James Wyatt - Storm dragon

“I’m really hoping to rule out that possibility right now. Tell me why you took me in.”

Rienne held his arm. “Gaven, why-”

“No, Rienne,” Thordren said. “I understand why you’re suspicious, Gaven. If I were in your position, I would be too. Well, I hope I would have the presence of mind to be suspicious. I’m not sure I would.”

“You’re risking everything for me.”

“And you can’t understand why I would do that. But Rienne’s risking everything, too. Do you understand that?”

“Not really,” Gaven admitted, “but it’s harder for me to imagine what she might be hiding.”

Thordren’s eyes were bright with tears again. “Did Dreadhold make you forget what love is?”

Gaven turned back to the window. “My betrothed delivered me to the Sentinel Marshals. My family disowned me, cut me out. Nobody spoke in my defense at my trial. It wasn’t Dreadhold that made me forget.”

Rienne moved behind him and clasped his arm, but she was evidently at a loss for words. He stared blindly out the window, savoring the bitter taste of anger in his mouth. He heard Thordren step away and then settle in a chair. He started to turn back around, but something in the street below caught his eye.

Dwarves. If they hadn’t been in Stormhome, he probably wouldn’t have noticed, but in the home of the half-elf House Lyrandar-a single dwarf might not draw the attention, but half a dozen of them, trying to look inconspicuous, certainly did. When he spotted a scarlet shirt on a dark-skinned dwarf, he was certain.

“You bastard.” Gaven whirled to face his brother. “You almost had me convinced with your little speech about brotherly love.”

“What are you talking about?” Thordren looked genuinely confused.

“Those thrice-damned Kundarak dwarves are on their way,” Gaven said.

Rienne gasped, and stepped to the window. “How many?” she asked.

“I saw five.”

“Gaven, I had nothing to do with this,” Thordren said. “Please, you have to believe me.”

“They’ve probably been watching the house since you escaped,” Rienne said.

“It doesn’t matter any more how they found me. I need to figure out how I’m getting out of here.” Gaven started out of the room, but Rienne grabbed his arm.

“How we’re getting out of here,” she said. “We’re still in this together, Gaven.”

“The airship,” Thordren said.

“You have an airship?” Rienne asked. “Here?”

“Not here. But close. Rienne, you know where the bakery is?” He gestured to the west, and Rienne nodded. “If you turn right at that corner, there’s a mooring tower halfway up the next block. It’s not hard to miss. She’s called the Eye of the Storm. Take her with my blessing.”

Gaven stepped close to his brother and clasped his shoulder. “Thank you, Thordren. I’m sorry I mistrusted you.”

Thordren smiled and nodded. “Hurry,” he said.

“And I’m sorry for this,” Gaven added, punching him hard in the jaw. Thordren spun halfway around before hitting the floor, unconscious. “But things will go much better for you this way,” Gaven added.

Rienne took his hand and pulled him out of the room and down the stairs.

Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, a pounding erupted from the door. Jettik hurried toward it, but Rienne stopped him with a gesture. The boy looked confused, glancing between Rienne, the door, and the stairs, as if waiting for an explanation from Thordren. Ignoring him, Rienne led Gaven through the house to the kitchen and yanked a back door open.

A dwarf stumbled through the door and collided with Rienne. Rienne let herself fall backward under the rushing dwarf’s weight. Keeping her hands and knees between the dwarf’s body and her own, she lifted him up and hurled him into the iron cookware hanging on the opposite wall. He collapsed in a heap of pots and armor, jerked slightly, and fell still.

“Natan!” a voice shouted outside, then, “Around back!”

Gaven grabbed Rienne’s hand and pulled her to her feet as he charged out the door. As he ran west down an alley, he turned his face to Rienne. “You have to lead the way-I don’t know any bakery around here.”

“It’s only been there about ten years,” Rienne said with a smile, but then she pointed to their right and up. “I think that’s where we’re heading.”

Gaven followed the direction of her finger with his eyes, and saw the distinctive shape of a small mooring tower jutting above the surrounding buildings. “Got it,” he said. “The Eye of the Storm.”

“Let’s hope she’s ready to fly.”

“Do you know how to fly an airship?” Gaven asked.

“Sovereigns, no. That’s your job, heir of Siberys.”

Gaven growled and made a sharp right turn into another alley, trying to steer more or less toward the mooring tower. Just as Rienne made the turn, a crossbow bolt clattered against the wall of the alley.

“Fortunately, these alleys haven’t changed much in thirty years,” Gaven said. He pointed ahead. “We’re going right at that T, though it leads away from the tower.”

“If you say so.”

They ran at top speed, and once again Gaven felt the wind pick up around them, carrying them so their feet barely touched the ground. When they reached the branching alley, the wind carried them smoothly around the corner without slowing. At the same time, though, a man came hurtling from the opposite branch, falling into stride right behind them, evidently carried by the same wind. Gaven barely caught a glimpse of him as he rounded the corner, but that was enough to identify him without wasting time on a backward glance.

“Bordan,” he growled.

“That’s right, Gaven.” Bordan had to shout to be heard over the wind. “We found you again. The rest of your life will be like this, you know, as long as you keep running.”

“Still better than Dreadhold,” Gaven replied.

“And Dreadhold’s far better than you deserve!” As he shouted, Bordan leaped forward and threw his arms around Gaven’s legs, bringing them both to the ground.

Gaven landed on his side and kicked hard at Bordan’s head. As his foot connected, a blast like thunder threw Bordan backward. Rienne helped Gaven stand, and they kept running down the alley. They made a sharp left turn, then stopped short, faced with a blank stone wall.

Lightning flashed in the darkening sky. Gaven shouted a curse, but a peal of thunder overhead drowned him out.

“I guess the alleys have changed a bit,” Rienne said. She drew Maelstrom and stepped back to look the way they had come. “The dwarves are almost here, and Bordan’s right behind them.”

“If they want a fight, I’ll give it to them.” Gaven wreathed his body in flames as he drew his sword and stepped beside Rienne to face the onrushing dwarves.

Rienne looked at him sadly. “Gaven, I don’t want their deaths on my conscience.”

“You’re a criminal now, Ree. You can’t afford a conscience.”

The dwarves slowed their approach, demonstrating more caution than they had last time. There were five, and Gaven thought three of them looked familiar from Vathirond. There was the scarlet-shirted leader Rienne had identified as Ossa. The one who had crashed into the kitchen had been in Vathirond as well-he’d knocked Gaven to the floor and almost cracked his ribs with his mace. The woman who had fenced with Senya was there too. The fourth wore the heaviest armor, a steel breastplate with a few other plates of metal protecting sensitive spots, and hefted a greataxe as long as Gaven’s sword. The fifth kept to the back, her empty hands poised in front of her body, preparing to cast a spell. Bordan walked more slowly, trailing the dwarves by a dozen yards or so.