“It’s still all about duty, isn’t it, Cart? You’re always working on a clearly defined task, one after another. You can’t think about taking on another task until you’ve completed that one you set for yourself. But I’m telling you I don’t want to go to safety. The forge is where my enemies are, and they have something that belongs to me.” He ran a finger over the tender skin his dragonmark had left behind.
“I’m not a machine.”
“Of course not. But you’re also not flexible. The world doesn’t conform to our plans. People never do what we want them to. You have to live with that.”
“Or you have to convince them that they’re being stupid and stubborn, and show them why your way is right. I’m not an idiot and I’m not naive, Gaven. I’m perfectly capable of changing plans midstream when I need to. But only when a better plan comes along. And going back into Malathar’s claws is not a better plan.”
Gaven clenched his fists at his temples. “I’ll do it alone if I have to.” His voice resounded in the chamber, uncomfortably loud. “I need her back.”
“Her?” Ashara spoke for the first time.
That was it. Gaven’s hands dropped to his sides and his shoulders slumped. He was being stupid and stubborn, he realized. It wasn’t his dragonmark he wanted back. It was Rienne.
“Rienne,” he said. “I need her back. I need her more than my dragonmark, more than revenge on Phaine and Kelas and the damned dragon-king. I-”
Cart put up a hand to stop him, turning his head toward the entrance. Then Gaven heard it as well-a rumbling like distant thunder, echoing in the tunnel that led out of the temple.
Cart stepped cautiously to the tunnel mouth, and Gaven circled around to the other side, staying out of the opening. Just as they started to peer into the tunnel, a hiss like the threat of an enormous serpent roared in the tunnel, then a spray of thick, black liquid gushed out at them. Gaven jumped back out of its way, but Cart shouted in pain. The warforged fell down, frantically wiping at the liquid that clung to his body. It bubbled and smoked, warping the metal plate of his face and searing the wood in his neck.
Ashara rushed to help Cart, so Gaven risked a look up the tunnel. It was long but straight, sloping up to where he could just make out the light of day beyond. A hulking black shadow blocked his view of the light, though-the source of the acidic spray. Another dragon.
Faint echoes of voices outside told him that some of Kelas’s soldiers were there as well. Rage burned in Gaven’s chest. These people and that dragon had taken everything from him-Rienne, his dragonmark, his freedom. He tried to channel that rage and release it, to send a blast of lightning back up the tunnel at his enemies. Nothing.
“Gaven, get back!” Cart said.
Gaven heard the dragon’s deep intake of breath and leaped back away from the tunnel mouth just in time. More black acid sprayed out past him, spattering on the stone floor. Some reached as far as the blue crystal, and Ashara gasped as it burbled and disappeared into the azure pool.
“Get away,” Cart said. Ashara had repaired some of the acid’s damage, but his neck still looked seared and warped.
Gaven leaped past the tunnel mouth and crouched beside Cart. “We’re trapped,” he said.
“We’re under siege,” Cart answered, “but it could be worse. We can’t get out, clearly. But they won’t come in because we’d fight them right here, three of us against each one of them who came to the tunnel mouth. It’s a waiting game.”
“One we can’t win,” Gaven said. “They’ll starve us out, if nothing else. Or send the dragon into the tunnel first.”
“They won’t wait here forever,” Ashara said. “I have a feeling something will take their attention off us before long.”
“What do you mean?” Cart asked.
“The Dragon Forge.”
CHAPTER 41
So this is how Gaven felt in Dreadhold, Rienne thought. Trapped in a cage. She looked through the barred window of her cell, out onto the bustling streets of Thaliost, and wondered if Gaven had a window in Dreadhold. Probably not. She felt the morning sun warm her skin, and realized that she had no idea what Gaven had experienced. Twenty-six years in a prison far worse than her bare cell-it was still beyond her comprehension.
The worst part was that she didn’t know where Maelstrom was. They’d taken the sword as soon as they took her into custody, and when they led her to her cell the guard carrying it had gone a different way. She’d been tempted to break free of the guards and seize the sword, fight her way free, but she couldn’t imagine a conclusion to that course of action that didn’t make her situation worse than it already was.
The morning wore into afternoon, casting the tower’s shadow across the town below her window. A guard brought her a passable meal sometime between midday and evening, and shortly after that a man came to see her. He dressed like a nobleman, all frills and frippery, but he walked like a soldier, intense and direct. He’d probably received a noble title as a reward for his service in the Last War, and tried his best to act his part in an alien world of diplomacy.
He looked down at the identification papers in his hand, then back up at her face. “Lady Alastra?”
“Yes.” Best just to answer his questions, simple and direct.
“I’m Padar ir’Hollen. The borders of Thaliost are ultimately my responsibility, and the soldier at the docks report to me. Were you mistreated in any way while in our custody?”
“No, and I thank you for asking.” Rienne liked this man’s approach-he was direct, he didn’t bother with titles except to make sure she knew he was a noble. She’d never heard of the ir’Hollens, of course, and Padar might very well have been the only member of that recently formed noble house.
“Lady Alastra, I’m sure you can appreciate how seriously I take my responsibility for our security, particularly now. Since Aundair’s attack, we have been even more concerned with possible breaches of our borders.”
“I do understand. But the attack in the north was the action of a rogue general, not the Aundairian government.”
“So Aundair claims. But if that’s true, he had a remarkable amount of support from the army.”
“Along with his flight of dragons, yes.”
Padar’s eyes went wide. “You seem to know a great deal about that battle.”
Rienne drew herself up proudly. “I helped defeat that rogue general.”
“You what?” Padar’s mouth hung open after his question.
“I was there. I fought one of the dragons Haldren brought with him. I fought in the midst of the horde of monsters that rose from the earth. And as the battle wore down, I found Haldren and his-and the woman with him and I fought them. I’m no pretty noblewoman sitting in my estate, weaving and gossiping, Sir Hollen.”
“I can see that,” Padar said, scratching his head. “But now I’m far less sure how to deal with you.”
“You’re making it too complicated. It’s really quite simple. Bring a scribe from House Sivis back here with you. Question me about my destination and purpose, have the scribe draw up traveling papers for me, and send me on my way.”
“Why don’t you tell me your destination and purpose now?”
Rienne had spent the morning formulating her answers to those inevitable questions. A fugitive following a vague sense of impending danger to the west would not quickly endear herself to any border authority. “I’m bound for Daskaran.” As the other major town in the north of Thrane, Daskaran would give her a reason to leave Thaliost without raising the question of why she didn’t sail on to Flamekeep-Thrane’s capital gave better access to most of the nation. “My family wishes to forge an agreement with the ir’Cathra family there-they own mines in the Starpeaks and we can help them distribute the ore.” As mundane as possible, not something that would arouse attention.
“From battling monsters to negotiating trade agreements? You are versatile.”
“One reason my family values me.”