Dragon Forge: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Two (51 page)

“The bastard stole my storm!” Gaven growled, and thunder crashed in answer.

Why don’t you get it back?

Ashara tugged at Gaven’s arm. “We have to get out of here,” she said. Her eyes were wide with terror, and as Gaven turned to look for Cart, he saw why.

The azure crystal at the back of the temple had gone dark, drowned in inky shadow. At the center was a lighter portion, with a perfect black circle in its center. As Gaven looked, it moved, fixed its gaze on him. It was an eye.

The whisper in his mind erupted in growling, maniacal laughter as Gaven followed Cart and Ashara into the passage, terror racing in their veins.

The acidic rain and pelting hail of the storm had driven off the besieging dragon and the soldiers with it. Cart emerged from the passage as the last of the rain spattered on the dry ground and rays of sunlight broke through the clouds. Another peal of thunder drew his gaze to the west, and he saw the black clouds of the storm surging away from the canyon of the Dragon Forge.

“Where is he sending it?” Gaven asked.

“To the Eldeen Reaches,” Ashara said. “Probably Varna.”

Gaven came and stood over Ashara. “Varna? That’s a city of thousands!”

“Yes.” Ashara looked at the ground.

“You knew about this?” Cart said.

She nodded as she turned away.

“You helped them build it,” Gaven added. “You helped them steal my mark and use my storm as a weapon.” Ashara sobbed and fell to her knees.

Crouching beside her, Cart rested a hand on her shoulder, then looked up at Gaven. “Then she brought me back from the brink of death—and did the same for you. Let her be, Gaven.”

Gaven stared at Cart for a long moment, anger creasing his brow and the corners of his mouth. Then he turned to watch the retreating storm.

Ashara buried her face in Cart’s shoulder. Words and tears spilled from her in a torrent. “It’s all madness, Cart. Kelas is mad. They don’t know the power they’re dealing with here—the Secret Keeper is getting stronger. He could break free. Malathar’s flames on the crystal, the other dragon’s acid, the storm—they’re all weakening his bonds. Oh, Cart, Varna is the least of the evils I’m to blame for.”

Cart circled his arms gingerly around her and held her as she wept. When he looked up again, Gaven was gone.

Aunn stood at the top of the canyon and surveyed the wake of the storm. Little craters pocked the ground where heavy rain and hail had fallen. Lightning had struck a dry shrub here and there, and one still burned while others smoldered and smoked. His vantage point let him trace a path of devastation a mile or so toward the lake.

He looked down at the monstrosity of iron and flame squatting below him, like a swollen tick feeding on the magic of the blue crystal jutting up at the head of the canyon. He didn’t have to touch that stone to sense the lines of magic flowing freely out of it and into the eldritch machine, and his stomach revolted at the powerful sense of malice emanating from the whole canyon.

“His power flows into the world,” Aunn murmured. “If not stopped, soon he will be free.” Marelle’s words were engraved in his memory, and he thought he finally had some insight into their meaning. “Is this a weapon? More terrible than the barbarian foe?”

A line of people filed out of the iron building, and Aunn backed away from the edge. He found some cover and watched them walking to the edge of the canyon, then crouched down and peered over the edge. The people turned and began climbing a path along the canyon’s edge, and Aunn gasped as he recognized Kelas at the front of the line. His head pounded with anger. The group had climbed well up the path before Aunn realized who else was in the procession. He recognized Arcanist Wheldren from Haldren’s gathering in Bluevine, but the woman beside him was unfamiliar. The woman surrounded by a knot of soldiers, though—that could only be Queen Aurala.

What in the Traveler’s ten thousand names is she doing here? Aunn thought.

They were approaching his hiding place, so he withdrew to a point where he could safely see the plateau overlooking the canyon. A few moments later, Kelas emerged from the path and led the cluster of people to a circle scratched into the ground. Arcanist Wheldren busied himself retracing the lines of the circle, which must have been nearly obliterated by the storm, as the queen
and the other woman talked together. Kelas stood back from the pair, but Aunn could see the look of smug satisfaction he wore. Clearly, whatever had happened here was a part of Kelas’s greater plan, but it was a part he had kept secret from Aunn.

Wheldren was preparing the circle for a ritual of teleportation, Aunn realized, which meant that Kelas would soon be out of his reach, and he didn’t know where. He entertained thoughts of attacking Kelas where he stood, the queen and her soldiers be damned. Suicide. Charging into the circle as Wheldren completed the ritual, teleporting along with them? The same. What if he put Haunderk’s face back on and approached Kelas as a friend? Kelas had sent him to the Demon Wastes to die—there was no reason to think he would not order Haunderk’s death more directly.

His anger and hatred paralyzed him, and he cursed himself for it. Wheldren began his ritual, and it was too late. He might be able to knock Kelas out of the circle at the last moment—but then Kelas stepped out on his own, bowing a farewell to the queen. Another moment, and Kelas stood alone on the plateau, looking tremendously self-satisfied.

Aunn stood from his crouch and stepped around the boulder that had shielded him. It took Kelas a moment to notice him, but his sword flew into his hand while Aunn was still some distance away.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“You don’t know me?” Aunn said. “I’m an old friend, Kelas.”

“I’ve never seen you—” Kelas’s eyes went wide.
“Haunderk?”

Aunn changed his face, and he was Haunderk. “Very good. A lifetime of suspicion has served you well.”

“Haunderk! Your mission was a success!” Kelas smiled, but he didn’t drop his guard as Aunn drew closer.

“It was. Kathrik Mel is on the march, probably spilling over the Shadowcrags at this moment.”

“I commend you. Everything is falling into place.”

