James Wyatt - Storm dragon

Rienne opened her eyes and cried out-she was falling. Then she realized that an arm was firmly wrapped around her waist, holding her over a shoulder-Gaven? Her fall stopped abruptly, and Darraun crumpled to the ground beneath her. She rolled free and scrambled back to him, trying to get her bearings at the same time.

The Eye of the Storm loomed over them, grounded again, and Darraun had evidently just jumped off the deck, carrying her over his shoulder. It was not a great fall, and he was back on his feet in a moment. “Come on!” he said, “We have to get to Haldren before he hits us with another fireball.”

His words reminded her what had happened, and she felt her face as she ran after him. The pain was gone-Darraun must have used some healing magic on her. “Thank you,” she called to him, hustling to catch up. He shot a smile over his shoulder at her.

“Thank you for landing the airship,” he said. “I was sure we were doomed.”

“We may yet be,” she said, looking ahead. A white-haired man she could only assume was Haldren was perched on a warhorse not ten paces in front of Darraun. The horse was barded with metal plates engraved with protective runes, and the old man’s hands were raised in the gestures of another spell. In front of the horse, holding a slim elven longsword in a ready stance, was Senya. She met Rienne’s eyes and her lips curled into a cruel smile.

“Gaven.” Cart’s voice was calm and gentle, nuanced with his years of studying human tone and cadence. “Shake it off. You can do this.”

Smooth stone walls. A thought like lightning flashed through his mind, and he saw-not with his eyes, but clearer-the paths of the winding tunnels, the shapes they formed. The words of the Prophecy.

“The Storm Dragon walks through the gates of Khyber and crosses the bridge to the sky.” He muttered the words to himself, sensing the layers of meaning contained in the tunnels around him. Words formed in his mind and bubbled from his mouth, slowly driving back the psychic scream of the Soul Reaver. “The Dragon of thunder and lightning and wind and rain and hail, the Storm Dragon-enters, walks, passes through, bursts through, shatters the Khyber gates, the dragon-gates below the chasm-gate.” A vision started to form in his mind, and he laughed.

“Gaven?” Cart had a hand firmly clamped on his shoulder.

“Crosses the bridge, traverses it, spans it, thwarts it.” Gaven spoke louder now.

And the Soul Reaver’s mental assault broke on this new barrier of words-I will destroy you!

The Soul Reaver appeared, looming out of the dark. Shriveled limbs on a slender body, wrapped in a wind-tattered robe and with stoles and sashes bearing twisting runes. Hands like great claws, curling in anticipation of rending either body or soul. And a head like a nightmare from the deep sea-blank white orbs for eyes, surrounded by bony ridges, and four long, twitching tentacles where its mouth should have been. Its skin was living shadow, dusky gray, and its coating of slime glistened in the pulsing light of the Heart of Khyber as it circled Gaven.

Cart charged the monster, but it flicked two tentacles in his direction, revealing a hint of a suckerlike maw beneath them. The warforged staggered sideways into the tunnel wall and slumped to the ground.

“Thunder and lightning,” Gaven said, reading the characters inscribed in the wall where Cart had collided, and he sent a bolt of roaring lightning to engulf the Soul Reaver. Gaven felt a psychic echo of its pain in his mind, but it did not flinch or back away. Instead, its four tentacles extended toward Gaven, reaching for his head even as the Soul Reaver’s mind reached out…

Haldren shouted the last syllable of his spell, but at that instant Darraun held up a wand and yelled a word of his own. A brief flare of light and smoke was the only manifestation of Haldren’s spell.

“Traitor!” Haldren hissed, glaring at Darraun beneath bristling eyebrows. “Spy! I never trusted you!”

“You didn’t have to,” Darraun said, running forward with his mace over his shoulder and his wand in his other hand. “I still learned everything I needed to know.”

Senya grinned at Rienne. “What do you say we let these two sort out their differences?” she said, jerking her head toward Haldren and Darraun. “And we can sort out ours.” The elf charged, the point of her sword low to the ground.

Rienne stood still, her sword loose in her hand. “Please tell me you’re not going to fight me in a jealous rage over Gaven.”

“A jealous rage?” Senya said. “No.” She closed with Rienne, bringing her sword up in a thrust at Rienne’s heart. Rienne lazily swung Maelstrom up to knock Senya’s sword aside, and the elf’s momentum took her around to Rienne’s right. Rienne turned to follow her.

“What differences, then?” Rienne said, settling into a good defensive stance and awaiting Senya’s next move.

“Remember the dwarves in Vathirond? The ones you brought to apprehend us? They nearly killed me, you know.”

Rienne felt a pang of guilt. That had been her fault, though not the way Senya thought. “I didn’t bring them. They followed me.”

“I don’t care.” Senya lunged, more carefully this time, but she was not at all prepared for the way Rienne fought. Maelstrom beat her sword point to the ground, and Rienne stepped on the blade, yanking it from Senya’s hand. Rienne’s next step landed on Senya’s shoulder, and Maelstrom traced a shallow cut in the elf’s neck as Rienne went overhead and landed behind her.

Rienne’s new position gave her a clear view of Darraun and Haldren. The sorcerer had still not dismounted, and his horse pranced sideways in a circle around the changeling, keeping Haldren effectively out of Darraun’s reach. Another spell shot from Haldren’s hand only to fizzle in the air, met by something from the artificer’s wand. But Rienne could see that Darraun was tiring.

Senya circled, then stooped to retrieve her blade from the ground. Rienne saw her opening-Senya’s defenses were down. But at the same moment, Haldren spurred his horse forward to run the changeling down. Instead of attacking Senya, she ran toward the others, placing herself carefully between Senya and Darraun.

Senya charged again. Rienne stepped to the side and spun as she went past, deflecting the force of Senya’s charge upward. The elf’s own momentum carried her through the air to land at Darraun’s feet, right in Haldren’s path. The horse neighed and reared, and Haldren had to fight to keep his seat. Darraun charged forward and swung his mace into Haldren’s knee. The sorcerer screamed and fell to the ground.

The pull on Gaven’s mind was tangible, as though the tentacles had touched him, wrapped around him, and drawn him in. He staggered forward, unwilling, but unable to resist. He felt he could not balance on his feet unless he kept stepping forward. He tried to lean back, against the pull, but sensed immediately that he would fall backward unless he lurched forward again. He stumbled and felt something bang against his arm, sending a tingle of warm energy through his skin.

The Heart of Khyber. He stretched out a hand and grabbed it, then lost his balance and fell to the ground. The Soul Reaver stepped closer on its spindly legs, and Gaven raised a hand to ward it off-the hand that held the Heart of Khyber.

The Soul Reaver recoiled, and Gaven felt the pressure on his mind ease. He scrambled to his feet, keeping the nightshard between himself and the monstrous abomination, and hefted the spear in his other hand. A sick, burbling hiss came from the Soul Reaver’s mouth as it crouched, wary of Gaven’s next move.

“Does this frighten you?” Gaven said, thrusting the nightshard forward. “Or is it the spear, foreordained for your doom?”