James Wyatt - Storm dragon

“So then what do Haldren’s dragons think they’re doing?” Rienne asked.

“He’s brought them here with some other piece of the Prophecy,” Gaven said. “I’m sure of it. There’s something at the edge of my mind-‘where dragons flew.’”

Gaven closed his eyes. He remembered seeing his reflection, touching glass, starting as though he’d touched a fire. The reflection in the mirror-an image of desolation.

The vision that had sprung to his mind in his father’s house, in the shadow of death. He whispered the words that had come to him: “Vultures wheel where dragons flew, picking the bones of the numberless dead.”

“Gaven?” Rienne had come around the wheel and laid a gently hand on his back.

He opened his eyes, but he could not see the world around him any more-only his vision. Words and meaning from the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor took shape in his mind, expanding that fragmentary premonition of doom: Dragons fly before the Blasphemer’s legions, scouring the earth of his righteous foes. Carnage rises in the wake of his passing, purging all life from those who oppose him. Vultures wheel where dragons flew, picking the bones of the numberless dead.

Gaven shuddered and shook his head, and saw Rienne’s face staring up at him in deep concern.

“He brought them here with a lie,” he said finally. “They think they’re fulfilling a part of the Prophecy whose time has not yet come. But they believe it guarantees their victory.”

Senya had trouble keeping up with Cart and his patrol. Her thoughts kept dwelling on her imminent reunion with Haldren, and she did not press her steed as hard as the others did. She would have to flirt with him, flatter him-ultimately seduce him in order to assuage his anger. It was a ridiculous game, but one which she had enjoyed and excelled at for years. She no longer had the heart for it, and thinking about it repulsed her.

Cart and the knights who rode with him gave up any pretense of being Thranes. They stripped the Silver Flame from their shields, and Cart doffed his helmet. They rode north through Bramblescar Gorge, a narrow valley choked with the dry, thorny plants that gave the place its name. Layer upon layer of dark slate formed the rough walls of the gorge, cut away by an ancient river that had since run dry. On their left, the lowest hills of the Starpeaks rose up toward the towering heights beyond, sheltering the valley from rain and blocking the evening sun. On their right, the first green shrubs and trees of the Silver Woods crowned the rocky walls. Except for the steady drumming of hoofbeats, the air was still and silent. Nature seemed quieted by the impending battle.

Senya barely noticed when they passed a clump of sentries posted at the southern end of Haldren’s camp. Cart’s pace slowed to an easy walk as they made their way among the clusters of soldiers preparing for their last night encamped. Senya’s horse no longer needed urging to keep up with the others, and Senya came to the command post far more quickly than she wanted to.

“Lord General!” Cart dismounted in front of the grand pavilion Haldren had erected for himself-a tribute to his greatness, Senya was sure.

Smile, Senya told herself. You’re glad to see him again.

She forced a smile onto her face then tried to make it look genuine.

“Enter.” Haldren’s voice was gruff.

Wonderful, Senya thought dryly. A foul mood will make this so much more pleasant.

Cart waited while Senya dismounted, then held the flap of the pavilion open for her to enter before him. Steeling herself and refreshing her smile, she stepped once more into Haldren’s presence.

“What is it, Cart?” Haldren stood over a small table, and he didn’t look up from the large map spread out before him.

“Reporting from patrol, sir,” Cart said behind her. “See what I found.”

Haldren glanced up, his face taut with irritation. His face softened and he straightened when he saw Senya.

“Hello, Haldren.” She made her voice husky, alluring, and she forced her face to keep smiling. Tears welled in her eyes.

Haldren strode around the table to stand in front of her. He clasped her shoulders and let his eyes wander over her face. A soft rustle told her that Cart had stepped out of the pavilion.

“Did he harm you?” Haldren said.

It took a moment for Senya to realize that he meant Gaven, not Cart. She shook her head.

He threw his arms around her and pressed her to his chest. She reached around him to caress his back before she realized that his intention wasn’t amorous. His body shook with sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he moaned, burying his face in her hair. “I came back as quickly as I could, but he’d already taken you away.”

Taken me? Senya thought. Ten Seas, the old fool thinks Gaven kidnapped me!

She clenched him tightly.

“I would have searched the world for you,” Haldren said.

The tears broke free of her eyes and streamed down her face.

The old fool loves me, she thought. The idea seemed totally foreign to her.

Haldren’s heart soared alongside the dragons as he watched them take to the sky, bright under the morning sun. Riding at his right hand, Cart nodded approvingly, appraising the number of dragons and their strength and size. They numbered nearly a score. Had so many dragons been assembled in a single cause in the entire course of human history? Only Senya, on his left, cast a pall over the moment.

“These dragons and their Prophecy,” she muttered. “What do they think of our march here below, I wonder? Are they serving our needs, or are we cards in their hands? Are we playing the dragons, or are they playing us?”

“This is not some tavern game of chance, Senya,” Haldren scoffed. “This is war.”

He raised his voice so the other commanders around him would hear, and lifted a fist into the air. “The dragons lead us to victory, swift and certain!”

A chorus of cheers from behind him washed away the shadow cast by Senya’s doubts, and Cart signaled the other commanders to begin the march. Haldren smiled, satisfied that his plan was unfolding perfectly. An army larger than he had ever commanded during the war marched before him, and its vanguard was an invincible flight of dragons. Before the sun reached its zenith, this great legion would spill out of Bramblescar Gorge onto the Starcrag Plain, and according to Cart’s reports, they would meet Thrane forces at the border before nightfall. His conquest of Khorvaire was about to begin!

And fate had given him a token of his coming victory by returning his Senya to his side. Though she was clearly troubled by her ordeal, he was confident that she would return to him fully before long. Everything he desired was within his reach.

They rode in silence at a slow walk behind the marching legions. As the narrow gorge widened he was able to survey the full strength of his forces. His banners fluttered in the wind of a brewing storm, the formations of his soldiers bristled with spears, and the earth thundered in concert with the sky under the boots of tens of thousands of marching feet. Haldren’s thoughts were full of glory-victory on the battlefield, the conquest of all Khorvaire, his coronation as emperor of a new Galifar, Senya at his side. What could stop him?

Bursting with pride, he watched the columns of troops begin their advance across the Starcrag Plain as he had ordered, each rank perfectly aligned behind the one before, exactly in place. These were the best troops that Aundair had to offer, and they served only him, not a soft and foolish queen in far-off Fairhaven. The other commanders-Lord Major ir’Fann, Lord Colonel ir’Cashan, Rennic Arak, Kadra, even General Yeven-had all acknowledged the brilliance of his strategy. They had all agreed that victory was sure, and praised him as the greatest general Aundair-no, Khorvaire-had ever known. The Thranes would be the first to fall, but only the first in his long campaign of conquest. After this initial victory, he knew he could count on the support of Arcanix and even House Cannith. The wheel was in motion, and nothing now would stop its inexorable turning.