Storm Dragon: The Draconic Prophecies - Book One

by James Wyatt

  The one behind her hung back for that first instant, but then he came charging in. Without turning, Rienne crouched, gathered her soul energy, then released it, springing straight upward. She slammed down on the back of the third attacker, cracking his skull with Maelstrom in its sheath, then landed on her feet behind him. The third assailant fell like a stone, and his head bounced once off the stone walkway.

  Jad and Marsh stood flanking the prone body of their companion and gaped at her. Marsh started backing away first, keeping a wary eye on her in case she decided to charge after him. Rienne took the opportunity to draw Maelstrom from its sheath.

  That was enough. Marsh and Jad turned tail and ran, leaving their unconscious ally to Rienne’s mercy. She touched her lips to Maelstrom’s blade and slid it back into the sheath. She started to return the blade to its silk wrapping, then thought better of it. She unrolled the silk and wound it around her waist, then carefully placed the scabbard into its folds so she could draw the blade more easily if she were attacked again.

  Only then did she check on the third attacker, the one whose face she’d never seen. She rolled him over onto his back—he was a handsome young man—and checked the pulse in his throat. Aside from a large bump on his head, he’d be fine when he woke up.

  He was lucky she’d never freed her blade.

  * * * * *

  Krathas stared at her across a filthy desk covered with scraps of parchment, and Rienne stared back. The sign on his office door had identified him as an inquisitive affiliated with House Tharashk’s Finders’ Guild. Rienne wondered what kind of business he attracted in Subsidence—certainly not jobs that paid very well, if his office was any indication. He was clearly past his prime, his hair thinning and white and his face deeply lined, though he was still muscular and tall—very tall. He had made a show of welcoming her in and clearing a chair for her to sit on, though he fell silent as soon as she mentioned Gaven’s name. That was when the staring began.

  At last he broke the silence, though he didn’t look away. “Last I heard, Gaven was in Dreadhold,” he said, watching her carefully. “In fact, I heard you were the one who put him there.”

  She held his gaze. “I thought he was possessed and needed help.”

  “You thought his actions might disgrace your family and get in the way of your social climbing.”

  Rienne felt a surge of anger but held it down, making sure no trace of it showed on her face. “Is that what he told you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “When did you talk to him last?”

  “Sixteenth of Zarantyr.”

  “Zarantyr? Three months ago?”

  “Sorry, was I not clear? Three months and twenty-six years ago. Just before they locked him up.”

  Rienne sighed and looked away. She remembered that month, all those years ago. It had been a cold winter, and she’d spent many hours staring out windows at snow-draped fields and blank white skies. She looked sharply at Krathas again.

  “Just before? The sixteenth?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That was after his trial. Was he here? In Vathirond?”

  Krathas stared at her for another long moment. “Not then, no. I spoke to him at a Sivis message station. They let him put his affairs in order before they locked him up.”

  “What did he ask you to do?”

  “I’m afraid that’s between him and me, Lady Alastra. I’m sure if he had wanted you involved, he would’ve contacted you.”

  “Krathas, if you’re not inclined to help me, I shall be forced to consult with another member of your esteemed House Tharashk. It would be unfortunate if I accidentally mentioned to them how a certain half-orc inquisitive used to give Gaven leads on finding dragonshard deposits for House Lyrandar. I understand that’s a business House Tharashk would rather keep a tight hold on.”

  She had hoped to avoid playing that card. She wasn’t positive that Gaven’s information had come from Krathas—Gaven had always been very cagey about revealing his source. And she wasn’t sure that House Tharashk hadn’t known about it, perhaps collected large fees from Gaven for that information. She had leaped from a couple of hunches, and she dearly hoped they proved accurate.

  Krathas’s face registered nothing, but he was silent again for a long moment, studying her. When he spoke again, his voice was much quieter. “He told you that?”

  “Something like that.”

  “There’s no way you can prove that.”

  So her hunches had been on the mark. “Do I need to?”

