Ashara said. “He endured the loss of his mark well enough. He seemed normal for some time. He didn’t fall into this stupor until after the shard was back in his hands.”

“I take it that his dragonmark was removed from him against his will,” Havrakhad said.

“Correct,” Aunn said. He wasn’t pleased with this line of questioning, but he was loath to withhold any information that might help the kalashtar save Gaven. After two failed attempts, Aunn was beginning to feel an urgency, as though Gaven could be utterly lost if Havrakhad couldn’t restore his mind soon. Never mind the additional challenges morning would likely bring, starting with Jorlanna ir’Cannith.

Gaven’s hand fell onto the dragonshard, making Aunn jump in surprise. Gaven held his arm as though it had lost all circulation, but he had fixed his eyes on the shard and was moving his whole upper body in an effort to pull the shard from the desk into his lap.

Aunn started to reach for the shard, but a rumble of thunder outside stopped him short. “Cart, would you …?”

Cart’s armor-plated hand closed over the dragonshard and pulled it away, and in one smooth motion he deposited it back into Ashara’s belt pouch. Gaven slumped back into his chair, like a discarded puppet.

“That was strange,” Ashara whispered.

“And very enlightening,” Havrakhad said. “I think that now I have what I need.” He stood. “Ashara, will you please stand and face me?”

Ashara hopped down from her seat on the desk and faced the kalashtar, turning her back to Gaven.

“Now can you slowly withdraw the dragonshard from your pouch again? Let your body block Gaven’s view of it, please.”

Ashara did as he instructed, holding the shard gingerly in the fingertips of both hands. Havrakhad reached toward it, but he didn’t touch it.

“Let it go,” he murmured, and the shard floated up from Ashara’s fingers. “Thank you.”

He stepped around Ashara, the dragonshard suspended in the air between his hands. Gaven stirred slightly, and Havrakhad shifted the dragonshard so that it hovered over one hand. He extended the other hand to touch Gaven’s shoulder, and Gaven slumped down again, though his eyes remained fixed on the shard.

“Excellent,” the kalashtar said. “The third trial is the favored one.”

T
he light reappeared, brighter than before, but this time Gaven turned away from it, buried his face in his arms to shield his eyes. The darkness stirred in response to his movement, then settled in around him again, rustling softly, cold but comfortable.

“This is where I belong,” he murmured. “What I deserve.”

A chorus of whispers voiced its assent. “What you deserve.”

“No, Gaven.” An unfamiliar voice cut through the whispers—a voice made of light, clear and strong. Gaven tried to lift his head, but the darkness held it down. “You are a prisoner here,” the clear voice said.

“I was sentenced,” Gaven said, “sent to Dreadhold …”

“But now the Keeper of Secrets holds you bound.”

“It lies,” Gaven said, a reflex. “Truth would burn its tongue.”

“It speaks nothing but lies,” the voice said. “Cast it off. Stand up, Gaven.”

Gaven lifted his head, pulling against the tendrils of darkness that held him down. The light was close beside him, and a man stood at the center of the light. Tall and slender, the man was a vision of beauty, like the light made flesh.

“Are you the Messenger?” Gaven asked. The darkness stirred in angry whispers around him.

“I’m Havrakhad, and I’m here to lead you to freedom,” the man said. “Take my hand, get up, and follow me.” He bent over Gaven, extending a hand.

Gaven wrenched a hand free of the darkness and seized Havrakhad’s hand. The whispers turned to shrieks of pain and fear as the darkness fled. Gaven stood on a floor of pale pink crystal. Red fire burned just beneath his feet, leading off in both directions, forming a maze of whirling lines stretching as far as he could see.

“I know this path,” he said. His eyes traced the pathways, seeing more
than the glowing lines. They were the words of creation, and they spoke to him of what had been and what might yet come to pass.

“We can lead each other,” Havrakhad said.

“Wait—Rienne …” Gaven turned. A cloud of darkness formed before him, and Rienne’s crying face appeared in the midst of it. She stretched her arms out to him.

“Don’t leave me here, Gaven!” she wailed.

“Rienne isn’t here,” Havrakhad said. “Follow me to freedom, then you can find her.”

“He’s lying, Gaven!” Rienne cried.

