James Wyatt: Dragon forge

With a quizzical look, Queen Aurala stepped to the circle in the air and peered into it. Kelas smiled broadly. He could taste his success. He heard thunder rumble in the northwest, and the pounding of rain on the roof stopped.

“Greetings, Your Highness.” The voice came through the window, and Aurala drew herself up in surprise. “I am Arcanist Fillian of the Arcane Congress. I will now direct your gaze south, across Lake Galifar.”

The queen looked closer. Kelas knew what she was seeing-a hint of a dark cloud, growing quickly as it charged away from the Dragon Forge and across the lake. Soon it would be pouring devastation on the Eldeen troops defending Varna. Kelas counted slowly, barely daring to breathe.

Fifteen seconds, thirty. Aurala shifted impatiently, and Kelas bit his lip. Forty-five. A rumble of thunder came through the window, and the queen brought her face as close as she could to the magical window. A mighty crash startled her, but she shot a faint smile at a guard on her right. He had her.

“Your Highness,” Fillian shouted over the roar of the storm, “I wish I could give you a closer look, but I am at the edge of the storm and perhaps too close as it is.”

The storm had picked up strength as it crossed the lake, and its devastation was incredible. Kelas saw Wheldren tense-he was worried for Fillian. The storm did seem to be battering the Aundairian forces more than they had planned, but if the effects on the Reachers were terrible enough it wouldn’t matter. Aurala watched in fascination, and Kelas could feel Jorlanna and Wheldren holding their breath, waiting. The noise of the Dragon Forge seemed to fade until the thunder and wind of the storm were the only sound.

Kelas broke the hush at last. “The siege of Varna is over, Your Highness. Before it began.”

Aurala turned slowly away from the window, and Wheldren collapsed it with a wave. Jorlanna bit her lip, waiting for the queen’s response before delivering her lines.

“Impressive,” Aurala said. Her gaze swept between Jorlanna and Wheldren. “Am I to understand that House Cannith and the Arcane Congress have provided the use of this weapon at no charge to my treasury?”

That was what Jorlanna had been waiting for. Kelas smiled as Baron d’Cannith stepped up to the queen and fell to one knee.

“Your Highness, I pledge the work and support of House Cannith to the service of the crown of Aundair. We are yours to command.”

Aurala was taken aback. “Baron d’Cannith, are you disregarding the Korth Edicts?”

Kelas’s pulse pounded in his ears. Everything hung in the balance in that moment. For over a thousand years, the Korth Edicts had staked out the neutrality of the dragonmarked Houses-prohibiting marriage between heirs of the Houses and members of Khorvaire’s nobility, preventing the Houses from owning land or building armies, and in exchange giving them a measure of independence from royal dictates. Disregarding them was exactly what Jorlanna was doing-sacrificing that freedom and swearing fealty to the queen. No, Kelas reminded himself-to the crown, which Aurala would not wear much longer.

“We are,” Jorlanna said.

Aurala turned to the officer at her side. Without a word, the soldier drew his sword and handed it, hilt first, to the queen. Gently she rested the flat of the blade on Jorlanna’s shoulder.

“Rise then, Jorlanna ir’Cannith. I accept your fealty and offer you the protection of the crown.”

Wheldren’s pledge of fealty was less momentous, but Aurala treated it with no less dignity. The dragons had spoken of a turning point in history, and Kelas knew he stood at that moment. Centuries of tradition had just been abandoned. The political and economic landscape of Khorvaire would never be the same.

A sharp crack of thunder echoed in the tunnel, jolting Gaven fully awake. It was close, perhaps directly overhead. Or right over the Dragon Forge. Rivulets of water snaked down the tunnel, and the next thunderclap sent pebbles trickling from the temple’s ceiling.

“It’s the damned forge,” Gaven said. “Using my dragonmark. Making another storm.”

“The Secret Keeper…” Ashara murmured.

Shouts from the soldiers outside almost drowned out her voice. Gaven peered into the tunnel. He couldn’t see the dragon, and the daylight at the far end was dim and gray, barely distinct from the darkness of the passage.

A more powerful storm than you ever created.

The voice whispered in Gaven’s mind, as close as his pulse. It was the same malignance that had haunted his dreams while he was a captive at the forge, the same evil that coursed through the forge itself.

“The bastard stole my storm!” Gaven growled, and thunder crashed in answer.

Why don’t you get it back?

Ashara tugged at Gaven’s arm. “We have to get out of here,” she said. Her eyes were wide with terror, and as Gaven turned to look for Cart, he saw why.

The azure crystal at the back of the temple had gone dark, drowned in inky shadow. At the center was a lighter portion, with a perfect black circle in its center. As Gaven looked, it moved, fixed its gaze on him. It was an eye.

The whisper in his mind erupted in growling, maniacal laughter as Gaven followed Cart and Ashara into the passage, terror racing in their veins.

The acidic rain and pelting hail of the storm had driven off the besieging dragon and the soldiers with it. Cart emerged from the passage as the last of the rain spattered on the dry ground and rays of sunlight broke through the clouds. Another peal of thunder drew his gaze to the west, and he saw the black clouds of the storm surging away from the canyon of the Dragon Forge.

“Where is he sending it?” Gaven asked.

“To the Eldeen Reaches,” Ashara said. “Probably Varna.”

Gaven came and stood over Ashara. “Varna? That’s a city of thousands!”

“Yes.” Ashara looked at the ground.

“You knew about this?” Cart said.

She nodded as she turned away.

“You helped them build it,” Gaven added. “You helped them steal my mark and use my storm as a weapon.” Ashara sobbed and fell to her knees.

Crouching beside her, Cart rested a hand on her shoulder, then looked up at Gaven. “Then she brought me back from the brink of death-and did the same for you. Let her be, Gaven.”

Gaven stared at Cart for a long moment, anger creasing his brow and the corners of his mouth. Then he turned to watch the retreating storm.

Ashara buried her face in Cart’s shoulder. Words and tears spilled from her in a torrent. “It’s all madness, Cart. Kelas is mad. They don’t know the power they’re dealing with here-the Secret Keeper is getting stronger. He could break free. Malathar’s flames on the crystal, the other dragon’s acid, the storm-they’re all weakening his bonds. Oh, Cart, Varna is the least of the evils I’m to blame for.”

Cart circled his arms gingerly around her and held her as she wept. When he looked up again, Gaven was gone.

Aunn stood at the top of the canyon and surveyed the wake of the storm. Little craters pocked the ground where heavy rain and hail had fallen. Lightning had struck a dry shrub here and there, and one still burned while others smoldered and smoked. His vantage point let him trace a path of devastation a mile or so toward the lake.

He looked down at the monstrosity of iron and flame squatting below him, like a swollen tick feeding on the magic of the blue crystal jutting up at the head of the canyon. He didn’t have to touch that stone to sense the lines of magic flowing freely out of it and into the eldritch machine, and his stomach revolted at the powerful sense of malice emanating from the whole canyon.

“His power flows into the world,” Aunn murmured. “If not stopped, soon he will be free.” Marelle’s words were engraved in his memory, and he thought he finally had some insight into their meaning. “Is this a weapon? More terrible than the barbarian foe?”