CHAPTER
7
A knock at the door jolted Aunn out of a doze. Make it solid, he thought. I’m Kelas ir’Darren, and this is my office.
He ran a hand over his face to make sure he was who he thought he was. He cast his eyes around the office. Gaven’s eyes were open again—perhaps awakened by the knock—but still vacant, staring at something other than the blank wall aross from him.
“Come in,” he said. Kelas was warm and polite, most of the time.
The door swung open and Cart’s massive body filled the frame. The warforged hesitated for a moment, swinging his head to look at Aunn and Gaven as if making sure he’d found the right room.
“Come in, Cart,” Aunn said, standing up behind the desk.
Cart stepped into the room, which suddenly seemed much smaller, and gestured to a tall, handsome man behind him. “This is Havrakhad,” Cart said. “And this is—”
“Kelas ir’Darren,” Aunn said, stepping around the desk and extending his hand to the newcomer, who clasped it and bowed slightly.
Havrakhad was human, though he carried himself with a graceful elegance that reminded Aunn of the eladrin he’d met in the Towering Wood. His black hair was very long, cascading over his broad shoulders with a small topknot held in place by a silver ring. He wore a heavy, midnight blue cloak that hung almost to the floor, and beneath it a sky-blue shirt of gleaming silk, open in front to reveal a muscular, hairless chest. Breeches the color of his cloak were tucked into the tops of his boots. No weapon hung at his belt.
“I am honored to meet you,” he said to Aunn. His words had an accent Aunn couldn’t place.
“Likewise,” Aunn said, uncertain how to respond. But Kelas was confident, assertive. “Cart explained the nature of our problem?”
“Somewhat,” Havrakhad said, turning to face Gaven. “I take it this is our patient?”
“Yes. And what techniques will you use to heal him?”
Havrakhad didn’t look like a healer—more like a noble in exile, from some indeterminate foreign land.
“I will enter his mind and attempt to lead him out.”
“Havrakhad is a kalashtar,” Ashara said, squeezing into the little room behind him and closing the door. Havrakhad shifted away from her, though there wasn’t much space for him.
A kalashtar. That explained a great deal, though Aunn’s knowledge of the kalashtar was limited. They were a distinct race, not quite human, native to the distant continent of Sarlona. Their reputation painted them as beautiful mystics who had mastered the powers of their minds, able to communicate telepathically, move objects from afar, and perform other feats of what might as well be magic. It was a magic, though, that Aunn’s artifice couldn’t mimic or even fully comprehend.
“I see,” Aunn said. “Well, are you ready to get started? Would you like my chair?”
A knock at the door cut off Havrakhad’s answer. Aunn froze. It was late in the evening. Who would be looking for Kelas in his office at this hour?
“Excuse me,” he said.
Havrakhad, Ashara, and Cart shifted around to let him through to the door. He pulled it open.
“You’re here late, Kelas.” It was a man Aunn didn’t recognize.
“Yes.” Kelas hated to be interrupted when he had people in his office. He jerked his head back toward the crowded office. “Important meeting. Can it wait?”
The man’s face changed. The dark hair became sandy, tanned skin turned pasty white, eyes lightened to hazel. It was a face Aunn knew quite well, though the eyes were wrong. It was one of his own faces. It was Haunderk’s face, the one Aunn used most often when talking to Kelas.
Aunn fought to keep his pulse and breathing under control, but rage and fear fought against him. What other changeling was using his face? Did he expect Kelas to be fooled? Was he trying to discredit Haunderk somehow? Or was he sending a subtle message that he saw through Aunn’s disguise?
“It’s not urgent,” the changeling said, smirking. His eyes were everywhere but on Aunn, trying to see past him into the study. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, Aunn thought, I already have an appointment with Jorlanna. I think I’ll be out.
The changeling strode off down the hall without another word, and Aunn retreated back into Kelas’s study, closing the door. Ashara shot him a quizzical glance, but he shook his head and followed Cart’s gaze. Havrakhad was kneeling in front of Gaven, looking into his eyes.
Hearing the door close, Havrakhad stood and looked at Aunn. “It would be best if there were no more interruptions.”
“There shouldn’t be any more. Please begin when you’re ready.”
The kalashtar kneeled again, put one hand on Gaven’s shoulder, and gazed into his eyes.
* * * * *
Two ogres held Shakravar’s arms, the meat that was his body now, and a dwarf stood behind him with a bludgeon. But the dragon would not be restrained. If only he could emerge from this body, revert to his true form, fill the room with lightning and spatter it with the blood of his enemies …
The judges of the tribunal stared down at him from their high seats. They called a witness to give testimony—an elf, the head of the Thuranni family.
“Lord Elar Thuranni d’Phiarlan,” one of the judges intoned, prompting shouts of protest from both the witness and another elf in the great hall.
“He’s no Phiarlan!” came a woman’s voice. “He is excoriate!”
“I am Baron Elar d’Thuranni,” the witness said.
“The status of the Thuranni family is yet to be settled in the eyes of this tribunal,” another judge said. “For now, we shall address you as Lord Elar and move on with the proceedings.”
“Very well.” Lord Elar bowed his head in deference to the judges.
“Lord Elar, please state your claim against the defendant, Gaven Lyrandar.”
Hearing his name, Gaven woke from what felt like sleep, and found himself in the firm grasp of two ogres, rage and violence churning in his heart. What was going on?
A dark-eyed elf was speaking, pointing an accusing finger at Gaven. Rienne was there, tears streaming down her face, avoiding his eyes. Judges glared down at him.
They had to understand, had to know, had to be prepared. “When the Eternal Day draws near,” he cried, “when its moon shines full in the night, and the day is at its brightest, the Time of the Dragon Above begins.”
“Silence!” one of the judges shouted.
He couldn’t be silent. He had to warn them. “Showers of light fall upon the City of the Dead, and the Storm Dragon emerges after twice thirteen years.”
“Silence him,” another judge commanded.
“Tumult and tribulation swirl in his wake!” Gaven shouted. “The Blasphemer rises, the Pretender falls, and armies march once more across the land!”
“That’s enough,” the dwarf behind him said, and the club came down on his head. Darkness swallowed him.
“Arnoth d’Lyrandar,” a judge’s voice intoned in the darkness, “please state your claim against the defendant.”
“My son,” Gaven’s father said, “he is my firstborn, my heir. But he has failed me. He failed the Test of Siberys. He refused to assist me in my business and chose instead the life of a dragonshard prospector.” Light slowly grew in the darkness, outlining Arnoth’s body. “I waited twenty-six years for him to return to me, until I couldn’t wait any longer. Finally he came to me, but too late. I died that morning.” The light shone full now on Arnoth’s face, showing Gaven the flesh rotting away from his skull.
“Guilty!” came a voice from the tribunal.
A chorus answered, “Guilty as charged!”
Darkness again.
“Rienne ir’Alastra, please state your claim against the defendant.”
“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.”
“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.”