Storm Dragon: The Draconic Prophecies - Book One

by James Wyatt

  And his audience was won. The four loyal officers clinked their wine glasses together, already celebrating their victory. General Yeven was smiling openly now, his eyes not quite focused in the room, as if he were seeing the dragons flying in front of his armies, breathing terror and devastation before them. Ashara d’Cannith leaned in to share a joke with Major Arak, clearly caught up in the excitement. Only Arcanist Wheldren seemed to have noticed Haldren’s careful choice of words. He was not, perhaps, fully won over to the cause, but neither was he going to run back to Arcanix and tell Lord Adal all about this treasonous gathering.

  Darraun stared into his glass, swirling the wine. Greater events afoot, indeed, he thought. Haldren had no idea.

  * * * * *

  Bordan hated Zilargo. It wasn’t the gnomes themselves, but the constant feeling of being watched, almost overseen. There was a reason he worked alone—he’d worked hard in his house to earn the privilege of working without supervision. Among the gnomes, he felt as though every step he took was being watched and evaluated, and at any moment he could be judged a threat to the social order and dealt with. He knew only too well that the agents of the Trust, responsible for maintaining peace and stability, didn’t look kindly on people like him.

  On the other hand, that constant watchfulness proved helpful sometimes. After Gaven and his elf companion ran through the lightning rail station in Korranberg, evading the idiotic Medani agents, dozens of gnomes could describe everything the fugitives had done from the time they entered the city to their hasty departure. They came in from the north, but walked around to the west gate to enter by the main road. Gaven’s eyes had lingered on a well-crafted suit of plate armor, but he hadn’t bought it. The pair had shared an intimate moment just outside the rail station—or had they? The elf had looked wary a moment before, as if expecting an attack, so the intimacy might have been a cover. Bordan couldn’t argue—the eyewitness reports were thorough and useful.

  There was much they couldn’t tell him, though. Who was Gaven’s elf companion? He’d only been out of Dreadhold a few days, which didn’t seem long enough to persuade some new romantic interest to risk her life running from the authorities in a lightning rail station. She didn’t match descriptions of Gaven’s betrothed. It might be possible to mistake a half-elf for a full elf, Bordan supposed, but he had been told Rienne had brown skin, not the pale ivory of Gaven’s current companion. He figured she must be part of the group that had broken him out of Dreadhold, but that left plenty of questions unanswered. Starting with where Haldren ir’Brassek was.

  In contrast to the detailed reports of Gaven’s activities, there was no indication that Haldren had been in Korranberg at all. Even though Gaven had evidently made no effort to alter his appearance, Bordan tried to imagine every possible way that Haldren might look different than he did in Dreadhold, but the basics—a male human about sixty years old—drew a blank from the gnomes of the city council. It seemed clear that he had not been here at all. He and Gaven must have split up—and perhaps split up the rescue party as well. Certainly there had been no dragon sightings in the region.

  Bordan left the city council hall and made his way through the crowded streets to the lightning rail station. He didn’t expect as much detail from the Orien and Medani witnesses to the event, but there were certainly some things they could tell him that the gnomes couldn’t. Starting with the agent who sold them passage.

  “Of course I remember them,” the young woman said. “He was an heir of Siberys with the Mark of Storm. Hard to forget.”

  “You checked their papers?”

  The woman flushed crimson. “I checked hers. You’ll see her in my log, there.” She pointed to the sheaf of parchment Bordan was idly flipping through while he listened. “Both her identification papers and her traveling papers were issued in Fairhaven. I remember thinking she’d come a long way.”

  “And the man?”

  Her color deepened, and she spoke as if to get the painful truth out as quickly as possible. “He had no papers.”

  “He had no papers,” Bordan repeated, his voice flat.

  “He was an heir of Siberys! He hardly had to prove his identity. I could see the dragonmark right there!”

  “Calm down. I’m not here to challenge your decision. I’ll leave that to your house. What was their destination?”

