James Wyatt - Dragon forge

To their right, the plain thickened into ferns and shrubs lining the edge of the forest. The trees beyond stood smooth and straight or twisted wildly as if reaching for every scrap of available sunlight, some lithe and some solid, with smooth skin of silvery white or jagged brown bark. From Gaven and Rienne’s closer vantage, the flutters in the trees resolved into dragonets, not birds-snaky but elegant creatures with delicate wings and scales of every color flashing in the sunlight. The mountains loomed up behind the forest in a pale blue shadow, draped in the clouds that grayed the sky.

Beneath the rolling plain and verdant forest, the land whispered to Gaven of numberless centuries, millennia in which no native of Khorvaire had set foot on this land. It was not utterly without history, though-there were battles in the memory of Argonnessen, from territorial squabbles between ancient dragons to… yes, the clash of armies. This land had its peoples, then, native children who gathered in tribes or kingdoms.

“Lead the way, Storm Dragon,” Rienne said.

Gaven gave Rienne a sharp glance, but her face was free of bitterness or sarcasm. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the forest, and a faint smile turned the corners of her mouth. What does she see? he wondered.

“Your sword is Maelstrom,” he said, “but you’re an untroubled sea.”

“No, love. I’m the still point at the heart of the whirlpool.”

“The calm at the center of the storm.”

Her eyes met his, then she started walking.

“You said I was leading,” he said to her back. With a few quick steps he caught up, and they walked side by side into the land of dragons.

The cathedral in Fairhaven had once been the largest church of the Silver Flame outside of Thrane. Hundreds of Aundairians flocked to its grand dome for worship, and dozens of priests left its chambers and ventured westward to spread the faith. But that was before the Church of the Silver Flame became too closely associated with the government of Thrane. When King Thalin of Thrane died and Aundair’s eastern neighbor fell under the rule of the church, Aundair’s King Wrogar closed the cathedral and its clerics scattered.

For eighty-five years the cathedral lay vacant, the object of superstitious fear though it was haunted only by criminals and fugitives. Kelas had taken over the labyrinthine corridors below the building, and at least one significant criminal organization claimed some of the upper halls, but the sanctuary with its shattered stained glass and tattered tapestries stood empty.

But it was in that once-sacred space that Kelas assembled all the key players in his unfolding drama. The faded grandeur of the cathedral hall lent an impressive aura to the proceedings, suggesting a royal audience chamber. Clearly it made Kelas feel more important, and it cowed his guests into an almost reverent calm.

Cart stood three paces behind Haldren’s chair at the round table Kelas had brought into the sanctuary. Kelas had chosen a round table to give the impression that those seated at the table were all equal, but Haldren had started fuming as soon as he realized that he wouldn’t be seated at Kelas’s right hand. That position of honor, as Haldren saw it, went to Baron Jorlanna d’Cannith, and Haldren sat next to her.

That meant Ashara d’Cannith stood beside Cart, close enough to whisper up to him, naming the other figures at the table. Cart stood stiffly, uneasy with her presence. He had not seen Ashara in the weeks since they had met in the halls, and he still felt that she had been hoping to manipulate him in this morass of politics. But she seemed to be pretending that had never happened, treating him like a friend. Her proximity only increased his feeling of being adrift in all the plots and schemes of the conspirators around the table.

Cart recognized Arcanist Wheldren, seated at Kelas’s left, and Janna Tolden, who had been General Jad Yeven’s second-in-command at the battle of Starcrag Plain. Tolden, sitting at Haldren’s right, didn’t wear a military uniform or any insignia of rank. Ashara mentioned that Tolden had been stripped of her position after that debacle. Certainly better than the fate of General Yeven-the Royal Eyes had hunted him down and killed him, ostensibly because he resisted arrest. Haldren had told Cart that Queen Aurala needed a martyr to blame Starcrag Plain on, and “better him than me.” Still, Cart wondered what part Kelas had played in Yeven’s death.

To Wheldren’s left were the financiers of Kelas’s operations. First was a portly man Ashara named as Bromas ir’Lain, head of the small Aundairian branch of the ir’Lains who held so much power in the city of Sharn in Breland. Bromas was a petty noble with little power but a great deal of money, who would easily be motivated to trade some of his vast fortune for a position of power in a new Aundairian regime. Beside him was a gaunt, aging dwarf called Kharos Olan, a powerful merchant who controlled much of the legal trade in Fairhaven and beyond. Olan had both money and power, Ashara explained, but he had lived in the Eldeen Reaches before it seceded from Aundair, and he wanted to see the Reaches returned to Aundairian rule.

Closing the circle was a half-orc clad in furs and steel, with bones knotted into his beard and his unruly mane of hair. His gray skin was stretched over enormous muscles, and the table shook when he slapped it to emphasize a point or communicate his impatience. Kharos Olan and Janna Tolden sat as far from him as possible at the table, suggesting to Cart that he either frightened them or offended them with his odor. Ashara didn’t know the half-orc’s name, but she explained that he was an exile from the Shadow Marches working in Droaam. He had promised Kelas that he could lead a force of monstrous mercenaries north from Droaam into the Eldeen Reaches in support of Aundair’s invasion. He was by far the most unsavory character at the table-an outcast and mercenary lord at a gathering of nobles, merchants, military officers, and a dragonmarked heir. His voice was harsh and his words blunt, but Cart liked him almost immediately. The others treated him with barely concealed scorn, except for Kelas.

Kelas was by no means the orator that Haldren was, but his soft-spoken and friendly manner had clearly won over his audience long before this meeting. He looked around the table and met the eyes of each person, smiling warmly-and then he made a second pass around, acknowledging the aides and advisors who formed a larger ring around the table. That was part of Kelas’s power, his ability to connect with the great and small alike.

“Friends,” he began, when everyone was seated and settled, “this is a gathering that will be remembered in the annals of history.” A murmur of approval rose around the table. “This is the moment when all our plans begin to boil into action.”

Kelas stood and extended one arm to indicate the Cannith Baron at his right. “Baron Jorlanna d’Cannith has agreed this day to give the full support of her House to our cause. When our work is accomplished, House Cannith will cease to exist in Aundair. In its place will be a Ministry of Artifice, a prominent branch of the royal government dedicated to advancing the work her House has performed in the past.”

The dwarf, Olan, started a round of polite applause. “Merchants like Olan have much to gain,” Ashara whispered to Cart, “if House Cannith stops operating like a dragonmarked House. House Orien won’t carry Cannith goods any longer, so other merchants will get those contracts. Very lucrative contracts.”

When our work is accomplished, Cart thought. Meaning when we’ve deposed Queen Aurala and ended a thousand years of Wynarn rule over Aundair. Historic work indeed.