James Wyatt - Dragon forge

Sevren was wrong, he thought. I can fix this. He glanced at the place where Zandar had fallen, but the warlock wasn’t there. Kauth swore under his breath and wheeled around, the portal at his back, expecting another blast of fire any second.

Instead, he saw Zandar back at the bottom of the stairs, trying to rouse Sevren from his stupor. Vor nodded at Kauth-every-thing was under control.

The orc’s eyes widened. In the same instant, Kauth felt something coil around his neck-something both slimy and sharp. He half-turned and saw a slender tentacle emerging around the seal. The stone disk holding the seal’s magic had shrunk, creating a gap the tentacle-thing emerged from. He grabbed it in his left hand and fumbled at his mace with his right.

The pain was excruciating as the tentacle bit into the skin of his neck and constricted his windpipe. Pulling at the tentacle only made the pain worse, and he worried that bashing it with his weapon would have the same effect. Lights swirled across his vision as darkness crept into the edges.

The pressure stopped abruptly, though the pain remained. Kauth looked up and saw Vor standing beside him, the sword he’d found upstairs clutched in both hands. Vor had severed the tentacle, but the end still bit into Kauth’s skin and the stump thrashed wildly.

Kauth yanked a wand from his pouch and touched it to his neck as he pulled the end of the tentacle free. Tiny barbs lined the grasping edge of the slimy tendril, and they were quite effective-streams of blood had traced paths down his chest. The magic of the wand refreshed him, and he turned back to the portal, confident that Vor could handle the remains of the tentacle or anything else that might emerge while he worked.

He eyed the portal carefully before touching it again. Had his touch weakened the portal, allowing the tentacle to reach through? Or had the thing beyond somehow sensed his presence and wormed its way through by brute strength or force of will?

It didn’t matter, he decided. He couldn’t repair the portal without touching it, and if he succeeded, there would be no more gap though which creatures could emerge. He laid both his palms flat against the portal and lost himself in its tightly woven patterns.

“What are you doing?” Vor yelled.

Kauth opened his eyes without moving his hands, and saw that the gap had widened still farther. Three more tentacles flailed around him and Vor, and something with several gnashing mouths and bulging eyes was just visible beyond the seal.

“Hold them back!” he gasped. “I’ll seal it.”

He closed his eyes again. Pain seared through him as two more tentacles coiled around his neck and one arm, but he didn’t stop his work. Vor cut them off again and the pain subsided.

He traced his fingers along the lines of woven magic that formed the seal. It was not unlike spinning wool into yarn, drawing frayed threads out, strengthening them, and knitting them together again. It was slow work, though, coaxing the threads out of their tangles, and the madness that still washed out from beyond battered at the edges of his concentration. Pressure built behind his eyes and flowered into splitting pain, and tentacles kept raking across his skin.

Then it was done. Vor gave a triumphant shout and the babble fell quiet. The magic of the seal pulsed with renewed strength. Kauth turned and leaned his back against it, feeling its power like warm coals behind him. Vor clapped him on the shoulder. Even Zandar smiled with genuine pleasure. Sevren blinked and looked around, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Pride welled up in Kauth’s heart. He had proved his worth, after too many battles that left him unconscious or feeling ineffectual. Without him, his companions would be dead or lost to madness. He slid down to the floor, exhausted but satisfied.

I saved them, he thought.

The death of the two dragons heartened the Sea Tiger’s crew enormously. Jordhan clapped Gaven on the shoulder and hugged Rienne, all their past arguments apparently forgotten. The sailors spoke excitedly about the gates of Argonnessen, congratulating themselves on being the first natives of Khorvaire to pass through them alive. Gaven was caught up in the revel, singing old shanties with them, joining in the invention of new verses celebrating their victory, and drinking plenty of their liquor as they leaned over the bulwark and watched the cove slowly grow closer.

Long after the ship had dropped anchor for the night, Jordhan broke up the party and sent the sailors to their bunks. Only when he stumbled back to his own quarters did Gaven realize that Rienne had not joined in the celebration-had not, in fact, appeared on the deck all evening. He found her asleep in their bunk, facing the wall. The sight of her brought a surge of anger to his chest.

“Damn it, Rienne,” he said. “Why can’t you celebrate what we’ve done? Why can’t you believe this can turn out for the good?”

She didn’t answer, and later she didn’t move when he climbed into their bunk and draped his arm around her. He fell asleep like that, and when he woke up his arms were empty.

Rienne avoided him the next morning. Gaven threw himself into the work of sailing alongside Jordhan’s crew, who welcomed his great strength on the ropes, fueled by the anger simmering in his chest. He called the wind to fill the sails, and though lightning flashed in the sky, the ship was never in danger asit flew across the water to the cove.

The crew cheered when he scaled the mainmast to retrieve a rope that had flown wild, and he cast a triumphant glance around the deck, looking for Rienne. She was nowhere in sight, but Jordhan stood at the foot of the mast, his arms crossed. He shimmied down the mast and alighted beside the captain.

“Gaven, go below,” Jordhan ordered. His face was the stern mask of the captain, not his customary smile.

Gaven had a sudden urge to strike his old friend, to send him sprawling onto his ship’s perfectly clean deck. He was sick of them both, Jordhan and Rienne, with their predictions of doom and murmurs of eternity. He glared at the captain, fists clenched at his side, barely containing his wrath.

“What?” he said, and thunder rolled in the sky.

“You heard me. Go below.”

A step brought Gaven closer, towering over Jordhan. “Why?” he asked.

Jordhan didn’t bend. “You’re putting my ship and my crew in danger,” Jordhan declared. “And you’re acting like a child. I’ll join you in my quarters in a moment.”

Acting like a child? The only thing holding Gaven back now was the onlooking crew. In the privacy of the captain’s quarters, Jordhan would pay for that remark.

Gaven put every spark of anger he could muster into his glare, then turned and stalked to the hatch. Behind him, he heard Jordhan ordering his crew to furl some sails, to slow the Sea Tiger’s headlong rush to the cove.

He threw open the hatch. Rienne leaned back against the table that held what scant charts they had.

“What is this?” he said. “Is Jordhan trying to force us to talk to each other again?”

“I don’t care if you speak or not, but Jordhan and I both have some things to say to you.” Her face was hard, but her voice was quiet, not confrontational.

“Why don’t you start, then, while we’re waiting for the captain to finish hobbling his ship and join us?”

“Hobbling his ship? What is wrong with you?”

“Don’t ask me questions if you’re not interested in the answers.

What do you have to say to me?” He was trying to provoke her, prodding her to display any of the fury he felt.

Her calm didn’t waver. “Very well,” she said. “I want you to understand what I am seeing and feeling. If you choose not to explain yourself, that’s your prerogative. But it only clarifies my most troubling perception: we are no longer partners.”