James Wyatt - Dragon forge

“Baron d’Cannith now has an announcement to make,” Kelas continued, taking his seat again.

Jorlanna rose. “In partnership with Arcanist Wheldren and the resources of his esteemed organization, we are pleased to announce that the construction of the Dragon Forge is ready to begin.” More applause greeted her words, louder this time. “We have all pinned high hopes on the construction of this device. The Arcanist and I have personally reviewed the plans, and we feel confident in assuring you all that those hopes will not be disappointed.” She returned to her seat.

“I have asked Lord General Haldren ir’Brassek to secure the construction site,” Kelas said. Cart saw Haldren’s shoulders tense. “He will lead a party including representatives of both House Cannith and Arcanix, along with sufficient force to take and hold the site in preparation for the construction work.”

Cart was baffled. Haldren had not mentioned this to him. Was this a surprise to Haldren? He couldn’t judge the Lord General’s reaction, especially without being able to see his face. But Haldren didn’t start or turn to look at Kelas as he spoke, so Cart figured he probably knew this was coming.

So had Haldren simply been too busy to mention it to Cart, assuming that his advisor would agree to the plan? That was certainly possible. Since their argument a few weeks ago, Haldren had been even less open with his plans. Or did Haldren perhaps not plan to bring him along? No, that was unthinkable.

Cart realized he didn’t know where the Dragon Forge would be built. He had assumed it would be in Fairhaven or nearby, but thinking about it, that didn’t make sense if dragons were involved. Kelas spoke of securing the site, so it must be a dangerous locale.

Good, Cart thought. An opportunity for action. I’ve had enough of diplomacy.

Cart’s concerns about Haldren leaving him behind proved to be unfounded. Haldren took Cart back to his office beneath the cathedral and informed him of their destination: a sun-blasted canyon at the edge of the Blackcap Mountains, near the Brelish border. The canyon, he explained, was the location of an imprisoned fiend-lord who would provide the knot of magic Ashara had mentioned. According to the scouts Kelas had sent, the presence of the fiend at the site had corrupted the plants and animals that lived nearby-particularly the animals. The reports described wolves that were warped and twisted into demonic forms.

“Our task,” Haldren said, “is to exterminate the wolves.”

At that, Cart understood why Haldren had not mentioned this task to him before. The bitterness in Haldren’s voice said everything he needed to know. The Lord General felt that his skills and abilities were wasted in this mission, which he viewed as a hunting party rather than a military exercise. In Haldren’s view, his fall from glory, which had begun at the Starcrag Plain, was complete. He had avoided telling Cart about it out of sheer embarrassment.

Cart could see his point of view easily enough, but he didn’t share his commander’s bitterness. Any action, even a hunting party, was preferable to the way he’d spent his last few months, sitting around Fairhaven waiting for Kelas and Haldren to finalize their plans and solidify their alliances. He was ready to draw his axe in battle again, to hew through flesh and bone. He was made for battle.

The plan was simple enough. They would assemble their party in Fairhaven. Haldren had already begun choosing soldiers, and Kelas would work with Jorlanna and Wheldren to select representatives from their organizations. Then Arcanist Wheldren would transport their party to Arcanix, using the same magical transportation he himself used in his ventures to Fairhaven. From Arcanix, it was a short march south across dry plains and a few scattered farms. The representative of Arcanix would lead them to the correct location, and they would secure the area. Put in those terms, rather than Haldren’s, it was a straightforward military operation. Except that the enemy forces were made up of demonic wolves rather than soldiers of a national army.

Cart couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that this plan-like all the plans he was involved in-would turn out to be far more complicated than it seemed.

Rienne suggested that following the forest edge would make easy to retrace their course if they needed to, and though Gaven couldn’t imagine a reason they’d need to, he agreed. The land seemed to welcome them, offering an easy path through tall grass that seemed free of brambles and burrs. Far off to their left, the coast of the bay paralleled their course.

The forest at their right was unlike any other Gaven had seen, shrouded in shadow but alive with color, hung with moss, and steeped in the silence of ages. A hush lingered in the trees, muting the sound of the grass rustling with their footsteps, brooding like a physical presence constantly at their side. Here and there a dragonet perched on a branch at the forest’s edge and watched them pass, slowly fanning its wings as its tiny black eyes followed their movement. As colorful as any bird in the jungles of Q’barra or Aerenal, the dragonets seemed like something between a squirrel and a monkey-small foreclaws gripping branches or some morsel of food, needle-toothed mouths preening their scales, the serpentine undulation of their bodies as they scurried and glided among the leaves.

As Gaven and Rienne walked, they sometimes played the games that had occupied them on many treks in the past, jousting with words or exchanging riddles-but they knew each other’s riddles, and Gaven was prone to slip into brooding over some riddle of the Prophecy. They walked often in silence, hushed by the stillness of the forest, absorbed in the strange landscape, stumbling occasionally over a tangle in the grass or a root striking past the forest border to invade the plain.

When they made camp under the eaves of the forest, Rienne sang, and the silence fell away.

Clinging to his scraps of sanity in Dreadhold’s mighty walls, Gaven had often tried to remember the sound of her voice, but it had eluded him. Her voice was like the perfect steel of her sword, clear and sharp and resonant like ringing crystal, and it cut to his heart. Her tunes were at once peaceful and deeply melancholic, making his chest ache with their beauty. Sometimes she sang old epics or hymns or laments, but often her songs had no words.

When he closed his eyes, he could see the shape of the melodies, tracing bold arcs or curling on themselves. They reminded him of the words of the Prophecy traced on the walls of the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor, the words of creation hidden in the earth itself, but these were characters he couldn’t read, secrets of the universe he couldn’t decipher. They hinted at the eternity beyond the tumult of history and Prophecy, in much the same way that the anthems and marches of Khorvaire’s nations and armies shouted their fleeting, furious existence in the thick of that storm.

Rienne walked and laughed and sang with him like an old friend, but when the embers of their fire died down and they spread their bedrolls on the ground, she did not lie in his arms. So he lay watching the stars and listening to her breathe as she drifted into sleep, and grief weighed on him until he thought he would drown in it.

A few days in, the forest bent their course back toward the beach, and the bay reached for the trees, cutting another cove into the line of the shore. The sound of the tide as Gaven drew nearer to the water put him on edge-the urgency of the waves made his trek without a destination feel like a waste of precious time. For the better part of a day they wore at his mind until he was nearly ready to abandon his quest and teleport back to Khorvaire where he felt he could at least do something-he didn’t know what, but any activity had to be better than what might turn out to be a walk through an unchanging eternity.