by James Wyatt
He traced his fingers along the lines of woven magic that formed the seal. It was not unlike spinning wool into yarn, drawing frayed threads out, strengthening them, and knitting them together again. It was slow work, though, coaxing the threads out of their tangles, and the madness that still washed out from beyond battered at the edges of his concentration. Pressure built behind his eyes and flowered into splitting pain, and tentacles kept raking across his skin.
Then it was done. Vor gave a triumphant shout and the babble fell quiet. The magic of the seal pulsed with renewed strength. Kauth turned and leaned his back against it, feeling its power like warm coals behind him. Vor clapped him on the shoulder. Even Zandar smiled with genuine pleasure. Sevren blinked and looked around, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Pride welled up in Kauth’s heart. He had proved his worth, after too many battles that left him unconscious or feeling ineffectual. Without him, his companions would be dead or lost to madness. He slid down to the floor, exhausted but satisfied.
I saved them, he thought.
CHAPTER
11
The death of the two dragons heartened the Sea Tiger’s crew enormously. Jordhan clapped Gaven on the shoulder and hugged Rienne, all their past arguments apparently forgotten. The sailors spoke excitedly about the gates of Argonnessen, congratulating themselves on being the first natives of Khorvaire to pass through them alive. Gaven was caught up in the revel, singing old shanties with them, joining in the invention of new verses celebrating their victory, and drinking plenty of their liquor as they leaned over the bulwark and watched the cove slowly grow closer.
Long after the ship had dropped anchor for the night, Jordhan broke up the party and sent the sailors to their bunks. Only when he stumbled back to his own quarters did Gaven realize that Rienne had not joined in the celebration—had not, in fact, appeared on the deck all evening. He found her asleep in their bunk, facing the wall. The sight of her brought a surge of anger to his chest.
“Damn it, Rienne,” he said. “Why can’t you celebrate what we’ve done? Why can’t you believe this can turn out for the good?”
She didn’t answer, and later she didn’t move when he climbed into their bunk and draped his arm around her. He fell asleep like that, and when he woke up his arms were empty.
Rienne avoided him the next morning. Gaven threw himself into the work of sailing alongside Jordhan’s crew, who welcomed his great strength on the ropes, fueled by the anger simmering in his chest. He called the wind to fill the sails, and though lightning flashed in the sky, the ship was never in danger asit flew across the water to the cove.
The crew cheered when he scaled the mainmast to retrieve a rope that had flown wild, and he cast a triumphant glance around the deck, looking for Rienne. She was nowhere in sight, but Jordhan stood at the foot of the mast, his arms crossed. He shimmied down the mast and alighted beside the captain.
“Gaven, go below,” Jordhan ordered. His face was the stern mask of the captain, not his customary smile.
Gaven had a sudden urge to strike his old friend, to send him sprawling onto his ship’s perfectly clean deck. He was sick of them both, Jordhan and Rienne, with their predictions of doom and murmurs of eternity. He glared at the captain, fists clenched at his side, barely containing his wrath.
“What?” he said, and thunder rolled in the sky.
“You heard me. Go below.”
A step brought Gaven closer, towering over Jordhan. “Why?” he asked.
Jordhan didn’t bend. “You’re putting my ship and my crew in danger,” Jordhan declared. “And you’re acting like a child. I’ll join you in my quarters in a moment.”
Acting like a child? The only thing holding Gaven back now was the onlooking crew. In the privacy of the captain’s quarters, Jordhan would pay for that remark.
Gaven put every spark of anger he could muster into his glare, then turned and stalked to the hatch. Behind him, he heard Jordhan ordering his crew to furl some sails, to slow the Sea Tiger’s headlong rush to the cove.
He threw open the hatch. Rienne leaned back against the table that held what scant charts they had.
“What is this?” he said. “Is Jordhan trying to force us to talk to each other again?”
“I don’t care if you speak or not, but Jordhan and I both have some things to say to you.” Her face was hard, but her voice was quiet, not confrontational.
