CHAPTER
10

Aunn wiped the surprise from his face and peered into the crystal. A woman’s face looked back at him, her sharp features and dark eyes conjuring the image of a raven in his mind. He knew her at once—Nara ir’Galanatyr, former head of the Royal Eyes. Why was she expecting contact from Kelas?

“I’m sorry,” Aunn said. How did Kelas address Nara?

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

Two questions meant the opportunity to answer only one. “I’m in Fairhaven,” he said.

“I saw the storm, Kelas. It was breathtaking. And I’m told that Varna lies in ruins. Was the queen pleased?”

So she knew about the Dragon Forge. That meant she was involved in the conspiracy—had Kelas been reporting to her all along? She’d been removed from her position at the end of the Last War, which could mean that Kelas had been plotting against the queen for three years or more.

“She was impressed,” Aunn said. “The device worked exactly as planned.”

“His storm flies wild,” Nara said, “unbound and pure in devastation.” She sounded reverent, almost breathless.

Was that the Prophecy? Aunn glanced at Gaven, who had leaned forward at Nara’s words. Gaven’s eyes were fixed on the globe, but his lips were forming words—finishing the verse Nara had begun, no doubt. Could he see her image in the glass? Could she see Gaven?

“What’s wrong?” Nara said. “Is someone else there?”

“No.” Aunn brought his eyes back to the glass. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking what?”

“About what comes next.”

“Indeed. The Time of the Dragon Below is upon us at last. All our planning is coming to its fruition.” She looked for a moment as though she were gazing into the glorious future she imagined, then her eyes hardened. “Why are you in Fairhaven? It isn’t safe.”

If he hoped to learn anything more from Nara, he had to tell her as much of the truth as he dared. “There’s a problem,” he said.

“Go on.” Her voice was steel.

How much did she know already? When had Kelas spoken to her last? “The Dragon Forge is destroyed.”

“What?” she shrieked.

“As soon as the queen departed, we came under attack.”

“The dragon king? Or the excoriate?”

Aunn almost blamed the dragon king, because Malathar was already dead. But too many people knew the truth—if Nara got a report from anyone else who was there, she would know he’d deceived her. “The excoriate,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

“Damn it, Kelas! I told you to kill him quickly! I warned you not to let the Thuranni toy with him like that! Is he still alive? Is he free?”

He had paraded Gaven through the Cannith enclave that evening—Jorlanna would certainly know by morning that Gaven was in his custody. “I have him here with me. He’s in a stupor. As he destroyed the forge, he shattered the dragonshard that held his mark, and it seems to have shattered his mind.”

“He destroyed the dragonshard?” Her voice was a gasp, as if the news had been a physical blow to her gut.

“Yes.” Aunn felt confident in that lie—no one but Cart, Ashara, and the kalashtar could tell her otherwise. And he didn’t want her to come looking for the shard, or order him to bring it to her.

“His mark—it hasn’t returned to his skin, has it?”

Aunn glanced at Gaven, who was staring into the dragonshard again. The lines of the Mark of Storm still coiled within the rosy stone. Gaven’s skin was still red where his mark had been. It looked tender.

“No, there’s no sign of it.”

“Twelve moons,” she said. “So we have no Storm Dragon. But he has a few verses yet to fulfill.” Nara tapped a finger to her lips. “Damn it, Kelas. I’ve been planning this for a very long time. You know I don’t like surprises like this. We’ll survive the loss of the Dragon Forge—it has played its part in the Prophecy—but without the Storm Dragon, what happens to the Blasphemer?”

“The barbarians,” Aunn blurted. Kelas had been counting on the Dragon Forge to stop their advance through the Eldeen Reaches—or so he’d said. “Without the forge—we have to find a way to stop them.”

“Stop them?” Nara chuckled. “And undo all of your dear changeling’s hard work? ‘The Blasphemer’s end lies in the void, in the maelstrom that pulls him down to darkness.’ You’re teasing me … Kelas.” Her eyes grew hard as she said his name.

Aunn swallowed. He had to convince her he’d been joking, allay whatever suspicion had just formed in her mind. “Of course I am. I neglected to tell you that my changeling also returned to the Dragon Forge with Gaven, panicked about the onrushing barbarians.” He saw Nara’s eyebrow rise and a smile play at one corner of her mouth—good signs. “He did not survive the attack.”

