“I’m so glad you’re awake to see this, Gaven,” he said. “It would be a shame for you to sleep through such a turning point in history, since you play such an important part in it.”
Gaven looked around and saw other people arrayed around the crystal, many of them familiar. Phaine d’Thuranni stood just off to his left, his sword still in his hand. Haldren ir’Brassek stood away to the right, arms crossed, glaring at Gaven with barely contained fury. Cart was in his accustomed place behind the general’s shoulder. Gaven felt a pang of disappointment and grief-Cart could have been so much more than Haldren’s lackey.
The dragon-king perched on the edge of the canyon above the crystal, but there was no sign of the other dragons. A scattering of soldiers with spears and swords, miners hefting picks and shovels, and what might have been magewrights-Gaven saw the Mark of Making on one or two of them-filled out a rough arc centered on the crystal. They watched him and the man standing before him with expectation.
“I’m Kelas ir’Darran,” the man said. “I see you recognize some of your old friends.”
Gaven scanned the crowd for Rienne, but of course she wasn’t there. His gaze fell on Cart again, and he thought of Darraun.
Could the changeling be here? he wondered. Perhaps wearing a different face? No, of course. Darraun is dead.
“I have no friends here,” Gaven said, his eyes still fixed on Cart. He saw the warforged shift, and he wondered if that were true.
“Indeed.” The smile fell from Kelas’s face. “However, at this point you are here merely as a witness-the Dragon Forge is not ready for you yet.”
Gouts of dragonfire in a furnace below him-another scene from a dream. The same dream? He wasn’t sure.
Kelas turned his back on Gaven and looked up at dragon-king. “The Prophecy, Malathar!” he shouted in Draconic. “Tell us!”
The dragon-king’s voice was undiminished by the distance to the top of the canyon. “One drop unites Eberron with the Dragon Below,” he said.
Kelas repeated the dragon’s words in the Common tongue, his arms spread wide like a priest in prayer.
Gaven whispered the Draconic words along with the dragon-king. “Blood is drawn from a serpent binding the spawn of Khyber and the fiend that is bound.” His eyes fixed on the crystal and the vague shapes within it. “Bound they remain, but their power flows forth in the blood.”
From somewhere inside his coat, Kelas produced a large silver ring, a torc in the shape of a twisting serpent. He held it up, and silver light flashed within the crystal in answer.
“The Torc of Sacrifice,” he said, addressing the entire assembly, “an embodiment of the power that allows the serpent of the crystal to bind the fiend. With this torc around her neck, a paladin of the Silver Flame took a possessing spirit into her body and bound it there, then gave her own life to destroy it. With the torc at the heart of the Dragon Forge, we will siphon power from the mighty beings in this prison-without setting them free.”
“Bound they remain,” Gaven said, “but their power flows forth in the blood.”
Kelas turned, all warm smiles again. “Very good, Gaven.”
Gaven looked at Cart, a willing participant in this… the only word Gaven could find to describe it was blasphemy. The emblem of a paladin’s sacrifice, used to draw power into this Dragon Forge. For what purpose?
Kelas walked to the crystal prison, holding the torc in both hands, and carefully placed it over the ring of gold at the center. It flared with brilliant white light, and white fire ran along the intricate gold inlays, outward from the ring, turning the gold to silver. Kelas stepped back and watched the transformation, flexing his hands in anticipation. When the fire had burned to the gem-covered cylinders and gone out, he drew his sword and held it above his head.
“The Ramethene Sword,” he said, “forged by fiends for their champion to wield in battle against the dragons of the world’s dawn. Haldren, what say the Serpentes Fragments?”
Ramethene Sword, Serpentes Fragments-the names meant nothing to Gaven, but the sword drew his attention. It was heavy and angular, almost as though it had been carved of stone. It looked like it might have come from the ruins of Paluur Draal or Xen’drik, but it was not really like anything Gaven had seen before.
Haldren cleared his throat and recited a verse, unfamiliar to Gaven. The Sunderer smote to the dragon’s heart, and its blood formed a river upon the land. The Fleshrender drew forth the serpent’s life and its blood gave life to the gathered hordes. For the blade drinks the blood, and the hand that wields it feasts on the life.”
The Sunderer seemed more like a name from the Prophecy, and Gaven racked his brain in an effort to dredge up anything pertinent.
“The Sunderer, the Fleshrender,” Kelas said. “This is the weapon that will smite to the heart of this prison and draw forth the blood to power the Dragon Forge.”
Gaven wondered whether Kelas had any idea what he was doing. He had noticed that the dragon-king omitted any mention of the Time Between from his recitation of the Prophecy. Almost without doubt, Kelas was a tool in the dragon’s claw, fulfilling the Prophecy of the Time Between while vainly pursuing his own ends.
Once again Kelas stepped up to the crystal. He put both hands on the hilt of the Ramethene Sword, drew a deep breath, and shoved it through the circle of the silver torc.
There was a sound like the plucking of an enormous string, almost too low to hear, but making the air thrum with its vibration. Gaven felt a wave of nausea pass through him, and his muscles felt even weaker. The soldiers supporting him staggered as well, and his knees buckled. Everyone standing around the crystal clearly felt it-they lowered their heads, staggered backward, or fell to their knees. The dragon-king and Cart alone seemed unaffected.
The canyon was hardly vibrant with life, but something was happening to it-the thin patches of grass dissolved into ash, bare rock blackened, the dry shrubs that grew here and there on the canyon walls shriveled and died. Desolation spread out in a wave from the crystal. Gaven looked in sheer terror at the shadow, expecting to see it burst forth from its azure prison.
Both the silver serpent and the dark fiend were agitated, moving quickly, almost frantically. The Ramethene Sword glowed so brightly it hurt his eyes to look at it. The inlaid tracery pulsed with light as well, and gemstones came to life on the surface of the cylinders, glowing in a mosaic of different colors. The liquid in the glass tubes began to bubble and churn.
Then fire burst from the earth to fill the trench that surrounded the Dragon Forge.
CHAPTER 31
Rienne awoke, and Gaven was not there. She frowned at the place where he’d lain-usually she awoke long before he did and had time to exercise and meditate before she roused him for the day’s journey. Something was wrong.
She sprang up with Maelstrom in her hand and rushed out of the small shrine. The dragonborn city was only starting to come alive with the first light of dawn. She saw dragonets flapping at open windows where dragonborn placed scraps of meat in tiny houses. She heard strange singing, low droning chords and high chanted melodies, that might have been a form of morning prayer. But she couldn’t see Gaven.
“Gaven?” she called. Several pairs of eyes turned her way and quickly turned back. Louder-“Gaven!” He did not appear or call an answer.
The sky was cloudless, which gave her an odd reassurance that he was not in serious trouble. If he were fighting somewhere, certainly a storm would be brewing. At the same time, it was disappointing-if nothing else, she could have found him by heading to the heart of the storm.