by James Wyatt
All these storms, he thought. And not just the disastrous ones—rainy weather had followed him across the Five Nations. Wind swept around him in his anger. Lightning blasted his foes. He had the power of the Storm Dragon, whether he wanted it or not.
Did he have a choice about how to use it? Or was the script already written, just waiting for him to play his part through to the final act?
“It seems I’ve been cast in a role I wouldn’t have chosen,” he said.
“So turn it into the role you do want.”
“How do I do that?”
Rienne got to her feet and held out a hand to him. “Why don’t you begin by deciding where we’re going next?”
He took her hand and walked behind her out of their room and out to the inn’s stables, pondering her question. They were in Breland, somewhere near the border with Thrane. He had very little idea where Haldren or Vaskar were, though he guessed that Haldren would be in Aundair. The lord general had kept his plans to himself, for the most part—Gaven knew Haldren’s ultimate goal, but nothing of how he hoped to achieve it. As for Vaskar, Gaven had told him what he had to do to reach his goal. “On a field of battle where dragons clash in the skies, the earth opens and the Crystal Spire emerges.” Vaskar would seek to bring that about.
The thought of chasing Haldren and Vaskar all around creation made him feel tired, especially when he thought about the people who were chasing him at the same time.
Rienne pressed a coin into the stable boy’s hand and led the magebred mare onto the street. Gaven stopped in his tracks. “Darkness take my destiny,” he said. “I’ve been away for twenty-six years. I want to go home.”
Rienne turned to him, eyes wide. “Do you think that’s wise?”
He waited while she swung into the saddle, then climbed up behind her. “Wise? No, probably not. I’m an excoriate and a fugitive, so going back to the primary enclave of House Lyrandar in all Khorvaire is not wise.”
“But at least it’s a city of Khoravar, like us,” she said. “Our race won’t make us stand out the way it would in, say, Korranberg.”
“And we know the ways of the house,” Gaven added. “We can lie low there pretty easily.” He swallowed hard. “Rienne, do you think my father would see me?”
“Of course he would. Oh, Gaven, he never believed the charges against you. Why, if I had told him I was going to look for you, he would have insisted on coming along.”
Gaven gave a laugh that was half sob. “You’ve seen him recently?”
“It’s been a few months, but we’ve been in fairly regular contact. I need to tell you, though, he’s not in the best health.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Mostly he’s getting old. He was still walking around when I saw him last, but he moved pretty slowly.”
Gaven drew a deep breath. “I remember him the way he was before our last descent,” he said. “Healthy, maybe seventy, still vibrant and strong. Not much older than I am now, I suppose.” He’d been taller than Gaven, and more slender, but they had the same hair. The same large hands, and the same laugh. Once, when laughter came more easily to Gaven.
“Your brother has been running the household,” Rienne said.
“Good for Thordren,” Gaven muttered. “And I suppose his mark’s a greater mark now?” Thordren had only just taken his Test of Siberys the last time Gaven saw him.
“I believe so, yes,” Rienne said. “He’s grown into a fine young man, Gaven. You shouldn’t begrudge him his success.”
“You’re right, of course. He and I just chose different paths in life. He chose to follow our father and run the family business, and I rotted in thrice-damned Dreadhold for twenty-six years. And look how successful we’ve both been at our chosen careers!”
“Gaven—”
“No, I’m sorry. I was being stupid.”
“To Stormhome, then?” Rienne craned her neck to look back at him, a smile on her face.
“To Stormhome.”
She gave the horse a gentle kick, and they rode like the wind.
CHAPTER
37
When Gaven and Rienne reached the Thrane river, they knew they had left Breland. The Treaty of Throne-hold had defined borders between the once-warring nations, but those borders were fluid and inexact things, and they mattered most when they were crossed by roads. Riding overland as they were, it was nearly impossible to tell that they had left one nation and entered another.