“Excellent,” Nara said, chuckling. “Still, it says a great deal that he survived as long as he did. He could have been a tremendous asset.”

“Where did I go wrong with him?”

“You were always too quick to punish him, Kelas. You made him hate you. He was always loyal, but to the crown, to his work, not to you. Did he try to kill you in the end?”

“He did.” Aunn was amazed—Nara’s words echoed many of his own thoughts of the last months.

“So you were forced to kill him. That must have been difficult for you.”

“No.” That was a slip—he’d answered from his own perspective, not Kelas’s. Was that the right answer?

Nara laughed. “Well, some of my lessons stuck at least. I must say, Kelas, I was growing worried that you were too attached to him, just as he clearly cared too much about you.”

What had Kelas thought about him? “He was extremely useful.”

“He was, and his last mission was his greatest. The Blasphemer rises.” Something shone in her eyes for an instant, then they turned back to steel. “So why did you flee to Fairhaven? Who’s in command at the forge, or what’s left of it? I assume the excoriate didn’t manage to kill every last soldier there.”

“I had to get the excoriate away from there before he did any more harm.”

“You said he’s in a stupor, and the forge is destroyed. What more harm did you fear?”

“I don’t know how long he’ll stay like this, and I want him locked up someplace where he can’t escape.”

“Why Fairhaven? It’s too dangerous. He could be seen and recognized, and without his mark …”

“Speed. Arcanist Wheldren used the circle portal at the forge to bring the queen back to the palace, so I could get here quickly.”

“How did you activate the portal?”

“With the assistance of a Cannith artificer.”

“So House Cannith knows you’re there.”

“Yes.” He had, after all, marched defiantly through House Cannith’s Fairhaven headquarters.

“With the excoriate?”

“Yes.” Aunn thought of the way that Harkin ir’Cannith’s eyes had lingered on Gaven.

“That’s less than ideal.” She scowled. “Still, I can see why you did what you did. Who’s in command at the forge?”

“No one. It was in chaos when I left. I know I should have—”

“Yes, you should have. But you didn’t, so that’s the situation we have to address now. We need those soldiers, however many are left, and we need them marching back to Fairhaven as soon as possible. Send Tolden—is she still alive?”

“I believe so.” Aunn hadn’t seen Janna Tolden at the forge.

“Send her and Wheldren to clean up the mess down there. You get Gaven locked away—he must not escape again. We need him in place when the time is right for the reunion. And then move ahead with the next stage of the plan. Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

What plan? “I think that’s everything,” he said.

“Good. You know better than to lie to me, Kelas. Nothing can hide from these eyes.”

He felt a surge of panic—was there something in her voice when she said his name? He was sure she’d seen through his disguise. But why not call him on it? He leashed his fear and nodded. “Of course. I won’t fail you.”

“I know. I’ll contact you tomorrow night. I have to get out of here before too long. I don’t want barbarians at my doorstep just yet.”

Where was she? He had a vague memory that she’d retired to the west after the war, perhaps to Wyr, north of Varna on the Wynarn River. “How long until they reach the river, do you think?”

“Two or three weeks, I expect. But they’ll be driving the Reachers out of their villages soon, and we’ll see a flood of refugees across Aundair’s borders. With Varna destroyed and all.” Something about her smile sickened him—that was part of her plan. She’d arranged for the destruction of Varna so that the Reachers couldn’t take shelter in its walls when the barbarians approached. Why?

“Until tomorrow, then, Kelas.”

He still didn’t know how to address her. “Tomorrow, then.”

The light in the globe faded, and the distorted reflection of the room replaced Nara’s image in the glass. Aunn dropped his head to the desk, taking comfort in the cool stability of the oak against the pounding in his temples.

“What was that all about?” Gaven said.

Aunn looked up. He’d all but forgotten Gaven was there. “I have only the vaguest idea,” he said. “But one thing is clear—this plot doesn’t begin and end with Kelas. I need to learn more.”

“You could just disappear. We could all get far away from Fairhaven, out of Aundair entirely—”

“No.” His eyes met Gaven’s, and he smiled. “We have to prove Bordan wrong.”

“What?”

“I was trying to tell you before that it’s not your fault—that you’re not responsible for the crime they sent you to Dreadhold for.”

“But I am,” Gaven said.

“You are. Just as I’m responsible for all the things Kelas made me do. We’ve both done some evil, Gaven. But together we’re going to make it right.”