“Why don’t you start, then, while we’re waiting for the captain to finish hobbling his ship and join us?”
“Hobbling his ship? What is wrong with you?”
“Don’t ask me questions if you’re not interested in the answers.
What do you have to say to me?” He was trying to provoke her, prodding her to display any of the fury he felt.
Her calm didn’t waver. “Very well,” she said. “I want you to understand what I am seeing and feeling. If you choose not to explain yourself, that’s your prerogative. But it only clarifies my most troubling perception: we are no longer partners.”
She paused then, waiting for some response. He didn’t move, though something joined the storm of anger in his heart—a cold wind akin to dread.
“Back … before,” she began. Her gaze left his face and fell to the floor.
Before you betrayed me and left me to rot in Dreadhold? he thought. Before I went mad?
“When we delved into Khyber together, 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. Often literally—we’d stand back to back and face off against a ring of monsters or bandits. We don’t fight like that any more. You lose yourself in the wind and lightning and leave me to fend for myself.”
Gaven couldn’t contain the storm of anger any longer. “You’re more than capable—”
She cut him off. “I know I am, or I wouldn’t be alive. That’s not the point. The issue here is that you used to give a damn about me—you used to love me, and I don’t think you do anymore.”
“Don’t be absurd. Of course I do.” He walked past her to the portholes aft and stared out at the sea and storm behind them.
He felt her gentle hand on his back, a touch that had so often steadied him in difficult times. “Are you sure?” she asked softly.
Gaven heard the hatch slam open and Jordhan stomp in. Rienne’s hand left his back and he felt suddenly, painfully alone.
“We’re risking our lives for you,” the captain barked, “but that doesn’t mean they’re yours to toy with.”
The gray water churned in the Sea Tiger’s wake, but the storm clouds were fading into the horizon. A weight settled into Gaven’s chest, stifling the anger, numbing him to the chill of dread. His shoulders slumped and he leaned his forehead against the wall.
Jordhan continued, a little less forcefully. “We’re in uncharted waters. We’ve seen wrecks in the water, warning us of rocks and coral and posing a new danger of their own. Charging ahead full sail is reckless and stupid, and it puts all of us in serious jeopardy.”
“When the dragons attacked,” Rienne added, “you didn’t give a thought to the safety of the crew. Remember what you said? ’No one on this ship will be dragon food?’ You promised more concern for them than that.”
Gaven didn’t lift his head. “Nobody was dragon food,” he said.
“Because I led them below,” Rienne said.
He turned. “We fight as a team, as you said. You led them below, while I held off the dragons.”
“I was thinking like a team. You were not. I covered your back, and you ignored the rest of us.”
“That’s not true! I came to help you when you fell in the gold dragon’s fire.”
“You did spare me a passing thought, I grant you that.”
Jordhan looked bewildered, turning his head back and forth to follow their argument. Realizing that he had nothing more to contribute, he pointed at Gaven. “I’ve got a ship to sail. You two sort thi
s out. And Gaven, you’re like a brother to me, but the safety of my crew is my first priority. Don’t endanger them again.” He spun and pushed through the hatch.
When Gaven turned back to Rienne, her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know why I’m arguing with you,” she said. “The point was for me to tell you how I perceive the situation. You can’t argue me out of my perception, and I shouldn’t presume to know what’s happening in your head. You tell me you still love me. Fine. That’s how you understand it. But it’s clear to me that word means something different to you than it does to me.”
“Rienne—”
“And I need more than whatever you think you’re giving me. I do love you, Gaven, and I’m committed to following you into Argonnessen. I’ll cover your back. I hope you can spare a thought to cover mine.”
The look on her face as she turned to leave drove a spear into Gaven’s chest. For the first time, he saw the weight of the past twenty-six years on her face—small wrinkles at her brow and the corners of her eyes, the marks that grief and worry had etched into her face. Then she was gone, and Gaven was alone.