They avoided a large city, Sigilstar, situated along the river, and passed quietly through several small villages spaced about a day’s travel apart—a day of riding on a cart pulled by oxen, that is, not a day on the back of a horse magebred for speed. On the third day, the river widened gradually, slowing from its headlong rush to a much more leisurely pace and finally coming to rest in one of the branches of Scions Sound, once the heart of the Five Nations. The warm breeze carried the smell of the sea, and the abundance of songbirds signaled that spring had well and truly come to this part of Khorvaire.
They spent the afternoon visiting shops. Rienne kept a careful eye on her stores of coin, knowing that House Kundarak had probably blocked her credit by that time. She bought Gaven a sword, new clothes, and a coat with a high collar that concealed his dragonmark. She replenished their supplies of journeybread, preparing for more long days of travel. That night, they enjoyed a comfortable inn in the small town of Sharavacion, the largest settlement they had dared enter since leaving Vathirond.
“Did you see the docks on the sound as we rode into town?” Rienne asked as they settled into their room.
“What about them?”
“Their size, mostly. This place might not be a bustling metropolis or a center of high culture, but it sees some shipping trade.”
“Hm.” Gaven leaned back in a chair and rested his hands on his belly, feeling comfortably full and quite tired after a pleasant meal down the street.
“I’m thinking there’s some chance we can hire a ship here to take us to Stormhome. Maybe even a Lyrandar galleon—I might still have a favor I can call in.”
“That would be good.” Gaven closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head. He liked the thought of riding on a ship, especially a fast ship, rather than spending any more time on horseback.
He heard Rienne sit down on her bed and sigh. “Gaven?” she said.
“Hm?”
“What do you think Haldren and Vaskar are doing now?”
Gaven opened a sleepy eye and cocked an eyebrow at Rienne.
“Because you were talking the other night about becoming their nemesis, bringing their plans to ruin. I know that might not be the destiny you want to pursue, but I was just thinking about … well, what happens if they succeed?”
“I don’t know what they’re doing,” Gaven said, looking up at the ceiling. “They didn’t exactly inform me of all the details of their plans while I was with them. And when I saw Vaskar in the Sky Caves—well, we were too busy trying to kill each other to make conversation.”
“I understand that,” Rienne said.
Gaven thought she sounded a little testy, and he wasn’t sure why.
She sighed, and when she spoke again her voice was quieter. “I’m just scared, I guess. Scared that Haldren will plunge us back into another century of war. Scared that Vaskar really will become a god, or gain the power of one.”
“I don’t think Vaskar will succeed. There’s too much he doesn’t understand, and he didn’t learn anything from—”
Gaven stopped abruptly as words and images rose unbidden in his mind.
The words of the Sky Caves, woven thick with meaning …
The words he had studied in his draconic existence …
All flowing together with images from his nightmares.
The earth splitting. A colossal eruption of blinding light—a ray of Khyber’s sun, a shard of the Dragon Below’s might.
The hordes of the Soul Reaver emerging from the depths where they have long hidden in the dark
ness, unafraid of Khyber’s cold light. Pouring forth from the cracks in the earth, swarming over the plain that lies in the sunset shadow of the mountains of stars.
Tearing into the soldiers massed there, shrieking and howling.
Soldiers cursing and hacking and dying. Fires in the sky and raging across the plain.
A clash of dragons signals the sundering of the Soul Reaver’s gates …
Dragons fighting dragons …
… dragons wheeling in the sky …
… a clash of dragons …
… the armies gathered on the plain.
Dragons …
… Storm Dragon …
“Gaven?”
The images faded.
He lay on the floor of the room, where his chair had deposited him when he leaned too far back. Rienne was on her knees leaning over him, a look of concern mingled with fear on her face. Her hand stroked his cheek, brushing the hair back from his forehead, presumably checking him for fever.
“I’m all right, Mama,” he said, trying to smile.
She clearly believed neither his words nor his smile. “Here, let me help you to your bed. Oh, Gaven, I let you do too much before you were fully recovered. You need to rest.”
