James Wyatt - Storm dragon

Gaven reviewed his situation. He was stuck on an unfriendly island with a war criminal who wanted to rule the world. And who, Gaven reminded himself, was his only means of getting back to the mainland. His most likely ally was Darraun, who was clearly hiding something, maybe a great deal. The warforged was completely loyal to Haldren-Darraun had said as much, and Cart’s behavior reinforced it.

His eyes lingered on Senya. She was still something of a mystery to him, but the prospect of unraveling that mystery was starting to grow more interesting. She glanced back at him, caught his stare, and flashed him a coy smile before looking back at Haldren.

Haldren conferred briefly with Senya, then announced his plans.

“Tonight we’ll make camp in the jungle,” he said, “but not here. We need to get far enough from the city that the elves will leave us alone.”

“And far enough that we won’t be bothered by treasure-seekers scouring the jungle for dragonshards,” Senya added.

“We need supplies,” Haldren said with a glare at Darraun, “so Senya will return to the city and secure them. The rest of us can relax for a short time. As soon as Senya returns, we march.”

With that, he settled himself onto the ground. He was still breathing heavily from his exertion, Gaven saw, which gave him a slight feeling of satisfaction. Cart stood guard by his general, and Darraun busied himself with his pack, preparing for another march. Gaven sat as far away from Haldren as he thought the sorcerer would allow-still in sight and earshot.

He closed his eyes and imagined that he still held the Eye of Siberys, trying to remember the thoughts and feelings it had stirred in him. He’d seen the man he was before, and he clung to that memory-a sense of self that kept him in the present. But over and over he found his thoughts straying to what he had not seen: the man he could become.

In his youth, before he’d taken and failed the Test of Siberys, he’d had a clear idea of his future, even if it was not one that he would choose. His father expected him to manifest the Mark of Storm and work for House Lyrandar. Arnoth had groomed his eldest son to take over his dynasty, ignoring every indication that Gaven would have preferred a different life.

Failing the Test of Siberys had given Gaven an excuse to pursue something different, and Rienne had given him the opportunity. Together they explored the depths of Khyber-still working for House Lyrandar, but in a way of his own choosing. With Rienne at his side, he had never worried much about his future, as long as she was in it.

He saw Rienne at his side in Khyber’s depths, holding a flickering torch up so he could read the words scratched into the cavern wall.

The Eye of Siberys lifts the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor from the land of desolation under the dark of the great moon, and the Storm Dragon walks in the paths of the first of sixteen.

He saw a great mass of stone suspended in the air, floating above a blasted wasteland. A storm churned the sky above him, and he thought he saw a dragon wheeling in the air. A flash of lightning showed him bronze scales.

“We march, Gaven. Come!” Haldren’s barked command jerked him out of his vision, and for a moment he was in his cell in Dreadhold. Then the walls dissolved into jungle, and he scrambled to his feet.

They walked through the jungle in the cold light of the Ring of Siberys, Cart and Senya leading the way. Gaven counted his footsteps as he’d done in the exercise yard in Dreadhold, trying to keep his mind from straying. His count approached three thousand before Haldren finally called a halt and ordered Cart to pitch their tents.

Gaven helped Cart set up the camp, partly to keep his mind off other things, and partly because he simply enjoyed the quiet company of the warforged. They built a fire, which Darraun used to cook another fine meal. Gaven realized that he hadn’t eaten since their luncheon in Whitecliff that afternoon, and just the smell of Darraun’s cooking was a delight.

“In the morning we return to Khorvaire,” Haldren announced as they ate.

“Where are we going next?” Gaven asked.

“Senya and I discussed that question earlier, and I am of the opinion that Darguun is the best possible destination for tomorrow’s journey.”

“Darguun?” Gaven asked. “The goblin lands?”

“Indeed,” Haldren said. “Are you aware of the rebellion that carved the lands of Darguun as an independent entity?”

“I knew of the rebellion, yes. But I assumed that those lands were destroyed along with the rest of Cyre.”

“They were not. And the goblin leader, Haruuc, was recognized as ruler of a sovereign nation in the treaties that ended the war. It remains something of a frontier land, though, which is why it suits our purposes. We should be able to do business there without interference from the dragonmarked houses and their agents, who are presumably still searching for us across the length and breadth of Khorvaire.”

“Darguun it is, then,” Gaven said.

Haldren scowled at him. “I am glad you approve. And now we are going to bed.” He got to his feet and extended a hand to Senya. “I suggest you all do the same-it has been a very long day.”

Senya took his hand and kissed it. “I’ll be there in a moment,” she said, indicating the remainder of her meal. Haldren’s scowl deepened, and he disappeared into his tent. Darraun took his pots over to a nearby stream to clean them, and Cart started patrolling a wide circle around the campsite. Gaven supposed he’d do that all night.

With a glance at the tent where Haldren waited for her, Senya set down her platter of food and reached for a large bundle beside her. Gaven watched as she pulled out a greatsword in a fine leather sheath and brought it over to him.

“I picked this up in the city,” she said with a smile. “I thought you’d like to be armed before we get into another fight.”

“Thank you, Senya,” Gaven said. “That was very thoughtful.” He pulled the blade a little way out of the sheath and admired the fine edge and elegant scrollwork. The pommel bore a skull decoration, which seemed fitting-given both the elves’ preoccupation with death and the purpose of any weapon.

Senya stared into the dying fire. “I’m still a little confused about what happened back there,” she said, pointing over her shoulder toward Shae Mordai. “Have you really been here before?”

“I think your ancestor mistook me for someone else.”

“That hardly seems likely, does it? We go to them for their wisdom.”

Gaven shrugged.

“Do you think Vaskar is really the Storm Dragon, Gaven?”

Gaven looked at her, and she turned from the fire to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think I’ve seen him in my dreams, the color of his scales.” The color of his scales-that thought sparked something in his mind. The Bronze Serpent…

He shook his head. Here and now, he told himself. Stop living in dreams and memories.

“I thought he was at first,” Senya said, “but I don’t think so any more.” She looked back into the fire.

“You think this is all a fool’s errand?” Gaven said. “Then why go along with it?”

“Well, even if Vaskar fails, Haldren still has a chance at getting what he needs. And besides,” she said, “I didn’t say it was a fool’s errand.” She looked at him sidelong. “Want to know what I think?”

“What do you think, Senya?”

Haldren bellowed from inside the tent. “Senya!”

She leaped to her feet but stopped to look down at Gaven again. “I think the Storm Dragon is you.”

When Darraun returned from the stream, he found Gaven staring into the embers of the fire. He saw Cart walking his tireless circle outside the camp, and waved to him as he came near. He sank down on the fallen log beside Gaven.