Gaven returned his smile. “Does that mean you’re not going to lock me up, then?”

“I wouldn’t dare try. I saw what you did to Malathar.”

*  *  *  *  *

Cart had never feared a city street at night. He understood that fear—he’d known other soldiers who never made it back to camp after revels that went too late in the wrong parts of town. A drunk soldier was unable to defend himself and made a tempting target.

But a warforged was never drunk. A warforged soldier during the war was the army’s property and didn’t go into town for rest and recreation. And even a lone warforged was a daunting opponent, sure to be a tough fight for a group of thugs, and rarely in possession of enough coin to make the risk worthwhile. The worst he’d had to face in the past had been taunts, the derision of people who thought of warforged as inferior beings. Sometimes they threw garbage at him with their insults, but he just walked on in silence.

Havrakhad, it turned out, wasn’t concerned about thugs, either. He carried himself through the dark streets like a proud warrior, though he held no weapon. Still, there was fear in his voice, fear that took root in Cart’s mind as well.

“The turning of the age draws near,” Havrakhad said. His eyes scanned the sides of the street. “The dreams of your people grow dark indeed.”

Cart shrugged. “I don’t sleep,” he said. Ashara’s tight grasp on his arm, though, suggested that the kalashtar’s words resonated with her.

“But you have felt the tumult of fear when those around you dream in darkness,” Havrakhad said.

Cart remembered long nights during the construction of the Dragon Forge, and he nodded.

“Are you saying there’s some kind of epidemic of nightmares?” Ashara asked.

“You do well to compare it to a disease,” Havrakhad said. “It’s a symp-tom—a sign, a harbinger of the evil that is coming.”

“What do you see in your dreams?” Cart asked him.

“My people, like yours, do not dream, though we sleep. We are exiles from the Region of Dreams, for the masters of that place are our enemies.”

“Who are they?”

“The quori. Ensconced in human vessels, they rule Riedra. But in their true form, as creatures of nightmare, they are the lords of Dal Quor. My people are kin to them, but we have chosen to fight against their tyranny and guide the world into the next age of light.”

“Are they responsible for what happened to Gaven?” Cart asked. “These nightmare lords?”

“No—at least not directly. There was a fragment of an evil presence in the dragonshard that bound him. But without question the quori were aware of it and drew sustenance from it. Just as they are feeding now on all the nightmares in this place.”

Something in the way the kalashtar’s eyes ranged over the city around them, just above the streets, set Cart on edge. The fear that had gnawed at his mind seized him in a surge of panic, and he felt suddenly beset by enemies on all sides—foes he couldn’t see. He drew the axe from his belt, just to feel the comforting weight of it in his hand. Havrakhad chuckled.

“You sense it, though you can’t possibly understand it,” he said, resting a hand on Cart’s shoulder.

Then Cart saw what Havrakhad’s eyes had seen. The buildings that lined the streets rose from solid foundations but faded into smoke and mist as they approached a nightmare sky. The stars were gone, along with the Ring of Siberys that stretched between them, and in their place was a roiling storm of angry red and violet clouds. Blue and green lightning streaked in silence across the sky, shedding lurid flashes of light on scenes of nightmare.

Mobs of people screamed and ran through the haze, falling beneath the swinging clubs and cleaving swords of onrushing barbarians. Shadowy buildings erupted in flames, adding pale firelight to the underbellies of the clouds. Close by, an unspeakable horror crouched over a trembling human form, clutching one arm in an enormous claw as glittering insect eyes examined the body.

“That is a quori,” Havrakhad whispered in Cart’s ear. “It must not see me. Come!”

The kalashtar removed his hand, and the city returned to normal. At Cart’s side, Ashara looked at him with wide eyes as the kalashtar started along the street again.

“Did you see it too?” he asked.

“You have seen it, I believe,” Havrakhad said over his shoulder. “You visit the Region of Dreams nightly.”

Ashara nodded. “I have seen it. I don’t need to see it again.”

Cart took a few quick steps to catch up with Havrakhad, shaking his head in a vain effort to dispel the memory of his vision. “Why?” he said. He wasn’t sure what he meant.

“The turning of the age draws near,” Havrakhad said again. “The light must die before it can be reborn.”

Ashara fell into stride beside him and clutched his arm, and Cart decided not to ask any more questions.