  “They bought passage to Vathirond.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “He said he was going there to see his family. He came here to work for his cousin, he said, but something happened between his cousin and the woman, I think, so they were going home. Or that’s what he said.”

  Bordan found what he sought on the parchment pages. “Is this her? Senya Arrathinen?”

  The woman leaned forward to see where Bordan pointed. “Yes, that’s the one.”

  Bordan picked up his pen, jabbed it into the ink, and scrawled what little information the log held into his notebook. Senya Arrathinen, citizen of Aundair, residence in Fairhaven.

  “This shows her destination as Vulyar,” he said.

  “Does it? Hm. Well, that makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  “Certainly. When traveling papers show a destination on the other side of the Mournland, I don’t pay much attention. We’re obviously not carrying you across on the lightning rail, so I assume whatever your destination may be is just your next stop on the way to where you’re going. And Vathirond makes sense, being just this side of the Mournland.”

  “But he told you Vathirond was their final destination.”

  “He did, but that was after she bought her passage. Didn’t register in my mind.”

  “I see. So they’re on the lightning rail, bound for Vathirond. Where does that cart stop?”

  “Zolanberg first, then Sterngate, where Breland will check the passengers pretty carefully. Then up to Starilaskur, then Vathirond.”

  “Four stops. That should be more than enough. They can’t run like that every time.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  The steerage cart grew dark as the sun sank over the forests of Zilargo. No lights would come on, Gaven knew—ever-bright lanterns might shine in the other carts, but steerage passengers went to sleep when the sun went down and rose at dawn. Or else they sat awake in the dark.

  Gaven sat up through the first watch of the night, thinking they were probably the longest three bells of his life.

  The lightning rail came in to Zolanberg at the start of the second watch. Gaven sat on a bench, cradling a gnome woman on his lap as if she were his young child. He tried to remember her name as he stared at the cart door, waiting for it to open. Lightning flashed along the length of the car as it came to a slow stop, and Gaven allowed himself a quick glance at Senya. She was mostly hidden behind Vond’s huge, hairy body, but he could see her legs draped along the bench on one side. This was the best plan Senya could come up with. Her idea was that a man traveling with a small child would not be suspect, and a woman traveling with the minotaur would be carefully avoided. For his part, Gaven had been too sore and tired to think of anything better. He shook his head, trying to prepare himself for what would probably turn into a terrible fight—or at least another headlong flight.

  It seemed to take forever for the door to open. Gaven supposed that made sense. If they were searching for him, they wouldn’t want a rush of passengers disembarking all at once. There were many travelers, mostly gnomes, standing by the door, waiting to get off, and if Gaven hadn’t been twice the height of most of them he might have tried getting lost in that crowd. It would have been a mistake. When the door finally opened, the people standing nearby agitated toward the door, but a loud voice commanded them to form a single line to get off and have identification papers ready.

  Gaven’s heart beat a rhythm of panic. He still had no identification papers. What would he do if someone asked to see them? It would have been smarter, he reflected, to bluff the staff at the Sivis enclave into giving him papers i
nstead of bullying the Orien agent. Probably harder, but safer.

  The disembarking passengers filed off slowly. As their numbers thinned, Gaven could see past them to the gnome guards who scanned the faces of each passenger. Gaven let out a cautious sigh. Zil soldiers were one thing—one he suspected he could deal with. Medani inquisitives or Sentinel Marshals would have been another matter. The guards mostly waved the passengers through with no more than a cursory glance at them and their papers, though Gaven did see one gnome who looked like she might be scanning for magical auras. They paid more attention to the few orcs and humans who got off the cart, staring closely into their faces and checking their identification.

  When all the departing passengers were off the cart, a gnome with a lantern climbed in and walked around. He made a wide circle around Vond, though Gaven saw his eyes linger on Senya’s legs for a while. He peered more closely at the remaining tallfolk on the cart, pausing to harass a half-orc with completely irrelevant questions. Then he stood in front of Gaven, shining the light into his face.

