"You sense it, though you can't possibly understand it," he said, resting a hand on Cart's shoulder.
Then Cart saw what Havrakhad's eyes had seen. The buildings that lined the streets rose from solid foundations but faded into smoke and mist as they approached a nightmare sky. The stars were gone, along with the Ring of Siberys that stretched between them, and in their place was a roiling storm of angry red and violet clouds. Blue and green lightning streaked in silence across the sky, shedding lurid flashes of light on scenes of nightmare.
Mobs of people screamed and ran through the haze, falling beneath the swinging clubs and cleaving swords of onrushing barbarians. Shadowy buildings erupted in flames, adding pale firelight to the underbellies of the clouds. Close by, an unspeakable horror crouched over a trembling human form, clutching one arm in an enormous claw as glittering insect eyes examined the body.
"That is a quori," Havrakhad whispered in Cart's ear. "It must not see me. Come!"
The kalashtar removed his hand, and the city returned to normal. At Cart's side, Ashara looked at him with wide eyes as the kalashtar started along the street again.
"Did you see it too?" he asked.
"You have seen it, I believe," Havrakhad said over his shoulder. "You visit the Region of Dreams nightly."
Ashara nodded. "I have seen it. I don't need to see it again."
Cart took a few quick steps to catch up with Havrakhad, shaking his head in a vain effort to dispel the memory of his vision. "Why?" he said. He wasn't sure what he meant.
"The turning of the age draws near," Havrakhad said again. "The light must die before it can be reborn."
Ashara fell into stride beside him and clutched his arm, and Cart decided not to ask any more questions.
CHAPTER 11
With Havrakhad safely returned to his little apartment, Cart and Ashara walked in silence back to the Tower of Eyes. Ashara's hand on his arm was a comfort, but her furrowed brow told him that her thoughts were as troubled as his.
"Ashara!"
Cart felt Ashara jump and her grip on his arm tighten, and he yanked his axe from his belt. They had almost reached the tower, but the shout had come from behind them, near the palace. Cart whirled, planting himself between Ashara and whoever had called out to her.
A man hurried toward them. The hood of a cloak hid his face from the glowing dragonshard lamps that bathed the broad street in pools of golden light. His hands were empty, but Cart saw a scabbard slapping against the man's legs as he ran.
"Do you know him, Ashara?" Cart asked. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her shrug. "Stop where you are and announce yourself," he called out.
"Tell your warforged to stand down," the man said, but he stopped and lowered his hood. Cart recognized him from the Cannith enclave-one broad streak of white hair identified him as the man who had tried to persuade Aunn to hand Ashara into his custody. The man held up his open palms. "It's Harkin. I just want to talk."
"He's not my warforged," Ashara said. "He's my friend. And we'll relax when you've shown you're not a threat. Last night you tried to hand me over to Jorlanna."
Harkin took a few slow steps toward them, keeping his hands up. "I'm sorry about that, Ashara. I had to keep up appearances."
"Hand Cart your sword and your wands," Ashara said, "and we'll talk."
Harkin chuckled, but started unbuckling his sword belt as he walked closer. "Cart, is it? I suppose you used to carry your squad's whole camp on your back?"
Cart expected some condescension from members of House Cannith, and as recently as a few months ago he would have accepted it without a second thought. Meeting Ashara had changed that. He decided he didn't like Harkin at all.
"They called me Cart because I always brought the wounded back," he said. "Alive."
"Fancy yourself a war hero, then?" Harkin said. He tossed his sword at Cart's feet and started on a second belt, the one that held a quiver full of wands.
Cart didn't answer. He had never thought of himself as a hero, but as a dutiful soldier. Ashara had changed that, too.
"Listen, Ashara." Harkin was close enough now to hand Cart his wands, treating them much more carefully than he had his sword. Cart took them but left the sword where it lay. "I never wanted to hand you over to Jorlanna. I want your help."
Ashara stood with her arms folded across her chest, no hint of a smile in her eyes. "My help with what?"
"Stopping Jorlanna."
Ashara stared at him for a long moment.
"Look, this isn't the time or place to talk details. But I'll tell you that I've been talking to Merrix, and he's promised his support as well." Cart recognized the name of Merrix d'Cannith, one of three barons who vied for control over House Cannith. Merrix oversaw the House's operations in the south, from his headquarters in the Brelish city of Sharn.
"Of course he has," Ashara said. "With Jorlanna out of the way, he'll have two-thirds of the House under his thumb, and Zorlan won't be able to oppose him." Zorlan was the eastern baron, who lived in the Karrnathi capital.
"Would that be so bad? Better that than to be a ministry of the Crown, or divided like the Phiarlans." Harkin took another step closer to Ashara, ignoring Cart entirely, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, Ashara. We were friends once, and more than that. Can I count on your help, for the sake of that old… friendship?"
Ashara looked at Cart, her face a little flushed. "We've already set ourselves against Jorlanna's schemes," she said.
"I knew I could count on you," Harkin said. He had assumed Ashara was still talking to him, Cart realized, liking Harkin even less. "I'll be in touch again soon."
Harkin snatched his wands from Cart's hands and held out his hand for his sword, still smiling at Ashara. Cart turned his back on the Cannith and walked toward the Tower of Eyes. A moment later, Ashara's hands were on his arm again, and he felt his anger ebb.
Aunn sat in Kelas's chair with his feet on the desk and his chin on his chest, but Gaven didn't want to sleep. He paced the small room, feeling trapped, his mind circling around thoughts of his father and Kelas, his disturbed dreams, and Havrakhad's parting words: Use your freedom as if you deserved it.
Aunn had spoken of making restitution for the wrongs they had done, but how could he do that? He couldn't bring the Paelions back, not any more than he could bring his father back.
A gauntleted fist knocked at the door, and Gaven pulled it open. Cart shuffled inside with Ashara leaning on his shoulder, looking too tired to support her own weight. Gaven glanced at Aunn and saw him fighting to open his eyes, still surfacing from his dreams.
"You all need sleep," Cart said.
"I don't," Gaven said. "There's enough room in here to put two bedrolls on the floor. You and I can keep watch, Cart, while these two sleep."
"Don't try that on me," Cart said. "Sleep is no weakness, and you're not some kind of great hero if you can fight it off for a few hours or days."
"What are you talking about?"
"I used to see it all the time in the army-soldiers would decide that they were as tough as a warforged, try to go without sleep, and nearly every time they ended up dead."
"I don't need to sleep now-I've been dreaming for the better part of a day."
"And you're afraid of dreaming again, is that it?"
"I'm not-" Gaven broke off. Actually, he realized, Cart was exactly right. He didn't want to dream again of Paelion ghosts, or of Rienne. And after being trapped in his dreams, he was afraid he might not wake up again.
"We can go to Kelas's home," Aunn said. "In fact, we should. It's what Kelas would do."
"Does he have any family?" Ashara asked.
"No. There'll be a servant or two, but I can handle them. And we can all get a good rest in a warm, soft bed."