His companions looked like very much the same kind of man, perfect for this mission. One stood out immediately from the crowd. First because he evidently thought drinking was a serious, even dangerous business. He wore heavy armor, well-crafted plate with one pronounced shoulder plate. Second, he was an orc, gray-skinned, hideous, and huge. He didn’t even smile at whatever had made Sevren laugh so loudly.
The other man was human, but he stood out from the crowd no less than his companions. He wore a flamboyant emerald green shirt beneath a black vest embroidered in gold. His head was bald except for an arc of black hair sprinkled with gray running around the back, baring an elaborate black tattoo of angular patterns that covered his scalp. Kauth recognized the tattoo as an arcane symbol, suggesting the man had some kind of magical ability. Thick eyebrows rose from the bridge of his nose to a high point before bending back down at the ends. His mouth was twisted in a sardonic grin-some barb of his had doubtless spurred Sevren’s laughter.
Satisfied, the changeling slipped out of the bar, leaving his ale on the counter. He stood in the shadows outside and slid into Kauth’s familiar form, then stuffed the cloak into his pack. Running a hand over his face to make sure he hadn’t missed any details, he walked back in the door as though he had just arrived, pretending to scan the room until he spotted Sevren.
He walked to their table. “I’m Kauth Dennar,” he said.
Sevren stood with a smile and clasped Kauth’s hand in greeting. “This is Vor Helden,” he said, indicating the orc.
Kauth nodded at the orc, puzzling over the odd name. It didn’t seem Orc.
“And this is Zandar Thuul.” Sevren clapped the other man on the shoulder. “Have a seat.”
Kauth settled into the empty chair across from the shifter and smiled at the other men. “Sevren told you about the job?”
“He did,” the orc, Vor, answered. “And I’ll be blunt. You need me. You’ll never get through the Labyrinth without me.”
Kauth’s eyebrows raised, and he noticed Zandar’s mouth quirking into the same grin. “You’re a Ghaash’kala?” Kauth asked. The Ghaash’kala tribes patrolled the broken land between the Demon Wastes and the Eldeen Reaches. Zealous believers in an obscure religion, the Ghaash’kala orcs tried to ensure that no evil escaped from the Wastes-and that no one entered that land of corruption. They would be the first casualties of Kauth’s mission, if he succeeded.
“He was,” Zandar said.
Vor glared at the human before turning back to Kauth. “I was born among them, and I know the Labyrinth well. I no longer carry the privilege of calling myself a Ghaash’kala, or of using my full name.”
Kauth nodded, deciding not to press him further. That explained the simple name, anyway. “I’ll be glad for your help,” he said. He looked at Zandar. “How about you?”
“What about me? You want me to tell you all the reasons you should bring me along? I’ll keep you alive-that’s all.”
“And how will you do that?”
“If anything tries to kill you, I’ll kill it first.”
“Quite a boast from a man who doesn’t carry a weapon,” Kauth observed.
In answer, Zandar pointed his finger at the half-drained mug of ale in front of Vor. A stream of shadow shot from his hand and shattered the mug. Shards of pottery flew everywhere, and ale sprayed all over the orc. Vor jumped to his feet, reached across the table, and hauled Zandar up by his collar.
“I’ve had enough from you, warlock,” the orc snarled. “I’ll be damned before I take another journey with you.”
Zandar didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. “Aren’t you damned already?” He sneered. “Hasn’t the Silver Flame abandoned you?”
Vor threw him back into his chair. “Kalok Shash is testing me,” he said, but the fire was gone from his eyes. He settled back into his chair, his plate armor clanking.
Interesting, Kauth thought. An exiled Ghaash’kala warrior, sworn to protect the world from evil, and a warlock, a pracitioner of an arcane tradition said to come from fiendish pacts. Certainly both men would be useful-as long as they didn’t kill each other.
“Don’t mind them,” Sevren said, smiling at Kauth. “They do this all the time. It’s like they’re married.”
Vor glared at him, but Zandar leaned toward Kauth. “It’s just so much fun to see him riled up. I’ve never seen a paladin with such a temper.”
“A paladin?” Kauth arched an eyebrow at Vor.
Vor glared at Zandar. “I was,” he said.
CHAPTER 4
Totem Beach,” Jordhan announced, his voice hushed with awe. Gaven could only stare. An uneven row of monolithic dragon heads towered over the sandy beach. Their necks rose up from the sand and the sea, and their heads glared down at the approaching ship. The Sea Tiger was miles from shore, but the gray stone dragons still seemed impossibly large. Gaven couldn’t imagine how human hands could have shaped such immense figures, and he had never thought of dragons as sculptors. But there they were-standing watch over the beach to accept the sacrifices of the Serens, or to warn away intruders. Or both.
It was awe-inspiring-and completely unfamiliar. Gaven had hoped that laying eyes on Argonnessen would trigger some memory of the land. He had harbored the memories of a dragon for all those years in Dreadhold, but now that those memories were gone, he couldn’t remember anything of Argonnessen. He couldn’t even remember whether the dragon in his mind had ever been there. Totem Beach did nothing to jar his memory, and he grew increasingly convinced that the dragon had spent its whole life in Khorvaire. Mostly, as far as he could recall, in the lightless depths of Khyber.
“We might have trouble,” Rienne said, pointing off to port. Gaven squinted against the morning sun and saw the object of her concern-a three-masted longship sailing toward them. “The Serens?”
Jordhan shielded his eyes with his hand and followed Rienne’s finger. “Yes, that’s one of theirs. You can tell by the long prow and the distinctive shape of the sails. They-”
Gaven cut him off. “Will they attack us?” The Seren ship was smaller than the Sea Tiger, but that long prow was built for ramming, and with enough speed she could tear a hole in the galleon’s hull.
“Only if they can catch us,” Jordhan said with a grin. He spread his arms to indicate the grandeur of his ship-her three masts and the elemental ring of water surrounding her. He had every reason to be proud of her.
“We can outrun them to the coast easily enough,” Rienne said, “but then what? When we disembark, we’ll be on the beach and you’ll be at anchor, and we’ll both be easier targets.”
“I could sink them,” Gaven said. The idea was distasteful, but if it meant that Jordhan and his crew were not at risk, he’d do it.
“Don’t be so sure,” Jordhan said. “Their ships are built to weather storms. I’ve never heard of the Dragonreach lying as still as it has these past few weeks.”
Rienne put a hand on Gaven’s shoulder. “You can thank the Storm Dragon for that.”
Gaven leaned on the bulwark and surveyed the coast. Beyond the sandy beach, a cloud of mist hung over what looked like thick jungle, obscuring the horizon.
“I wish I had a better sense of the land.”
“You’re looking at as much as the charts show,” Jordhan said. “The beach with its watchers, then a strip of forest. That mist might be a permanent feature.”
“That’s one thing about the weather,” Gaven said with a grin. “It always changes.”
He closed his eyes and felt the air around him, the wind blowing toward the coast. He spread his arms and drew a long breath, then let it out slowly.
I am the storm, he thought. I am the wind.
The skin of his arms tingled, and his dragonmark grew warm. For a moment he held a swirling ball of air in his outstretched arms. With a sharp breath, it gusted out before him. He took a step back against the force of it, then planted himself more firmly on the deck. He felt Rienne’s hand on his back, lending him her strength.