by James Wyatt
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 instead 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 shoulde
r. 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 along 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.
“What is it?” the marshal behind him asked.
“Nothing.” He slid open the door to the next cart and went through, ready to search every compartment until he found the fugitive.
Gaven shifted just slightly, looking up from under the small platform at the end of the steerage cart. He saw the door sliding shut behind the Sentinel Marshals, and he let out a long, slow breath.
That was close, he thought. Something made that marshal suspicious.
“Lord Marshal!” a voice cried from the station, very close. Afraid he’d been spotted, Gaven pulled his head back down, clinging to the underside of the platform. His heart pounded, and his muscles started to shake from the exertion of holding himself in place.
The marshal’s next words hit him like a punch in the stomach. “We’ve got the woman!”
CHAPTER 20
Lightning flashed along the crew cart as it started moving again, and a long rumble of thunder answered it in the sky. Gaven took advantage of the sound to jump to the roof of the next cart, where he’d seen them take Senya. His feet slipped on the damp surface, and he started to fall before his hands caught the beam that ran the leng
th of the cart. He hung there for a moment, breathing slowly, before pulling himself back up to a crouch, straddling the beam.
He still hadn’t decided what he wanted to do. A loud voice in his mind told him to forget Senya. It seemed clear that the Sentinel Marshals were trying to lure him out of hiding by holding her, and he wasn’t eager to fall into their trap. She had chosen to follow him around. He had made no request of her, and he told himself he owed her nothing.
On the other hand, the ruse that had kept him safe at Zolanberg had been her idea. And more importantly, she was at the moment the only person in Khorvaire who was actively trying to keep him out of Dreadhold. That thought had brought him as far as the roof of the cart she was in.
But he stopped there. The lightning rail was just out of Sterngate and wouldn’t reach its next stop, Starilaskur, until the middle of the night. If he was going to attempt some kind of rescue, it made more sense to do it under cover of darkness and closer, at least, to his destination. He tried to find a position that would let him relax without slipping off the cart’s roof and shield him from the brunt of the wind. He ended up lying facedown on the beam with his arms and legs spread wide to keep him balanced. It wasn’t very comfortable, and the rain was coming down harder. At least it was warm. He sighed. It would be a long ride to Starilaskur.
He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted again. But every time he started to drift into sleep, he felt as though he were slipping off the beam and he woke up with a start. The third time that happened, he opened his eyes and saw a pair of booted feet planted on the roof beside him. Then something hit his head, and everything went black.