  Krathas took a deep breath and let it slowly out through his nostrils. “Very well, Lady. What is it you want from me?”

  “Gaven has escaped,” Rienne said, watching Krathas carefully. His eyebrows raised, but she couldn’t judge whether he was genuinely surprised. “I have a hard time believing you hadn’t heard that already.”

  “My sources aren’t what they once were.”

  “I hope that won’t diminish your usefulness to me. I want to find him before the forces of the four dragonmarked houses who are scouring Khorvaire at this moment do, and that’s where I need your help.”

  “If I didn’t know he escaped, how can I possibly know where to find him?”

  “I know he was arrested here in Vathirond, and you just told me he contacted you after his conviction and had you do something for him. I assume there’s something here he cares about, maybe even something he’ll come back here for. What is it?”

  “It’s been almost thirty years, Lady.”

  “I assume he planned for the possibility that it would be even longer before he was able to return. That’s why he contacted you.”

  For the first time, Krathas smiled, revealing uneven rows of broken teeth. “I begin to see what Gaven admired in you, Lady Alastra.”

  Rienne returned his smile. “Wait until you see me in a fight.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  Gaven found himself staring up into the face of the Traveler.

  At least, he assumed it was the Traveler. A goblin was carved in the great frieze, crouching at the feet of the mysterious sixteenth god, stepping out of the line formed by the other fifteen gods. She wore a quirky smile that seemed out of place in the ancient sculpture of Dhakaan—an expression that made this one goddess seem more real than the others in their majestic stillness. Gaven shot a grim smile back at the trickster-god and sat up.

  His smile fell from his face when he saw that he was not alone. “Senya!”

  “Come,” she said, “we need to get out of here.” She stepped over to him and extended a hand to help him up. He stood without her help.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I think I’m helping you achieve your destiny. Now move!” She started out the cave entrance, and he followed, reluctantly. “Senya, wait a moment—”

  “No! Haldren could be back any second. We need to be out of sight and as far away as we can get.”

  That got Gaven moving. He followed Senya as she retraced their steps out of the ancient city. Gaven cursed to himself all the way. He had hoped to make a clean break with Haldren and all his business. He wanted to be rid of them all, certainly including Senya.

  They made their way down the rocky valley, following the dry riverbed as it wound between the cliffs. The ground sloped steadily downward along the ancient river’s course to the sea. Soon the wall of Paluur Draal with its enormous carved guardians was out of sight behind them.

  Feeling they’d put enough distance between them and the city, Gaven lunged forward and grabbed Senya’s arm, pulling her to a stop. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not the Storm Dragon?”

  “You can say it all you want,” she said. She stepped closer and looked up into his eyes. “Sooner or later you’ll realize you’re wrong.”

  “I also made it clear that I’m not interested in you.”

  She put a hand on his face and pressed herself closer to his chest. “You’ll come to recognize
that mistake as well.”

  He stepped back and pushed her away. “Listen, Senya, you are the one making a terrible mistake here. Go find Haldren. Maybe Vaskar’s not the Storm Dragon, but you can still go with Haldren. Maybe you’ll end up the queen of something.”

  Senya scoffed. “A queen at Haldren’s side? I’d rather spend the rest of my life in the Realm of Madness.”

  “I thought you loved him.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Love him? That old man?”

  “You only stayed with him because of the power you thought he could give you.”

  “He was much more exciting when he was younger.”

  “I have nothing to offer you, Senya. I can’t even pretend to love you, and I have no plans to seize any throne, mortal or divine.”

  “What are your plans, then? Maybe I have something to offer you.”

  Gaven threw up his hands and continued down the valley. “I don’t have any plans. I didn’t think past getting away from all of you, and I even failed at that. You want to come with me? Fine. We’ll end up dead or back in Dreadhold together.”

  Gaven walked for a while in silence before looking back over his shoulder. Senya trailed behind him, her eyes fixed on the ground as she picked out a path on the rocky trail. She was smiling.