“I’m all right,” he repeated, but he accepted her help in lifting himself onto the bed, and lay down again as she commanded. He chased the last fragments of dreams and visions as they scurried away from the rigidity of consciousness.
“What happened?” Rienne asked. “Did you faint or just slip? I didn’t think you were leaning that far backward.”
“Shh, shh.” Gaven whispered. “I need to dream some more.”
“Sleep is a good idea.” Rienne’s anxious fluttering transformed in an instant into soothing ministrations. She lay a blanket over him, stroked his hair softly, hummed an old tune that echoed the grief of wars long past. Eventually, she seemed to convince herself that he was asleep, despite his wide eyes staring toward the ceiling—but seeing only nightmares.
* * * * *
Rienne awoke with the first rays of sunlight creeping into the room. She stretched, rolled over to check on Gaven—and then leaped to her feet. Gaven was gone. The blanket she had draped over him the night before lay smoothed on his bed, and the pillow was fluffed. That, at least, told her that Gaven had gotten up and left the room in a more or less sound state of mind. She started for the door, stopped, and went back to lift Maelstrom from its place beside her bed. Then she went out to look for Gaven.
She was down the stairs and starting out the inn’s door when a voice stopped her. “Good, you’re up.” She whirled and saw Gaven sitting by a fireplace in the front room. She laughed.
“Sorry to be such a slugabed. Sleeping ‘til dawn—I ought to be ashamed of myself.”
“Are you ready to go?” Gaven said, standing up and walking over to join her. He didn’t smile.
“Well, almost. I left my things upstairs and—”
“Grab them and let’s go.”
Rienne started to say more, but decided against it. Gaven waited by the door as she ran back up the stairs to collect her pack. She hurried back down, and Gaven held the door open for her. He led her at a brisk pace toward the docks.
After a moment she hurried to catch up and walk beside him. “Gaven, are you all right?”
“Of course. Why?”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“No. But I dreamed a great deal.”
She waited a moment for more explanation, but quickly realized he wasn’t going to volunteer it. “Why the dawn rush this morning?”
“I’m anxious to get home.”
Rienne pulled Maelstrom, still in its scabbard, from the sash at her waist and swung it at his stomach. “Stop.”
He obliged her, scowling.
She stepped in front of him and looked up into his face. He didn’t meet her eyes. “Listen to me. You promised to explain everything. I didn’t take that to mean everything up to that point. You haven’t fulfilled that obligation—you can’t start the curt and cryptic act again. Because I can unsave your life, you know.” She pointed the tip of her scabbard into his throat, gently, to emphasize her point.
He met her eyes, still scowling. She saw the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing, and for an instant she feared he might actually attack her. Then, slowly, his frown dissolved, and he almost smiled. “I’ll explain everything on the ship.”
“What ship?”
He smiled broadly at that. “You’ll see. If you start walking, that is. Come on!” He circled around her, laughing as he hustled toward the docks again.
Rienne made herself draw a calming breath. She could smell the sea air off Scions Sound, and she managed to catch some of Gaven’s enthusiasm for the journey ahead. She hurried to catch him, slapped her scabbard against his rear, and laughed at the expression of outraged surprise on his face. He joined her laughter, even as he drew the greatsword from his back.
“Careful with your little sword, there, Lady Alastra,” he said. “Don’t make me use this.”
“I’ll put Maelstrom up against your great big hunk of scrap metal for any wager,” Rienne shot back. “That’s an orc’s weapon—just swing it wildly back and forth and hope you hit something.” She noticed as she spoke that Gaven still carried the black wooden staff he’d had when she found him outside the Mournland. He had attached it to his scabbard with some care. She started to ask him about it, but he cut her off.
“There she is,” Gaven said, pointing with his sword.
