“Good afternoon, Lady Alastra,” he said. “I am sorry that your stay here has stretched on so long.”
“You brought a scribe?” Rienne’s eyes darted back down the hall, eager to see the means of her deliverance.
“The situation has proven much more complicated than I had any reason to expect. Not exactly a routine case of missing traveling papers. Your family’s ties to House Lyrandar initially made our government reluctant to touch your case.” He referred to a sheaf of papers in his hand-an increasingly irritating habit. “But then we learned you’ve been connected to an excoriate who also happens to be a fugitive from Dreadhold. So House Lyrandar wants nothing to do with you.”
Rienne’s hands went cold on the iron bars.
Padar swallowed and continued. “House Kundarak, as you know, involved itself. But they decided to lay no claim on you, and the other Houses have followed their lead. That accounts for the delay. In fact, I’m somewhat amazed that we received responses from all the Houses so quickly.”
“So what now?” Rienne asked. Her voice sounded more desperate than she intended.
“Now, in the end, your case turns out to be a routine matter of missing traveling papers after all.” Padar smiled weakly. “I did indeed bring a scribe from House Sivis to complete your traveling papers. He is waiting downstairs.”
Relief washed over her and she sank down on her cot. “Thank you,” she breathed.
“In addition, it appears that you still have at least one friend in House Lyrandar.” Padar turned and called down the hall, “You may approach now.”
Rienne stood again, went to the bars, and looked down the hall. A young guard appeared around the corner first, a halberd in one hand and a heavy ring of keys in the other. Another man followed, a broad smile lighting his weathered face.
“Jordhan!” Rienne laughed with raw delight. Only Gaven’s face could have been a more welcome sight. “You’re back!”
As he approached, Rienne thrust her hands between the bars, and he took them in his own warm grasp.
“Only just,” he said. “The return journey was somewhat harder without the Storm Dragon’s help.”
The guard’s keys rattled as she unlocked the cell door. Rienne relinquished Jordhan’s grasp long enough to let the door swing open, then threw her arms around his waist and held him tight. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d been in the cell until she felt Jordhan’s warm embrace.
“If you’ll follow me downstairs,” Padar said, “I’ll get your belongings and we’ll settle the matter of your papers-and the fine, of course.”
“Of course.” The fine would probably be outrageous, but she didn’t care.
CHAPTER 42
Cart and Ashara insisted that Gaven get more rest while they waited out the siege, waited for the distraction Ashara predicted or some other change to the game. Gaven didn’t think he could sleep, knowing that a dragon lurked in the tunnel, and soldiers beyond, but he was wearier than he had realized.
Nightmares troubled his sleep, dark whispers of despair and malice. He saw Ashara change form, taking on Darraun’s laughing face and mocking him for being so duped. Malathar’s flaming breath enveloped him and bony claws tore at his flesh. Kelas held the bloodstone containing Gaven’s dragonmark, and the mark slithered out of the shard to wrap itself over his skin as he cackled in triumph. Rienne wept in a dungeon somewhere in Rav Magar, calling out for him. Cart stood against him, shielding Ashara/Darraun from his attack. A hideous, undead Haldren bombarded him with fire. He woke, over and over, in his cell in Dreadhold.
When at last he truly awoke, he thought at first he was still in Dreadhold. Ashara’s slow breathing behind him was out of place, though. He sat up and saw the blue crystal, framed by a snarling demonic figure, then turned to see Cart, standing right where he’d been when Gaven fell asleep, just to the side of the tunnel mouth.
“Any change?” Gaven said.
“I hear thunder,” Cart replied.
It stung Kelas to kneel before the queen, but he had to keep up the act a little longer. Baron Jorlanna and Arcanist Wheldren had persuaded her to come and view the Dragon Forge. He had to act as though he appreciated her condescension.
“Welcome, Your Highness,” he said to the ground. “May I present to you the Dragon Forge-the instrument of your victory in your western campaign.”
The queen deigned to address him directly. “Show me.”
Hiding his grin, Kelas rose. Queen Aurala stood at the center of the arcane circle, right where Malathar and Gaven had appeared weeks ago. She had a reputation for great beauty and in her younger days had a reputation for toying with her suitors and playing them against each other. Kelas had never understood that. She was too thin, too fair-skinned. Her blonde hair was fine. She looked fragile, easily broken. Her silk gown, fur-trimmed cloak, and delicate jewelry contributed to the impression that she was weak.
Soon she will be broken, Kelas thought with satisfaction.
With that thought in mind, Kelas led the little procession down into the canyon. Three of Aurala’s bodyguards followed him, then the queen, Jorlanna and Wheldren, then four more guards. The air tasted thin, and Kelas’s mind felt stretched. So much rode on this day, but he was prepared. He had accounted for every possibility. Malathar was out of sight in a nearby canyon-his presence would have been too alarming to the queen. Phaine had vanished when Gaven escaped, either in shame or hunting the excoriate, it didn’t matter. One of Malathar’s dragons, the black one, had gone in search of Gaven, and the others four ancient ones had long since left the area. Only three small dragons remained, safely hidden beneath the forge, fueling it with their breath. Nothing could go wrong.
He led the queen into the narrow entrance to the Dragon Forge. He felt the guards behind him tense as steam and flame roared along the walls, but he strode on to where the glorious dragonshard lay couched in its elaborate mechanism.
“The Dragon Forge has harnessed the power of a dragonmark,” Jorlanna said to the queen. “Now it can use that power and amplify it-”
“Please, Baron,” Kelas interrupted. “Let Her Majesty see for herself.”
With a pull of a lever, the dragonshard came alive with the light of a sun, drawing the lines of Gaven’s dragonmark on the walls and ceiling of the forge. Jorlanna’s people sprang into action at the device’s controls, but Kelas could see only the dragonshard. He placed both hands on its smooth, warm surface and felt a thrill shiver through his body. He caressed it with his fingertips-he imagined it gave way to his touch, ever so slightly, like the skin of a lover.
Thunder rumbled overhead, then a sharp crack. He tore his eyes from the dragonshard and nodded to Arcanist Wheldren as rain began to pelt the metal roof.
“Your Highness,” Jorlanna said, “the Dragon Forge has created a terrible storm above us. Now we’ll send the storm to the northwest.”
Wheldren had drawn a circle in the air, and it shimmered to life like a mirror. “Your Highness,” he said, “I invite you to gaze through this window to where your troops are gathering near Varna.”
With a quizzical look, Queen Aurala stepped to the circle in the air and peered into it. Kelas smiled broadly. He could taste his success. He heard thunder rumble in the northwest, and the pounding of rain on the roof stopped.
“Greetings, Your Highness.” The voice came through the window, and Aurala drew herself up in surprise. “I am Arcanist Fillian of the Arcane Congress. I will now direct your gaze south, across Lake Galifar.”
The queen looked closer. Kelas knew what she was seeing-a hint of a dark cloud, growing quickly as it charged away from the Dragon Forge and across the lake. Soon it would be pouring devastation on the Eldeen troops defending Varna. Kelas counted slowly, barely daring to breathe.