  * * * * *

  “Damn you to the outer darkness, Gaven.” Haldren quivered with fury. Darraun was nervous that he might end up taking the brunt of the sorcerer’s anger again. After all, he was the one who had let go of Gaven’s hand.

  They had appeared on the shores of a lake, large enough that the opposite shore was nearly invisible. Darraun’s hunch was Lake Brey, somewhere near the uneasy border between Breland and Thrane. The wind blowing off the water was cold, and Darraun pulled his cloak around him.

  “We’re going back,” Haldren announced. “Join hands.”

  Darraun cast his eyes around, looking for a distraction, anything to buy Gaven more time. Nothing caught his attention. “Wait a moment, Haldren,” he said.

  “Join hands now.” Haldren was not going to wait. Cart had already seized one of Haldren’s hands and held the other out to Darraun.

  “I’m just thinking—”

  “Stop thinking and join hands. If he harms her because you’re too busy thinking, I will reduce you to dust and scatter your remains across the Ten Seas.”

  Darraun took Cart’s hand, and Haldren intoned his spell. Darraun considered yanking his hand away at the last second as Gaven had done. A world of possibilities began to form in his mind, then Haldren finished the spell and they were back in Paluur Draal, staring up at the sixteen goblin gods.

  No sign of Gaven or Senya.

  “Senya!” Haldren yelled. His voice echoed around the cave, but that was the only reply.

  Cart moved immediately to the cave entrance and looked outside, while Darraun made a show of examining the floor.

  “I was just thinking, Haldren,” he said, scanning the ground as if looking for tracks, “what if they were still caught in the magic of your spell and got shunted through space, just not to the same place we were?”

  Haldren snorted. “I thought I told you to stop thinking. And you know the spell doesn’t work like that.”

  “On the contrary, I’ve seen teleportation spells go horribly awry.”

  Haldren moved to stand beside Cart, turning his back on Darraun and looking out at the ruins nearby. “It would have been one thing for the spell to carry us to the wrong location, but quite another for it to transport us correctly while taking them elsewhere.”

  Darraun stood behind the others. He couldn’t see much past the corpse of the mountain troll they had slain earlier.

  “Senya!” Haldren shouted again.

  Darraun grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t! You’ll draw every troll and wyvern in the city down on our heads.”

  “I don’t care!” Haldren whirled around as he shouted, and emphasized his last word by shoving Darraun backward, simultaneously blasting a gout of fire from his hand.

  Darraun fell to the ground and clutched his arms to his body. His shirt and cloak smoldered but didn’t ignite, and his leather cuirass protected his chest, but his face and eyes stung with the heat. Haldren turned away and started out into the city. Darraun sat up and glared after him.

  “Are you hurt?” Cart extended a hand to help him stand, and his voice was full of concern.

  Darraun took his hand and pulled himself to his feet. “Not badly, no.” He scowled. But I’ll make him pay for that, he thought. When this is all over.

  “Let’s go, then.” Cart hastened after Haldren, his sense of duty to the Lord General replacing his concern for Darraun.

  Darraun lagged behind, watching his feet as he walked. He didn’t want to be the one to spot Gaven or Senya, and if Haldren did find them, Darraun wanted to be as far away as possible.

  Something on the ground caught his eye, and he stopped. There was a groove, either cut into the stone or marking the space between two ancient cobblestones. Drying mud covered the ground around it—mud that had been smeared across the stone. He crouched and traced his finger along the groove. It was the shape of Kraken Bay—he’d found the map they were looking for.

  “Haldren!” he called. “You need to see this!”

  Haldren wheeled around and walked back to within a few yards of Darraun. “Did you find their tracks? Are we on their trail?”

  Darraun brushed mud away from the region northwest of Kraken Bay. “Not them,” he said. Haldren threw up his hands and started to turn away. Darraun pointed to a strange symbol carved into the stone, where he had cleared the dust away. “But I think I’ve found the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor.”