“It lies,” Gaven murmured. “Truth would burn its tongue.” But that was the darkness—the Keeper of Secrets. He turned back to Havrakhad and the light. He surveyed the pathways again, and he made his choice. “This way,” he said, and together they started walking.

“What is this path?” Havrakhad asked.

“It’s my dragonmark,” Gaven said. But it was more than that. “It’s my life, spoken in the words of creation, part of the Prophecy.”

“But there are many paths here.”

“Many paths and many destinations.”

“Why are we going this way, then?” Havrakhad asked. He stopped and gazed into Gaven’s eyes.

“This is the path I choose.”

They were in a room, and the light was only a single lamp on a table beside him. The dragonshard floated just above Havrakhad’s fingertips. Other faces crowded behind Havrakhad—Cart, Ashara, and … Kelas ir’Darren?

“No!” Gaven cried. He leaped up from his chair and pulled the sword from its sheath on his back, then swayed as dizziness washed through his head. Havrakhad jumped back, and the dragonshard clattered onto the floor. “What have you done to me?”

“Gaven, calm down,” Havrakhad said.

Cart stepped closer, wary of Gaven’s sword. “You’re safe,” he said.

“Whose side are you on today, Cart? I can’t keep track any more.”

“Yours, Gaven.”

“Then what’s he doing here?” He turned his gaze to Kelas. “You were dead. I saw Aunn kill you. Am I still dreaming?”

Kelas met his eyes, and then—just for an instant—he wasn’t Kelas anymore. Darraun’s face appeared where Kelas’s had been, and just as quickly vanished. Then his eyes flicked over to Havrakhad and back. Gaven
stared, uncomprehending, for a moment, all the more convinced he was still dreaming, but then he understood.

“I’m sorry, Kelas,” Gaven said. He sheathed his sword, trying to think of something to say that would allay any suspicion his behavior had stirred up in Havrakhad, but he decided to keep quiet until he had a better understanding of what was going on.

“I understand,” Kelas—or rather, Aunn said. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

“Where are we?” Gaven said, looking around the unfamiliar room.

“My office in Fairhaven.”

“Fairhaven?” Gaven wasn’t sure exactly where the Dragon Forge had stood, but he knew it was near the Blackcaps, and it would have taken three or four weeks to get from there to Fairhaven on foot. “How long was I …?” He realized he didn’t know what state he’d been in. Had he been unconscious?

“Not long. Twelve or fourteen hours, perhaps.” Aunn looked as though he were about to say more, but he glanced at Havrakhad and closed his mouth.

Havrakhad must have noticed that he was crowding the small room. “My work here is done,” he said. “But you should contact me again if Gaven’s sleep is particularly troubled—or if you can’t wake him up, of course.”

“Wait—the dragonshard,” Ashara said. “What should we do with it?”

Gaven’s gaze followed hers to the dragonshard on the floor. The lines of his dragonmark beckoned him to walk their pathways.

“I should think that House Cannith would be best qualified to find an answer to that question.”

“But should we … keep it away from him?” Cart asked.

“What do you think, Gaven?” Havrakhad said.

Gaven stooped to pick up the dragonshard, hesitating just a moment before curling his fingers around the smooth crystal. A tingle of soft lightning ran down his neck and chest, the tender skin where his dragonmark had been, and he thought he heard a distant rumble of thunder. He stared at the twisting lines for a moment, the path he’d chosen shining clear in his mind.

He smiled at Cart. “You want to try to take it?” he said, laughing. “I’ll wrestle you for it.”

“It’s yours,” Cart said. “I want no part of it. Oh, uh, Kelas—I told Havrakhad that he should work out the details of payment with you.”

“Of course,” Aunn said, moving to sit in the chair behind the desk. “Did you agree on terms?”

“Cart generously assured me that I could name my price,” Havrakhad said. “But I live simply. I don’t need much.”

“But you were here all night, and it was very taxing work.” Aunn produced paper and a quill from the desk and began writing out a letter of credit. “I want to ensure that you feel properly compensated for what you’ve done. And I trust that we can also rely on your complete silence.” He pressed a seal onto the finished letter and handed it to Havrakhad. “Will that be sufficient?”