James Wyatt: Dragon forge

Then die.

He kept his face impassive. “Is there anything else?” Kelas smiled. It was a smile that had won over many enemies, softened much hostility. Haunderk felt nauseated.

“No, that’s all,” Kelas said. “What will you need for the journey?”

Haunderk looked up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the task at hand. The eastern part of the Eldeen Reaches was much like Aundair, heavily agricultural. The west was largely wilderness, tended by druids and rangers. Haldren’s aborted attempt to restart the Last War, launching an invasion of Thrane to the east, had caused a diplomatic furor that still raged. That meant the borders were closed.

“Crossing the Wynarn is going to be tricky,” he said.

“Fly to Wyr. I’ll have someone south of the city to ferry you across the river.”

Haunderk closed his eyes, visualizing a map of the Reaches. “Then down to… there’s a village not far south of Wyr, on the Eldeen side.”

“Riverweep. I’ll get you papers to ride an Orien coach from there to Varna and on to Greenheart.”

Haunderk nodded. House Orien operated the lightning rail, but the lines of conductor stones that made that magical conveyance possible did not extend past the Aundairian border into the wilds of the Eldeen Reaches. Roads did, though, and the Oriens also carried passengers on more mundane carts and wagons. Magebred draft horses could pull an Orien coach from Riverweep to Varna in about three days, with overnight stops in villages along the way. A far cry from the five hours it would have taken on the lightning rail, but fast enough for this purpose.

“What name do you want on the papers?” Kelas asked. What name? He’d need a new one. He didn’t want any of the others to die.

“I’ll let you know.”

“Very well. From Greenheart you’ll be on foot all the way into the Demon Wastes. You should find some help to make sure you stay alive until you get there.”

Until I get there, Haunderk thought. Then it doesn’t matter any more. “I think that’s all I need, then.”

Kelas put his hands on his desk, looking down at the smooth wood. Then he stood and smiled again. Haunderk jumped to his feet.

“I don’t think I’ve told you how much I appreciate your work all these years,” Kelas said. “You’ve been an enormous help.”

“Service to the Royal Eyes is my life,” Haunderk said. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Kelas’s smile faltered, and Haunderk could see the effort it took to force it back onto his face.

“Very good. Farewell, Haunderk.”

Haunderk turned and left the room, putting General Yeven’s face back on as he left. Might as well wear the face of a dead man.

General Jad Yeven stood before a mirror in his apartments, stripped to his plain breeches. Tall, soldier-straight, with a sculpted face-the face of a leader. Strong, well-defined muscles covered his chest.

“Who are you?” he said. “Jad Yeven, you’re dead.”

He let the general melt away. Fine blond hair grew out from the general’s severe cut, and he let a day’s growth of beard follow. Tanned, weathered, and handsome. Still strong, though not as muscular as Yeven.

“Darraun Mennar. You’re dead, too.” He had found a body on the battlefield that bore a passing resemblance to Darraun, and tinkered with it to cement the resemblance. Had Rienne found the body?

Darraun melted away. Hair darkened to a tawny brown, and spilled down a slender back. Round and soft-the face, breasts, and hips. Not too shapely-the body of a soldier.

“Caura Fannam.” She stared for a long moment at her face in the mirror. “You weren’t around long enough to die,” she said. “You were very kind.”

Her eyes burned as Caura melted away.

“Too kind. You cared too much. Nothing is permanent, and no one lives forever. Remember that, or you will suffer.”

Short-as short as possible, but broad, strong. A dwarf, male again, with brown skin and black hair. Muscles like polished marble.

“Auftane Khunnam, damn you. You started all this. All those months you spent with Janik and Mathas and Dania-” His voice broke at the sound of her name. A paladin of the Silver Flame, Dania had sacrificed herself to destroy a rakshasa, a demon that had possessed Janik’s wife-the wife of the man she loved. A year later, thinking of it made a knot in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t quite understand. Such a sacrifice made no sense.

“And you repayed their kindness by stealing the torc from her lifeless throat and disappearing,” he whispered, leaning close to the mirror.

“I did my job,” he retorted, stepping back. “I didn’t let emotion get in my way.”

He snorted, and Auftane melted away.

“Haunderk Lannath.” Taller again, sandy hair, white skin. He put every freckle in place and found the perfect shade of amber for his eyes.

“You were born for this, trained your whole life to be a spy. You belong to the Royal Eyes. Do your damned job.” Haunderk’s face dissolved.

“Who are you?” The voice came from a face that was between faces, as pale as Haunderk’s but longer and thinner.

“Aunn. My name is Aunn.” With some effort, he shaped his face until it had no shape. Colorless eyes stared out from a blank field of gray skin. White hair fell in tangles over smooth shoulders.

“This is my face.” He stared long and hard at the unfamiliar visage, so blank, as if it were waiting for features to be impressed upon it. Waiting for an identity. “Who are you?” he whispered.

He straightened and began to change. “You’re a spy, damn it-an elite agent of Aundair’s Royal Eyes. You have a job to do. Ugly work,” he said, “so you need an ugly face.”

Tall and strong. Weathered skin, tan and hard. Dark hair covering a muscular chest. A thick neck, then up to the face. A nose crooked nose from being broken in many brawls. A wide mouth, then a thick beard that went too far up the cheeks. A shaggy mane of dark hair. Then the eyes-the eyes always needed the most attention.

“Pitiless eyes,” he said. Pools of liquid metal formed in his blank white eyes, dark and hard as steel. “No fear, no mercy.”

For just an instant as he looked in the mirror, he saw the Traveler-the divine changeling, the great trickster. She wore the face of a half-elf with short red hair, bathed in silver light, and her mouth was bent in a half-smile.

“Who are you?” He didn’t know if the voice was his or the god’s.

“Kauth Dannar,” his ugly face answered. “A mercenary during the war, now a drifter, a thug, and an adventurer. Get out of my way.”

He struck the mirror with the back of his fist, sending it crashing to the floor. It exploded in shards of glass, and Kauth Dannar strode out of the room.

Gaven lay in a swinging bunk below the decks of the Sea Tiger, one arm behind his head, the other wrapped around Rienne. Her head rested on his shoulder, her black hair spilling over his arm and off the edge of the bunk. He savored the quiet-the soft creak of the ropes moving with the galleon and the splashing of the hull cutting the water. Moonlight gleamed on Rienne’s dark skin.

“Jordhan says we’ll be in the Dragonreach soon,” Rienne said. “Then on to Argonnessen.”

“Here’s what I don’t understand. All the ten seas connect to each other, right? So how do you know when you leave one and enter another? What’s the difference between the Lhazaar Sea and the Dragonreach? Or if we kept sailing around Khorvaire, how would we know when we left the Dragonreach and entered the Thunder Sea?”

“It’s not much different than traveling on land,” Gaven said. “How can you tell when you leave Aundair and enter Thrane?”

“Soldiers come and demand your papers?” Rienne lifted her head and smiled at him, shifting to prop herself up on one arm. The movement sent the bunk into gentle swinging.