James Wyatt - Dragon forge

The docks of Thaliost were down at sea level, over the waters of Scions Sound. Overhead, the crumbled remains of White Arch Bridge jutted out from the cliff where the city perched, stretching out across the sound toward Rekkenmark in Karrnath. The bridge had been a sign of the united Galifar before the war, joining two of the Five Nations, but it quickly became one of the casualties of the Last War. One by one the passengers grew silent as they crossed the docks, looking up at the shattered bridge and remembering what it meant.

Before they could board the magical lifts that would carry them from the docks to the city itself, the passengers had to file through a checkpoint where Thrane soldiers checked their identification and traveling papers. Rienne had no traveling papers, but she was not concerned-the identification papers that showed her to be a member of the nobility, combined with a “processing fee,” would certainly be enough to get her where she wanted to go.

“Papers, please.” The soldier stuck out his hand without looking at her, listening to the soldier on his right tell a story about his mother-in-law. Rienne put her identification papers in his hand, and he glanced down at them momentarily. “And your traveling papers?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have traveling papers.”

That got the full attention of the soldier and the man with the mother-in-law. “You don’t have traveling papers? What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was called away from my family estate in rather a hurry,” Rienne said, adopting the tone of a noblewoman faced with impertinence from the lower classes. It had the desired effect-the soldier examined her identification, raised his eyebrows at her family name, and compared the portrait on the papers to Rienne’s own face. As he did that, Rienne placed three galifars on the table in front of him. “This will cover the cost of processing the papers,” she added.

“I’m very sorry, Lady Alastra,” the soldier said, and as his eyes fell on the gold coins his face showed deep sorrow indeed, “but there’s no way I can let you into Thrane without traveling papers. Not these days.”

“Ever since Aundair attacked up north,” the other soldier added, “we have to be a lot more careful.” He, too, eyed the gold coins with regret and longing. “On the lookout for spies and such.”

Rienne drew herself up in outrage. “Are you suggesting that I am a spy?” This was a disaster. She was already drawing some stares. Her erstwhile companion, already past the soldiers, lingered to see what the problem was, and other soldiers were looking up from their own tables to find the source of the disturbance. She had left Khorvaire almost immediately after the battle at Starcrag Plain-she’d had no idea of the political repercussions of Haldren’s aborted attack.

“Of course not, Lady,” the soldier with the mother-in-law said, holding his hands up to shield himself from her wrath. “It’s just that the rules are so much stricter now-”

“The rules do not apply to me, soldier.” That was an attitude Rienne encountered all too often among the nobility-one she despised. If she could have followed the rules, if there had been any way she could get traveling papers, she would have.

The first soldier seemed to take offense at that. “The rules apply to everyone, Lady.” He sneered. “We’re all equal before the Flame.”

The other soldier shuffled out from behind the table as Rienne’s mind raced through her options. Arguing with the soldiers was getting her nowhere, and she suspected that her appeal to her birth had hurt her cause more than helped it. With the magical lifts between her and the city, breaking past the soldiers and fleeing into the streets and alleys wasn’t an option. She couldn’t return to the ship without showing her papers there, where the Lyrandars who crewed it would know who she was.

Two other soldiers stood at her shoulders, and the one with the mother-in-law stood in front of her, looking down severely. “I’m sorry, Lady, but we’re going to have to take you into custody until we can sort through this matter.”

That was the fourth option, and it was the only one that seemed viable. She gave herself up to the soldiers, who escorted her into the city, into a guard tower, and into a bare stone cell with iron bars.

Despairing of finding Frostburn Cut or any other pass through the Shadowcrags, Aunn staggered through the foothills, trying always to make his way to higher ground. The mountains rebuffed him, spilling him back out onto the plateau above the Labyrinth, and leading him much farther south than he would have liked. From time to time he saw shadows in the clefts of the hills-stalking creatures watching him, waiting for him to tire and falter. Sevren’s words echoed in his thoughts, warning of predators making their way out of the mountains-bears, panthers, and girallons. And flying predators as well, griffons and wyverns.

Flying predators… Aunn looked up at the sky, glowing red with sunset. At first he saw nothing, but then a dark shape rose just above the line of the mountains before swooping back down. The shape was miles away to the south, but a flying predator needed prey. And the most likely place to find prey in the mountains was in a pass. He scanned the mountains as the sky darkened, hoping to see something closer, but all he saw was another flap of mighty wings in the same general area. That had to be his destination, his gateway back to the Eldeen Reaches and the civilized world beyond.

He walked in that direction until his legs threatened to give out beneath him, then he staggered into a crevice and dozed, clutching his mace and jolting awake at every sound. A tingle on his neck made him leap out of the crevice, swatting at what proved to be a scorpion the size of his fist. After smashing it with his weapon, he tried to sleep with his back against the cliff wall, but sleep evaded him.

When morning’s fire lit the sky, Aunn heaved himself to his feet and continued on to where he’d seen the hint of wings. Shadows kept stalking him, but as he climbed higher into the hills, farther from the Labyrinth, they resolved into less sinister threats-a red panther that watched as he passed beneath its clifftop perch, a silver bear that shambled away, more interested in the sparse growth of bushes on the higher ground ahead than in him.

This time he climbed and kept climbing, continuing higher and higher until the Demon Wastes lay spread out behind him like the slowly fading memory of a nightmare. The rising ground led him at last into a narrow cut through the mountains, chilly rather than cold, only a faint dusting of snow on the rock above him. The bushes grew thicker and greener, and he could see trees ahead and above him. The air tasted sweet after the acrid fumes of the Demon Wastes, and he drank it in like water.

Before the sun even reached the horizon-still too far to his right, not at his back-he decided to stop, desperate for rest and certain he’d sleep better on higher ground. He spread out the bedroll Farren had given him, wrapped himself in the warm wool, and stared up at a sky that was beginning to clear of clouds. Three of the smaller moons were rising nearly full in the east, and two bright crescents shone high overhead. As the sky darkened, the gleaming Ring of Siberys took shape, a golden band linking the moons. When the sky reached its perfect blue, within a hair’s breadth of black, Aunn smiled and closed his eyes.

A high, distant shriek jolted him awake. He sat up, looking around for the source of the sound. A hint of shadow on the ground made him look up-just in time to roll away from the talons of a griffon as they raked across his back. He fumbled with his bedroll and onto his feet, scooping his mace into his hand on the way up. Another beast swooped at him, its vicious beak open wide and its front talons stretched forward as its leonine rear legs kicked at the empty air.