James Wyatt - Dragon forge

He could read Draconic, but it took some effort, first to decipher the script and then to read the meaning. His eyes swept over the writing, looking for familiar words. Dragons… death… confront or oppose or face-he hated Draconic verbs. Unwilling to just come out and state their meaning, they shifted and hid behind multiple layers.

Much like me, he thought.

One word recurred with some frequency, but it wasn’t a familiar one. He sounded it out carefully. Hadrash. Based on a verb, but the ha- prefix made it a noun, someone who drashes. Drash-it seemed related to the word for speaking.

Speak evil? he thought.

Then it struck him. The Blasphemer. Gaven had mentioned a verse of the Prophecy about the Blasphemer. What had he said?

It was the verse Vaskar had used to bring dragons to fight for Haldren’s army. A verse whose time had not yet come, Gaven had said.

Kauth scanned for a place where “dragon” and “Blasphemer” appeared in proximity, and found one almost immediately. He put his fingers at the beginning of that line and started sounding it out. “Dragons fly…” he whispered.

“What are you doing?”

Sevren’s voice shattered Kauth’s concentration. He had forgotten the others, who were all watching him now, a range of expressions on their faces. Zandar wore his habitual grin, Vor was impassive, and Sevren looked perplexed.

“You can read that?” the shifter asked.

“It takes some work, but yes.”

“You’re smarter than you look. What does it say?”

Kauth felt a pressure behind his eyes. He wanted to read, and was irritated at the distraction. “I was just starting to figure that out.”

“Does it say anything about the sword?” Vor asked.

“If you shut up and let me read, I’ll tell you!”

Vor simply arched an eyebrow at him, and he immediately regretted snapping at the orc. He turned back to the writing, but his concentration was shattered.

He drew a deep breath and turned back to the others. “Could you give me some space, please?” He made an effort to keep his voice calm and quiet. “I’m finding it difficult to concentrate.”

“As you wish,” Sevren said. He pointed back down the hall, the way they’d come, and they cleared away.

With another steadying breath, Kauth turned back to the verse he had just started reading. Dragons fly before the Blasphemer’s legions, scouring the earth of his righteous foes. Carnage rises in the wake of his passing, purging all life from those who oppose him. Vultures wheel where dragons flew, picking the bones of the numberless dead.

It was the verse Gaven had recited. A chill ran down Kauth’s spine. Gaven had said its time had not yet come, but how could he know that? Vaskar had persuaded the dragons that it had. It seemed to Kauth that there must at least be a possibility that it could be fulfilled-or that someone could try, as Vaskar had tried to make himself the Storm Dragon.

He glanced back down the hall and saw the others watching him intently. Vor wanted to know if the Prophecy mentioned the curved sword in the alcove, so he scanned the text for that word, barak.

He found plenty of swords-the swords of the legions hew their foes here, and there, the swords of his foes shatter beneath their feet. But he didn’t see the singular form anywhere.

He felt more than saw that his companions’ restless pacing brought them closer and closer to him, and the pressure behind his eyes grew into a dull ache. He shook his head and turned to face the others.

“I can’t find anything about the sword,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Sevren closed the gap between them. “What did you find?”

“They’re verses of the draconic Prophecy,” he said. He started to say more, but bit it back. There was no need to tell them any more.

“What about?” Sevren was relentless, staring intently at Kauth’s face.

Kauth turned back to the writing, pointing at the common words he recognized. “Death, battles, swords,” he said. “Dragons and war.”

Vor grunted. “Typical,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Sevren asked.

“From what I’ve heard, most of the Prophecy is like that. If you predict war, it’s hard to go wrong. The best prophecies are easy to fulfill.”

Zandar laughed. “Well spoken, Vor. You’re starting to sound like me.”

The ore glared at Zandar, but Kauth saw a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Vor shouldered past Sevren and stood in front of the alcove. “If no one has any objection, then, I’ll claim the sword.” He reached out his hand, poised to seize the weapon, waiting for his companions’ answer.

Kauth and Zandar shrugged. “It’s yours,” Sevren said.

Vor grabbed the sword and pulled it free of the chains suspending it. He examined the blade, testing the edge and tracing the grain of the steel.

To Kauth’s eyes, the sword was far more than well-hammered steel. Magic flowed freely through the blade, and it seemed to come alive in Vor’s hands. “A fine weapon,” he said. “It should serve you well.”

“We’ve lingered here long enough,” Sevren announced. “Down the stairs.”

A large chamber at the bottom of the stairs had evidently been the serpent’s nest. A pile of rubble in the center of the room had several gaps large enough for the snake to enter, so it could rest safe from intruders. Crumbling tunnels stretched off to either side, but Sevren shook his head.

“Those ceilings aren’t safe,” he said.

Kauth barely heard him. His attention was drawn to a circular pattern in the wall opposite the stairs. It was no more than a faint tracing in the stone, but Kauth could sense the magic in it even from across the room.

“I think I found the source of the Depravation,” he said.

Sevren followed his gaze and spotted the circle in the wall. He spoke, but Kauth couldn’t process the shifter’s words. Strange whispers hissed in his mind, a babbling ululation in some not-language, incomprehensible and distracting to the point of madness.

Sevren kept speaking, but he wasn’t looking at the seal or at Kauth anymore-he seemed to be muttering to himself. Vor leaned against the wall and clutched his head in his hands. Only Zandar seemed unaffected by the waves washing out from the portal. Grinning mischievously, he strode to the portal and ran a finger along the edge.

Kauth fought to keep his wits. Something was wrong-Zandar’s smile was too manic, his eyes unfocused. He staggered forward, but Zandar wheeled around to face him. The warlock spoke words that Kauth couldn’t distinguish from the ceaseless babble in his mind, then Zandar’s hand burst into flame. Still grinning, Zandar pointed a burning finger, and the fire hurtled at Kauth.

Kauth twisted his body out of its path, but his feet couldn’t compensate for the sudden movement and he crashed to the ground. Zandar cackled.

Kauth felt as though he were surfacing from the depths of an ocean of madness, the clear air of reason washing over his mind. The warlock had seemed immune to the befuddling effects of the babble, but it had warped his mind most of all. Indeed, Zandar had turned back to the portal and clawed at the edge of the seal as if to pry it free.

“Zandar, no!”

Kauth scrambled to his feet and lunged at the warlock. His shoulder connected just under Zandar’s ribs, and the warlock collapsed around him. They tumbled to the floor together. Zandar curled up around his stomach, trying to draw breath. Perhaps the blow would clear the warlock’s head, just as Zandar’s attack had helped Kauth shake off the madness.

“Sorry,” Kauth murmured as he stood and turned to examine the portal and its seal.

As soon as he touched the seal, an image of its magic flashed into his mind-a tight mesh of magic strands, glowing blue, holding back what lay beyond. Except that the mesh was frayed along one edge.