Back in his quarters, Gaven noticed that Rienne’s gear was packed and waiting at the door, ready for their journey. He gathered his belongings, carefully rolling his clothes and packing them tightly into his pack with room to spare. He placed the journey-bread they’d brought from Aundair gently on top and fastened the buckles, tied a bedroll to the top of the pack, and checked the coil of rope and the magic waterskin strapped to the bottom. He was ready.
He considered telling Rienne to stay behind and making the journey alone. He’d survive, he was sure. If she felt no obligation to protect the world from the catastrophe he felt sure was imminent, she could stay on the ship and enjoy her distant view of eternity.
The problem is, he thought, I still love her. I think I do—or why would I feel this way?
A weight greater than his pack had settled into his chest, no longer piercing but just heavy. Walking felt like an effort, and when he sat on his bunk he wanted to lie down and not get up again. I’ll have to show her, he thought, prove it to her.
Those were his thoughts when he felt the anchor chain rumble against the hull, heard the splash as it hit the water. He grabbed his pack and Rienne’s and ran to the deck.
They had arrived. The Sea Tiger was tucked into the cove. Mountains rose up on the starboard side, but a sandy beach sloped up to port, turning at the tide line into an emerald plain. A lush forest hugged the feet of the mountains, alive with birds—or were they dragonets?—hopping and fluttering in the branches at the edge of the plain. The crew, still alive with the energy of the morning, was already lowering a launch into the crystal blue water.
Gaven made his way through the crew to the bulwark and found himself face to face with Rienne. She gave him a weak smile.
“Here we are,” she said. “Ready to begin another adventure?”
He returned her smile. “Thank you,” he mouthed—his voice failed him. How could he have thought of leaving her behind?
She took her pack from his hand. Two men waited in the launch for them, holding a rope for them to climb down. Rienne swung herself over the bulwark and slid easily down the rope, settling gently into the little boat.
Gaven was about to follow, but Jordhan’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned to face the captain, but Jordhan’s stern captain face was gone.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Jordhan said. “You are like a brother to me. So come back from this trip. I don’t want to be the one who ferried you to your death.”
“I’ll see you again, this side of the Land of the Dead.” Gaven extended a hand, and Jordhan clasped it.
“Sovereigns keep you,” Jordhan said, “Storm Dragon.”
Gaven clapped his friend on the shoulder and climbed down the rope. The launch rocked fiercely when he alighted, and Rienne bubbled with laughter. He took his seat more carefully, and the sailors rowed toward the shore.
Jordhan’s last words echoed in Gaven’s mind as he watched the beach slide closer.
Gaven and Rienne stood at the tide line, watching the launch crawl back to the Sea Tiger. Its departure felt final, like a mausoleum door grinding shut. Jordhan had secured them a return fare, as he called it—two fine silver chains that, when broken, would magically transport them back to Stormhome. Even so, Gaven would have preferred the promise of a ship beneath his feet.
Only when the launch had returned to the shelter of the Sea Tiger’s embrace and Jordhan’s ship had pointed her prow back toward the open sea did Gaven turn to face the strange land before them. Even the sand at their feet seemed odd, alien—grains of a bluish stone mingled with the more familiar tan and gray to give the beach an azure glow that intensified the blue of the crystal clear water. The coarse grass that fought for a hold in the sand gave way, just ahead, to a lush plain rooted in firmer soil. Tall grass danced in the wind blowing off the water, spotted here and there with the sapphire, topaz, and amethyst shades of wildflowers. The plain hugged the edge of the bay as it continued winding around to their left, cutting deeper into the land—deeper than Gaven had been willing to lead Jordhan and his crew.
To their right, the plain thickened into ferns and shrubs lining the edge of the forest. The trees beyond stood smooth and straight or twisted wildly as if reaching for every scrap of available sunlight, some lithe and some solid, with smooth skin of silvery white or jagged brown bark. From Gaven and Rienne’s closer vantage, the flutters in the trees resolved into dragonets, not birds—snaky but elegant creatures with delicate wings and scales of every color flashing in the sunlight. The mountains loomed up behind the forest in a pale blue shadow, draped in the clouds that grayed the sky.
