James Wyatt: Dragon war

Aunn almost stopped her, afraid of Gaven's reaction. He was too slow. Ashara's fingertips touched the pink surface of the bloodstone and she closed her eyes in concentration.

Cart shifted, and Aunn looked back over his shoulder. The warforged looked distinctly uncomfortable, flexing his hands into fists and stretching them wide in turn.

Seeing Aunn's glance, Cart said, "What if it captivates her as well?"

Aunn looked back at Ashara. She smiled without opening her eyes. "She's fine," he said. "She knows what she's doing."

Gaven was a storm, looking down upon the water churning in his wake. He was a hurricane, riding a blasting wind as long rolls of thunder announced his coming. He was a god, as blindly destructive as the Devourer. Thunder is his harbinger and lightning his spear. Wind is his steed and rain his cloak.

He shot toward his prey, a city perched on the water's edge. His winds tore at its banners and stripped the leaves from trees within and outside its walls. Waves broke upon the wharves, washed over the decks of ships and dragged them under, crashed against the city walls. He hurled lightning like spears at towers and parapets, and his rain sizzled on streets and roofs. People screamed and ran for cover, but there was no shelter from his storm. He blew away shingles and thatch, knocked over walls, stripped away every shred of protection. He stopped his advance and hovered over the city, pouring out destruction. His storm flies wild, unbound and pure in devastation, going before the traitor's army to break upon the city by the lake of kings.

His rage was unrelenting, fueled by dragon fire and the blood of fiends. His storm did not stop until the city's streets became canals, its outer wall lay in ruins, and half its people lay dead. Only then did his thunder fall silent, his rain and hail cease, his churning clouds disperse back into the clear blue sky. He retreated and coiled once more into fire and blood at the heart of the Dragon Forge.

Ashara opened her eyes, shaking her head, her brow furrowed.

"What did you find?" Aunn asked.

She shrugged. "What our plans anticipated, nothing more. The dragonshard's magic is structured to hold his mark, and that's exactly what it's doing. I didn't see any flaw or addition that might have caused his stupor."

Her words made no sense at first. "Your plans…" Slowly it dawned on Aunn, and he looked around the ruin of the Dragon Forge. "You were part of it? You helped build all this?"

"Of course," she said. "What did you think I was doing here?"

Hot anger rose in his chest. "You did this to him!" He rose to his feet, looming over Ashara, his hand fumbling for his mace. "You-"

Cart seized his arm and yanked him back from Ashara. "We have all played our parts in this scheme," he said. "I served Haldren. Ashara served her House. You were part of it as well, from the day you helped us get Gaven out of Dreadhold. None of us are innocent."

Aunn slumped, and Cart let him fall back to his knees. Grief drowned his anger, and he mumbled an apology to Ashara.

Ashara turned her attention back to the dragonshard. "Rather than casting blame, perhaps we should focus on how to get out of the mess we're in."

He was a dragon in the form of two-legged meat. Shakravar didn't remember how he got into that form, but it was proving useful in bringing the Prophecy to its fulfillment. The opportunity had at last presented itself: the twelve dragonmarked Houses would soon become the thirteen dragons of the Prophecy.

He sat in a dirty, noisy tavern in eastern Khorvaire, and an elf sat across the table, leaning forward over his untouched mug of ale. Shadows pooled beneath the elf's hood and clung to his black clothing like cobwebs. The Prophecy had written itself on the elf's pale skin, starting on his cheek and disappearing beneath his armor.

"Listen, Gaven," the elf said.

Shakravar knew his own name, but somehow Gaven was also his name. It didn't matter. Like the meat, the name was useful. He looked up from the ring and met the elf's dark eyes.

"I have an associate in Karrnath," the elf continued. "Very well-connected. He says that one branch of my family is working with Breland in a plot against the regent and the young king of Karrnath. I think it's even worse than that." The elf paused, his eyes fixed on the table.

"Go on," Shakravar said.

"You have to understand, Gaven. My House has been troubled for a long time. We claim three different lines of descent, and the head of each one believes that his own family should control the House. Few people outside our House know this, but we spend nearly as much time spying on each other as we do in our more lucrative endeavors."

"So you think that the plot extends beyond Karnnath?"

"Exactly. I believe that the Paelion family plans to destroy the other two-the Phiarlans and my own Thuranni line."

"Why are you telling me this?" Shakravar knew the answer, but he played his part, feigning ignorance.

"I have no proof. I need evidence I can show the baron, something to prove the Paelions' guilt."

"What does that have to do with me? Your family is full of master spies."

"If I infiltrated a Paelion enclave and was discovered, the Paelions would have an excuse to strike against us. They could justify it to the Phiarlans and the rest of the world, if they had to. We need someone who's not connected to our House to do it."

It was perfectly clear. Shakravar could help the Thurannis and help the Prophecy. If he found the evidence he needed, proof of what the Thuranni suspected, the Thurannis would attack the Paelions before the plan could be set in motion. The Phiarlans would condemn the Thurannis, and the stalemate would be broken-House Phiarlan would split. Twelve dragons would become thirteen, and the Prophecy could be fulfilled.

"What's in it for me?" Shakravar asked. He didn't care, but his Thuranni friend would be suspicious if he didn't ask.

"There's the Gaven I know." The elf allowed himself the hint of a smile. "My House will pay you well. Name your price."

The price didn't matter. His goal was within his grasp. Shakravar would find the evidence the Thuranni sought, even if he had to create it.

"Perhaps if we take the shard away, he'll snap out of it," Cart said.

"Perhaps you should try," Aunn said. "I don't want another taste of Gaven's thunder."

Cart shrugged and leaned over Gaven. He hesitated only a moment before grasping the dragonshard and yanking it out of Gaven's grasp.

Gaven didn't move. He didn't even cling to the shard-his hands just fell away.

"Gaven?" Aunn said. He shook Gaven's shoulder again.

Ashara slapped Gaven's face. The force of it knocked him off balance, and he fell over on his side. His body slowly curled inward.

Aunn scowled at Ashara. "Was that necessary?" he said.

"Evidently it wasn't enough. Maybe we need to hit him harder. Cart?"

Aunn jumped to his feet and put himself between Cart and Gaven. "I don't think that's the answer. He needs more help than we can give."

Cart looked down at him. "Don't you have a wand for this sort of thing, Darraun?"

Aunn's hand shot to his face as panic seized his chest-the fear that he was supposed to be someone else, that he'd let his identity slip without realizing it. No, he realized, he hadn't been Darraun since Starcrag Plain. Darraun was dead. "Aunn," he said.

"Sorry. Aunn."

"And he's beyond the help of wands, I think. A ritual scroll might…"

Gaven's body curled on the ground suddenly became Vor, bleeding out his life into the scorched earth of the Labyrinth. Aunn saw the scroll he'd tried to use to bring Vor back, felt an echo of its magic flowing through him, and then felt again the void that followed, the desolate silence of his failure.

"No," Aunn said. "We need to take him somewhere. A Jorasco healing house perhaps."