  “That your child?” the soldier demanded.

  “Yes.” The gnome in his arms gave a small cough, sounding very much like a sick child. “She’s not feeling well.”

  “Poor thing, crowded into the steerage cart. What’s her name?”

  Gaven swallowed hard, then blurted out the first name that popped into his head. “Rienne.”

  “Pretty name.” He leaned in close, trying in vain for a better look. “You have your papers?”

  Gaven jerked his head toward the bench he sat on. “In my pocket.”

  The soldier chewed his tongue, trying to decide whether to insist on seeing the papers. Then he laid a gentle hand on the gnome woman’s shoulder. “Feel better, sweetheart,” he said. Then he was gone.

  Passengers were finally allowed to board, and the steerage cart grew crowded. Only when the new passengers were getting settled, the door was closed, and the lightning rail finally started moving did Gaven release his hold on the gnome in his arms, setting her down on her feet beside him.

  “Rienne?” she said. “That is a pretty name.”

  Gaven shrugged. “Thank you so much for your help. You probably saved my life.”

  “Yeah, me and the fact that the guy they sent in to look for you was a family man.” She no longer sounded like a child, but like a streetwise woman of middle age. “Whew! It was getting hot in there.” She fanned herself with one hand to emphasize the point. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. It’s been a good long time since I had a pair of strong arms around me.” She noted Gaven’s discomfort, and put a hand on his arm. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re not my type.” Her eyes widened. “Way too big.”

  * * * * *

  He stood overlooking a blasted canyon, desolate of life, like a wound that refused to heal ripped into the earth. Wolves that were not wolves howled, too close at hand, but he did not move. The only sign of life was a churning cloud of smoke and steam that billowed up from a rift in the floor of the canyon.

  He fell until he was in the canyon, peering through hot smoke to a great furnace below. He felt a steadying hand on his shoulder. He clasped it in his own hand without tearing his eyes from the eldritch machine, the source of all the smoke. Dragonfire fed the furnace, and fiendish figures tended it.

  Beside the great machine, whose great canisters and ichor-filled tubes were too bizarre for his mind to comprehend, a mass of crystal jutted up from the cavern floor. A silver serpent writhed and coiled in the heart of the crystal, as if it were the largest dragonshard ever seen. Caught within its coils was a smear of darkness. Gaven could feel the serpent’s rage, a palpable fury radiating like heat from the crystal far below him.

  A quiet voice came over his shoulder, words lost in the noise of the furnace like the haziness of dream. Words sprang to his lips in answer—

  “Two spirits share one prison beneath the wastes, secrets kept and revelation granted. They bind and are bound, but their unbound whispers rise to the Dragon Between, calling to those who would hear.”

  A great blast of flame erupted from the furnace, jetting upward to engulf him.

  * * * * *

  “Gaven!” He struggled to wake up, images and emotions from his dream slow to clear from his mind. Senya was on her knees next to him, shaking him awake. She seemed deeply concerned. “Gaven, are you all right?”

  “I … I think so.” Gaven sat up, rubbing his forehead. “I was asleep.”

  “You were?” Senya looked perplexed. “But your eyes were open, and you were saying … something.”

  “What did I say?”

  “I don’t know. Half the time, I think you were speaking another language. You sounded confused, and then you screamed, and that’s when I shook you.”

  Gaven looked around. The other passengers tried not to stare, but everyone glanced his way from time to time. He wondered how many of them understood Draconic, assuming that was the language he had been babbling.

  He turned back to Senya. “Thank you for waking me,” he said. “It wasn’t a pleasant dream.”

  “You’re welcome.” The worry melted from Senya’s face, and she smiled, then looked up at the window. “Sun’s almost up anyway. I think we’re due at Sterngate around noon.”

