James Wyatt - Storm dragon

“It’s Gaven,” Senya said, pointing at the excoriate’s grounded airship. “The storm battles for him.”

“You still believe his lies? You still think he’s the Storm Dragon?”

Senya turned her gaze to meet his angry glare. “That’s our only hope.”

“Then hope is lost,” Haldren said, biting back his rage.

Cart rumbled on Haldren’s right. “We’ll see soon enough,” he said. Haldren turned to look at him, then followed his gaze back to the towering shaft of light.

A blast of lightning engulfed the Soul Reaver. For an instant, Haldren thought that the storm had lashed out at the monstrosity, but then he saw the lightning’s source: Vaskar had begun his attack.

“The Bronze Serpent,” Senya said. “He’s doomed to fail.”

“Good,” Haldren spat.

The dragon’s roar cut through the wails of the Soul Reaver’s hosts. Gaven drove his sword down through the double head of a waist-high monstrosity and glanced up at the Crystal Spire. Vaskar had come to face the Soul Reaver, hoping to bring about the fulfillment of the Prophecy. The sounds of the battle fell away, even the howls of the monsters around him, leaving a strange stillness, and the words of the Prophecy rang in his mind: The Bronze Serpent faces the Soul Reaver and fails. But the Storm Dragon seizes the shard of heaven from the fallen pretender.

Had Vaskar accounted for those words? Did he even know about them? Gaven had spoken them to Haldren, but not in Vaskar’s presence. Would Haldren have repeated them to the dragon, when they upset him so much?

It didn’t matter, he realized. Vaskar was doomed to fail, which meant that the Soul Reaver’s hordes would continue to pour forth from Khyber’s darkness. Every soldier in the Starcrag Plain would fall beneath them. The monsters would pour into Aundair and Thrane-they might raze Thaliost, or Daskaran across the river. They might reach Stormhome. The idea of Haldren conquering Khorvaire was terrible to contemplate, but the thought of the Soul Reaver spreading his tentacles across the north was much, much worse.

Vaskar was doomed to fail, and that meant the Storm Dragon would have to do what the Prophecy demanded of him: seize the shard of heaven and drive it through the Soul Reaver’s heart.

No one could do that but him.

The aberrations crowded closer. Growling, Gaven impaled one of the larger, shambling monsters, left his sword hanging in the wound, and swung his hands together to create a clap of thunder that drove the smaller creatures back. Then he grabbed the sword from the teetering bug-thing and leaped aft, toward the helm.

“Clear the deck!” he shouted. He seized the wheel and willed the elemental out of its quiescence.

“Can she fly?” Rienne called back. “That was a rough landing.”

“I’ll make her fly.” The wind howled, and the airship lurched, then she slowly lifted off the ground.

The elemental resisted Gaven’s control at first, protesting as though the damage to the hull had wounded or weakened it. Fly, damn you.

Rienne and Darraun fought hard to carry out Gaven’s command. Rienne nearly stopped using her sword, instead relying on a constantly shifting stance to overbalance the creatures that came charging toward her and throw them overboard. Maelstrom came to bear only in the one instance where a tentacle wrapped around her leg as its owner hurtled overboard, threatening to drag Rienne off the ship as well. A swift, sure blow from Maelstrom freed her from its grasp and sent the creature plummeting to its doom. Darraun swung his mace, magically enhanced to slay the aberrations of Khyber, beating them back under a constant hail of blows until they had nowhere to go but off the ship.

The Eye of the Storm teetered higher, rising above the din of the battle and the gibbering hordes below. Gaven let the winds carry her in a wide circle around the Crystal Spire as the ship swirled faster and faster around the bridge of light. That circular path provided Gaven with a clear view of the continuing battle between the Soul Reaver and Vaskar-be he Storm Dragon or doomed Bronze Serpent-as it raged in the midst of the great column of light.

It would be more accurate to say that Vaskar raged, Gaven thought. The battle was not too different from watching Rienne fight a drunken Eldeen wild man. The Soul Reaver remained calm, moving very little in response to Vaskar’s charges, his circling flights and desperate lunges. Each time Vaskar closed in, an invisible force pushed him aside, preventing him from making contact. Gaven couldn’t see the Soul Reaver make any counterattack, but it was clear that Vaskar grew more tired with each passing moment. His frustration also built with every failed lunge. He roared and spat lightning at the Soul Reaver, but though the lightning at least touched the creature, it didn’t seem to cause it any pain or distress. To his surprise, Gaven felt a twinge of pity for the dragon-he was so misguided, and ultimately so ineffectual, just as he tried to seize tremendous power.

Vaskar pulled back and floated motionless on the building gale for a moment. Carried by the wind, the airship swirled closer to him, and for a moment Gaven thought the dragon would attack the Eye of the Storm to vent his frustration. Then Gaven saw a flash of gold: from somewhere on his body, Vaskar had produced the Eye of Siberys. He fumbled with the dragonshard in claws too large to serve as hands, and Gaven saw that Vaskar had clumsily bound the shard to a straight, polished staff, making a spear to slay the Soul Reaver. He was desperate, Gaven realized, and was pulling out his weapon of last resort. The dragon didn’t expect it to work-and he was right. Vaskar was already defeated.

Gaven jerked the wheel hard to port and took the Eye of the Storm out of the cyclone.

“What are you doing?” Rienne said.

“I need to get off this ship,” Gaven said, “and I’m not going to make Darraun try to fly her in that storm.”

“No,” Rienne said, “I mean, what are you doing?”

The airship had cleared the worst of the storm and flew smoothly again, despite the staved-in timbers of her hull. “Darraun, can you take her from here?” Gaven said.

“I can try,” Darraun answered. His hands clenched the wheel, and Gaven released it. The ship bucked slightly, then leveled. Darraun nodded, but didn’t try to speak again.

“Gaven,” Rienne said, “what are you doing?”

Gaven pulled off his scabbard and untied the ash staff he’d bound to it. Touching the staff sparked a torrent of memories-stumbling, half crazed through the Mournland, climbing the storm-blasted tree to pull off the branch, a dream: a yellow crystal pulsing with veins of golden light, carved to a point and bound to a blackened branch, plunging into a body that was shadow given twisting form.

“It was my hand on the spear,” he said, more to himself than her. “It seems I will play the part of the Storm Dragon after all.” He stood with the staff in his hands and slung his sword and scabbard back over his shoulder.

Rienne lay a hand on his back. “Play the part,” she said, “but write it as you go. You are player and playwright.”

He looked into her eyes and cupped her cheek in his hand, running a thumb along the curve of her lips.

“I don’t know how I could ever have doubted your love,” he said. “I never will again.”

“Come back to me.”

“I will.” He kissed her, savoring the taste of her breath, and then jumped over the bulwarks.

A fresh gust of wind caught him up and carried him away from the airship, back to the storm that whirled around the Crystal Spire. Lightning flared and roared around him, and the rain became hail, as though the storm had been holding its full fury back until that moment. Gaven willed himself forward, toward the Soul Reaver, and the wings of the storm carried him there.