  * * * * *

  As the western sky grew red, the valley opened up, and a stream poured out from under the mountains. Gazing down the valley, Gaven saw other mountain streams joining its flow, and it widened into a river far ahead.

  Senya spotted a grassy patch near the stream bank and threw herself down. “This river should lead us all the way to Korranberg,” she said, starting to remove her boots.

  “Is that where you’re heading?” Gaven asked.

  “There’s a lightning rail station there. We could get from there to pretty much anywhere west of the Mournland.” Senya got both her boots off and started massaging her feet.

  “The Mournland,” Gaven echoed.

  Words from the Prophecy echoed in his mind: Desolation spreads over that land like a wildfire. Haldren and Vaskar had taken those words to refer to the Mournland. He saw it, briefly, in his mind—a barren plain, unbroken by any sign of life or civilization, the earth itself reduced to ash. Then he saw his hands half buried in the scorched soil, tasted the acrid air. He shook his head, trying to dispel that image. Senya was watching him curiously, and he forced himself to look at her. She is here now, he reminded himself. The rest …

  “So that’s what they call Cyre now?” he said. His mouth was dry, and the words scratched his throat.

  “It was a beautiful land, before,” Senya said. “Did you ever go there?”

  “Many times.” Faces sprang to Gaven’s mind, people he hadn’t seen in many years. How many of them were dead?

  “Cart and I went there once after the Mourning. Just a short way in.” She shuddered. “Far enough. I don’t ever want to go back.”

  “Haldren’s going there—or Vaskar, perhaps. Or both of them.”

  “Looking for the Sky Caves. Haldren told me.”

  “Thunder!” Gaven sighed. “I’m glad to be done with Haldren and his schemes.” Even as he said it, though, it rang false. Looking for the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor in the Mournland sounded like quite an adventure—and to explore them would be the chance of a lifetime. The knowledge they must hold …

  He sat down on the stream bank, a few paces downstream from where Senya had started dipping her feet into the water. The stream showed him the Ring of Siberys overhead.

  “Shall we stop here for the night?
” Senya asked.

  Gaven looked up at the sky. The red in the west had faded to a narrow band above the mountains, while the Ring of Siberys shimmered gold above him. It wasn’t as bright as it had been the night before in Shae Mordai, but it still shed enough light that they could make their way farther down the valley if they wanted to. Realizing that the previous night they’d been in Aerenal made him feel exhausted.

  “Yes, it seems quiet enough,” he said. “And open. Less chance for anything to sneak up under cover.”

  Senya rummaged through her pack and tossed Gaven some dried meat. “I have to say, I’ll miss Darraun’s cooking.”

  Gaven scowled, thinking of the fragments of conversation he’d had with Darraun. “Haldren said he was a more recent acquaintance. How long have you known him?”

  “Darraun? Only a few weeks. Cart and I recruited him to help us break into Dreadhold.”

  “How did you find him?”

  Senya shrugged. “We asked around. Haldren still has a lot of friends in Aundair. In the army mostly. I think Darraun has friends in intelligence.”

  “Intelligence? The Royal Eyes?”

  “Mm-hm. It was almost like he’d planted his name at the end of every trail we followed. He knows what he’s doing.” “Does Haldren know that?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “I’m not sure I’d trust someone who went to such lengths to make sure you chose him for the task.”

  “Oh, Haldren doesn’t trust him.”

  Gaven laughed. “Of course not.”

  * * * * *

  The sky grew dark over the ruins of Paluur Draal. Cart paced slowly back and forth, watching for more trolls or any other trouble. Darraun finished copying the map he’d found. Haldren knelt beside him, pointing out details and criticizing his work. Darraun entertained himself with thoughts of strangling the sorcerer as he put the finishing touches on the paper.

  Haldren stood, brushed dried mud from his knees, and looked up at the darkening sky. “Damn,” he muttered. “We’re not going to find them now.”

  Darraun double-checked his map and rolled it up. “At least we found what we came here for.”