  Gaven groaned. He felt like he had barely slept, and he didn’t feel up to another confrontation of any kind, let alone a border crossing. His body was still recovering from its brush with the rail, and sitting upright proved to be a greater effort than he could manage. He slumped back down on the bench. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep again, but he could at least rest his body.

  Despite the sun beginning to peek in the windows, darkness swallowed him again.

  * * * * *

  Gaven opened his eyes to see Senya leaning over him again, anxiety on her face. He woke quickly, feeling clearheaded and almost well rested.

  “Was I shouting again?”

  “No, but we’ll be at Sterngate soon. I didn’t want to wake you any sooner than I had to.”

  “Thank you. I needed sleep.”

  “I talked to Vond and Juni, and they’re both willing to help us like they did at the last stop, assuming the guards board the cart again. Might be best to be consistent, especially if they’re comparing what they see to a passenger list compiled in Zolanberg.”

  Gaven shook his head. “It’ll never work. They’re never going to let me across the border without papers.”

  Senya looked like she was about to argue, then thought better of it. “So what do we do?”

  “How far to Sterngate?”

  “Not far. We’ve already turned east toward Marguul Pass, I think.”

  “So the thing to do is to make sure I’m not on the lightning rail when they come looking for me.” He got to his feet and strode to the door leading to the next cart back.

  “What are you doing?” Senya asked.

  Gaven opened the door and looked around. A small platform jutted out the end of the steerage cart, separated by a short gap from a similar platform at the front of the next cart. “I’m not sure yet.” He pulled his head back in and looked at Senya. “Your papers are in order, right? They’ll stand up to border scrutiny?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Stay here. Stick with Vond if you want. They’ll be so busy going through his fur with a comb that they’ll barely look at your papers, if I know border guards. I’ll see you once we’re across.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked again.

  “Still not sure. But I’ll figure it out.”

  * * * * *

  Evlan d’Deneith watched the lightning rail approach Sterngate. He stood tall, his arms folded, two good marshals at his back, confident that he was about to make the arrest that would put the final flourish on a long and distinguished career. He’d capture Gaven, who would lead him to Haldren ir’Brassek, and the two would lead him into a comfortable retirement.

  Silent lightning arced around the crew cart and alo
ng the trailing coaches, flaring blue as they slowed. He watched carefully, in case his quarry tried to jump from the cart before it reached the station, and he had two marshals on the other side doing the same. Two more marshals walked the length of the station. He had spread a net that Gaven could not possibly escape. Evlan drummed his fingers on his arm, impatient.

  The carts came to a stop. A platoon of Brelish soldiers stepped forward to open the doors on each cart, barking orders to the passengers inside. All passengers would disembark and file through a checkpoint where their papers would be examined before they would be allowed to leave the station or reboard the lightning rail.

  Evlan signaled to one of the marshals behind him, and she followed him aboard the crew cart. They would make their way backward, searching every cart until they found him. The other five marshals would stay in place, watching for any escape attempt.

  The crew cart was a maze of arcane devices, cramped quarters, and storage areas. There were hundreds of places a man could hide, but Evlan searched every one. Satisfied that Gaven could not be aboard, they moved to the next cart back, the steerage cart. The passengers had already cleared out, but Evlan could guess from the smell that it had been crowded on the journey from Zolanberg. He wrinkled his nose as he moved through the cart, peering under every bench.

  When he reached the rear of the cart, Evlan stuck his head out the door. The marshal he’d left outside gave him an all-clear signal, and he scowled. If Gaven hadn’t been seen leaving the lightning rail, then he must still be aboard. He returned to his search.

  He opened the door leading to the next cart back, and was struck by the pungent smell of ozone, presumably from the lightning discharges that occurred as the lightning rail moved along its line of conductor stones. He thought it was strange that he hadn’t noticed it when leaving the crew cart, but he attributed it to the stench of the steerage cart—the ozone smell was a striking contrast. All the same, he lingered in the space between the carts, peering to the sides and down. He glanced up, and noticed dark clouds blowing in from the west. A storm on the way.