He was pointing to a ship—and not just any ship. She was a great galleon, with two masts and an elegant aftcabin. Circling her, behind the mainmast, was a circle of elemental water, arcing high above the aftcabin and disappearing into the water on either side, reminiscent of the fiery ring around an airship. The water was in constant motion, churning in great rippling waves. She flew the kraken banner of House Lyrandar.
“Holy Host,” Rienne breathed.
Gaven laughed. “Now do you understand?”
“Who’s her captain?”
“Ah, that’s the rest of the surprise.” He sheathed his great-sword beside the ash staff, took her hand, and dragged her to the gangplank.
“Gaven! And the lovely Lady Alastra!” The man perched at the top of the gangplank was lean and weathered, his skin almost as dark as Rienne’s from exposure to the sun. His blue eyes gleamed behind an aquiline nose, and deep wrinkles etched his face, accentuating his warm smile. His hair was a close-cropped sprinkling of black and gray, revealing the tracings of a dragonmark that started at one temple and extended behind his ear, making one more appearance on the side of his neck before disappearing. Half a dozen gold rings glittered along the edge of one gently pointed ear. He threw his arms wide as Gaven started up to meet him.
“Jordhan!” Rienne cried. She dashed up the gangplank behind Gaven, gripped Gaven’s arm and swung past him, nearly sending him toppling off the side. She leaped into the grinning captain’s arms, making him stumble backward onto the deck as he returned her enthusiastic embrace.
“Now do you see why I was so anxious to get here?” Gaven asked, laughing.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Rienne didn’t relinquish her hold on Jordhan, but spun him around so she could see Gaven over his shoulder. “How long have you known he was here?”
“I came out for a walk very early this morning and spotted the Sea Tiger here. I had barely settled in my seat at the inn when you came downstairs.”
Finally Rienne released her tight hold on the captain, though she kept her hands on his shoulders as she looked at his face. “Look at you! You haven’t changed a bit.”
Jordhan winked. “And you’re as lovely as ever, Rienne.”
“Are you sure about this, Jordhan?” Gaven asked, clapping the captain’s shoulder. “It’s an enormous risk you’re taking.”
Jordhan kept his eyes on Rienne as he spoke. “I’ve been playing it safe for far too long.”
“
What have you been doing?” Rienne asked, finally relinquishing her grip on him. “I haven’t seen you in—”
“Twenty-six years?” Gaven interjected.
Jordhan looked down at the deck. “Give or take.” He brightened. “Come on, I’ve got your old cabin ready for you.”
“It’s just like old times, isn’t it?” Gaven said. “Coming back from someplace desolate and dangerous, a load of Khyber shards in the hold—you did load the dragonshards, didn’t you, Jordhan?”
They all laughed. Rienne’s thoughts went to the Heart of Khyber, the one dragonshard they did carry on this journey—the cause of all their trouble. She squeezed Jordhan’s arm. “It’s wonderful to see you,” she said. “And we’re so grateful.”
“It’s nothing. I owe you two my life many times over.”
“We wouldn’t have had to save your life if we hadn’t dragged you into such trouble,” Gaven said. “Thank you, old friend.”
Rienne looked back over her shoulder as she and Gaven started down the stairs to the little aft cabin they had shared on so many journeys, so long ago. Jordhan watched them go, a little smile on his lips and sadness in his eyes.
CHAPTER
38
I always figured Jordhan would be at your door courting you as soon as I was off the scene,” Gaven said. He couldn’t look at her; he busied himself with his hammock while she rummaged in her pack. Even as he said it, he wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say in response.
“Jealous?” she asked.
“Me? I suppose I was at times. And furious at what seemed like a betrayal compounded. And once in a while, late at night, maybe glad at the thought of my two best friends happy together, even if I couldn’t share that joy.”
He felt Rienne lay her hand gently on his back. “Oh, Gaven,” she whispered. He turned a little, and met her eyes gazing up at him. She shook her head slowly. “He came by a few times in the first months. He was the only friend we shared who understood what I’d done, and his friendship meant the world to me in those months. But he never courted me.”