“The barbarians have sacked Maruk Dar. Soon they’ll set the Towering Wood on fire. If everything goes according to plan, they’ll meet the armies of Aundair somewhere in the midst of the Eldeen Reaches. And then what, Kelas?”

“Then we’ll crush them, and the Eldeen Reaches will sing the praise of their liberators.”

“What if we fail?”

“We won’t,” Kelas said. He nodded toward the canyon. “The Dragon Forge ensures our victory. And that’s enough questions. Come with me, and we’ll discuss your next mission.”

“Why don’t you just stab me in the back this time? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Tempting.” Kelas took a menacing step forward, sword in his hand. “But you’ve got more use in you yet.”

Aunn slid his mace from his belt and hefted it. “True.” He charged, swinging his mace to bat Kelas’s sword aside and slamming his body into Kelas.

Kelas staggered backward, caught off guard by the sudden attack. “Haunderk!” he snarled. “You’ll pay for that!”

“I already have. I’ve paid over and over for the privilege of killing you. I’m done paying now.” He caught Kelas’s cut on the haft of his mace. He changed again, donning the face of General Jad Yeven.

“I own you,” Kelas said. “You will obey me.”

“Oh, I forgot. You hate looking at dead people.” Aunn changed again, taking Kelas’s own face. “Here’s another dead face for you.”

Kelas roared. He had long ago forbidden Aunn from wearing his face, a lesson he’d beaten hard into a young changeling. Aunn sidestepped a fierce thrust, but Kelas’s blade still bit into his arm. Aunn brought his mace around into Kelas’s side in return, doubling him over as he staggered back.

“That’s enough,” Kelas said. “This is no longer a matter of punishment. Drop your weapon now, or I will have to kill you.”

“Kill me?” Aunn took Kauth’s face. “You’ve tried to kill me already. You sent me to the Demon Wastes to die, but I didn’t die. Maybe I can’t die.”

“We’ll see.” Kelas charged again. His sword went wide, and he took another blow in his gut.

Aunn felt that he was watching the battle from outside his body, totally calm as Kelas grew more and more furious. It was a game, and Aunn knew he was going to win.

He took Laurann’s young and pretty face. “You made me a killer. Kill or be killed. No one lives forever.”

“So you remember some of your lessons,” Kelas said. “But you’ve forgotten what happens when you disobey.”

Aunn stepped forward, swinging his mace back and forth, forcing Kelas back. “I have not forgotten.”

Kelas stumbled on the rocky ground, and one more blow sent him sprawling on his back. His sword clattered out of reach. It was over.

Aunn took Faura’s face. “Who do you want to kill you, Kelas? Does this form still arouse you? Do you want this beauty to kill you?”

Kelas tried to scramble away and get to his feet, but Aunn slammed a foot down on his throat, pinning him to the ground. He wore Haunderk’s face again. “Or this one? You still think of me as Haunderk, don’t you? You gripped my child hand and drove my blade into Ledon’s throat. It was Haunderk you taught how to kill.”

“Please …” Kelas whimpered.

“You’re begging for your life? You don’t know remorse or shame, Kelas. That’s what you taught me.”

He wiped his face clean. Colorless eyes set in blank, gray skin. “My name is Aunn,” he said.

With one swing of his mace, it was over.

G
aven emerged from his hiding place and called to Kelas’s killer.

“Changeling,” he said.

The figure whirled around, holding his mace on guard. When his pale eyes fell on Gaven, though, he lowered his weapon.

“You killed my enemy,” Gaven said, “so I’m willing to call you friend.”

The changeling’s face changed. A mouth appeared and formed a smile. “I’m glad, Gaven.” The face resolved into Darraun’s. “I hoped I’d find you here.”

“Darraun.” Gaven didn’t know what to think. A changeling was made for deception. Gaven had just seen this one adopt no less than six different faces, and he or she had clearly worked for Kelas before turning on him. How could he trust such a being? Maybe the Darraun standing before him was the same Darraun he’d known, but maybe it was just a fellow spy of Darraun’s, one who knew Darraun’s face and his connection to Gaven.

The smile fell from Darraun’s face, and he took a few steps closer. “I’m sorry, Gaven. I wish I hadn’t deceived you the way I did.”

“So do I,” Gaven said. “I trusted you.”

Darraun’s brow furrowed. “Even though you knew what I was?”

“I was a fool.”

“No, but I was. You were right to trust me. I helped you—I freed you from the Kundaraks, I flew the airship, I led you to Haldren—”

“And then you let him go.”

“Yes. That was where I betrayed your trust, and I—” Darraun’s face looked strange, his eyes momentarily out of focus, distracted. “I’m sorry,” he said to the air.

“That was not a very convincing apology.”

Darraun turned his back, looking down at Kelas’s body. “He beat it out of me. ‘You are not sorry! You do not care!’ I’m not sure I’ve given a sincere apology since then.” He turned back and his eyes met Gaven’s. “Until now.”

“Haldren was here. He was part of what they did to me.”

Darraun’s eyes fell on the raw, bare skin on Gaven’s neck and chest, where his dragonmark had been. Even Ashara’s ministrations had not relieved the pain or healed the skin. He started as if noticing it for the first time.

“Your mark …” Darraun breathed. “Haldren did that?”

“He was here, but Cart killed him before Kelas activated the forge.”

“I had no idea. Kelas never told me this part of the plan.”

“What did he tell you?”

Darraun ran his fingers through his hair. “He stirred up the barbarians of the Demon Wastes to attack the Eldeen Reaches. That will give Aundair an excuse to move troops into the Reaches, to defend its own border. For all I know, they might be there already.”