Beneath the rolling plain and verdant forest, the land whispered to Gaven of numberless centuries, millennia in which no native of Khorvaire had set foot on this land. It was not utterly without history, though—there were battles in the memory of Argonnessen, from territorial squabbles between ancient dragons to … yes, the clash of armies. This land had its peoples, then, native children who gathered in tribes or kingdoms.
“Lead the way, Storm Dragon,” Rienne said.
Gaven gave Rienne a sharp glance, but her face was free of bitterness or sarcasm. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the forest, and a faint smile turned the corners of her mouth. What does she see? he wondered.
“Your sword is Maelstrom,” he said, “but you’re an untroubled sea.”
“No, love. I’m the still point at the heart of the whirlpool.”
“The calm at the center of the storm.”
Her eyes met his, then she started walking.
“You said I was leading,” he said to her back. With a few quick steps he caught up, and they walked side by side into the land of dragons.
CHAPTER
12
The cathedral in Fairhaven had once been the largest church of the Silver Flame outside of Thrane. Hundreds of Aundairians flocked to its grand dome for worship, and dozens of priests left its chambers and ventured westward to spread the faith. But that was before the Church of the Silver Flame became too closely associated with the government of Thrane. When King Thalin of Thrane died and Aundair’s eastern neighbor fell under the rule of the church, Aundair’s King Wrogar closed the cathedral and its clerics scattered.
For eighty-five years the cathedral lay vacant, the object of superstitious fear though it was haunted only by criminals and fugitives. Kelas had taken over the labyrinthine corridors below the building, and at least one significant criminal organization claimed some of the upper halls, but the sanctuary with its shattered stained glass and tattered tapestries stood empty.
But it was in that once-sacred space that Kelas assembled all the key players in his unfolding drama. The faded grandeur of the cathedral hall lent an impressive aura to the proceedings, suggesting a royal audience chamber. Clearly it made Kelas feel more important, and it cowed his guests into an almost reverent calm.
> Cart stood three paces behind Haldren’s chair at the round table Kelas had brought into the sanctuary. Kelas had chosen a round table to give the impression that those seated at the table were all equal, but Haldren had started fuming as soon as he realized that he wouldn’t be seated at Kelas’s right hand. That position of honor, as Haldren saw it, went to Baron Jorlanna d’Cannith, and Haldren sat next to her.
That meant Ashara d’Cannith stood beside Cart, close enough to whisper up to him, naming the other figures at the table. Cart stood stiffly, uneasy with her presence. He had not seen Ashara in the weeks since they had met in the halls, and he still felt that she had been hoping to manipulate him in this morass of politics. But she seemed to be pretending that had never happened, treating him like a friend. Her proximity only increased his feeling of being adrift in all the plots and schemes of the conspirators around the table.
Cart recognized Arcanist Wheldren, seated at Kelas’s left, and Janna Tolden, who had been General Jad Yeven’s second-in-command at the battle of Starcrag Plain. Tolden, sitting at Haldren’s right, didn’t wear a military uniform or any insignia of rank. Ashara mentioned that Tolden had been stripped of her position after that debacle. Certainly better than the fate of General Yeven—the Royal Eyes had hunted him down and killed him, ostensibly because he resisted arrest. Haldren had told Cart that Queen Aurala needed a martyr to blame Starcrag Plain on, and “better him than me.” Still, Cart wondered what part Kelas had played in Yeven’s death.
To Wheldren’s left were the financiers of Kelas’s operations. First was a portly man Ashara named as Bromas ir’Lain, head of the small Aundairian branch of the ir’Lains who held so much power in the city of Sharn in Breland. Bromas was a petty noble with little power but a great deal of money, who would easily be motivated to trade some of his vast fortune for a position of power in a new Aundairian regime. Beside him was a gaunt, aging dwarf called Kharos Olan, a powerful merchant who controlled much of the legal trade in Fairhaven and beyond. Olan had both money and power, Ashara explained, but he had lived in the Eldeen Reaches before it seceded from Aundair, and he wanted to see the Reaches returned to Aundairian rule.