“How did she know you?” Senya asked. “Why did she say you’d been here before?” Her voice held none of the fury of Haldren’s outburst, and Gaven allowed his eyes to meet hers. But he quickly looked away, and shrugged again.
“Who did she think you were?” Haldren demanded.
Gaven sat on his haunches and stared at the ground.
Darraun put a hand on Haldren’s arm. “Why are you so angry, Haldren?” he said. “What did you expect to happen in there?”
Haldren straightened and seemed to calm down a bit, but his eyes were still narrowed in suspicion, and he didn’t answer Darraun. “Have you been here before? Is that how you learned about the Prophecy?”
I have not been here before, Gaven thought. I just remember being here. He ran a finger along a groove between the cobblestones. But what had the ancestor meant with those words? The third time, you will finally find what you seek?
Senya fell to her knees in front of Gaven, trying to make him meet her eyes. “Gaven, that was my ancestor in there, and she said you had been there before,” she said. “Why did she say that? What’s your connection to my family?”
Gaven kept his eyes on the ground. Senya Alvena Arrathinen, he thought. What is your relation to my old friend Mendaros? No-I never knew him, he reminded himself, shaking his head. That was the other.
“Damn you!” Senya drew her hand back as if to slap him, but Cart’s words stopped her.
“It seems those showers of light have begun,” the warforged said.
Gaven looked up at the night sky. The Ring of Siberys made it look like an overcast day; the sky was dark blue gray and studded with points of golden light. Streaks of fire crossed the sky as dragonshards fell from the ring and rained to earth.
A few dragonshards clattered on the stone streets nearby, and Gaven heard others striking the buildings above them. He had been a prospector-that’s what he’d told Darraun. To a prospector’s mind, there was a small fortune to be made here. Siberys shards were the most precious dragonshards, useful primarily to the dragonmarked houses, who sent prospectors to Xen’drik to find the products of showers like this one. Properly attuned, a Siberys shard could enhance the power of a dragonmark in a variety of ways. House Lyrandar built them into the helms of their galleons-probably their airships as well-so that a dragonmarked heir of the house could control the elemental spirit bound into the ship. Clearly many of the living residents of the City of the Dead shared that point of view. They were scrambling after the shards that landed in the street like chickens after a handful of seed.
But Gaven was not here to make a fortune, and the shard they sought was no ordinary dragonshard. As he looked, one shard flared brighter than all the others and streaked across the sky. It grew brighter as it fell, stinging his eyes. When it landed, he heard its impact, like a great spear striking the earth. It was close, no more than a mile outside the city.
“The Eye of Siberys,” Haldren said. “Move!”
Gaven did not need Haldren’s command-he was already on his feet and three strides ahead of Haldren. Darraun kept pace with him at first-spurred, no doubt, by his eagerness to leave the City of the Dead-but Gaven soon left him behind.
The guards at the gate started to close ranks as he approached, probably assuming that he was fleeing the scene of a crime or trying to escape an angry watch patrol. Gaven prepared himself to barrel right through the guards if necessary. It proved not to be necessary-either the guards noticed the lack of any pursuit or they figured the city was best rid of the foreigners anyway.
It felt good to run. For so many years he had been confined to a small cell or given his exercise in a tiny yard where he just walked, slowly, counting his paces like the passing of years. Now the wind whipped his hair behind him, cooling the sweat from his face. His arms and legs pumped hard, his muscles protesting the exertion but also exulting in his speed. He remembered riding on the wyvern’s back behind Cart, feeling the dragon’s muscles as it flapped its wings hard to propel them through the air, and for a moment he felt as if he were flying.
A hundred yards outside the city, he realized he didn’t know where he was running. Three more steps, and he realized he didn’t care. He would run until he reached the sea, and then he would take flight and run across the waves. The wind blew at his back, and he could almost feel it lifting him off the ground.
In the jungle ahead of him, he saw a flicker of golden fire lighting a wisp of smoke, and he remembered why he ran. He turned toward the glow. The wind blew his hair into his face, and he lifted a hand to brush it aside. Then he was upon the source of the golden fire, and he stopped running.
The wind billowed around him, lashing the ferns and the leaves of the overhanging trees like a tiny cyclone, then it blew itself out. Gaven looked down at the Eye of Siberys where it lay, nestled in the tiny crater of its impact, where the earth had formed a sheltering hand to hold it. Blackened ferns lined its bed, burned from its heat, still blowing out wisps of smoke that twisted and danced in the dying wind. He fell to his knees and stretched out a trembling hand to touch it.
It was warm, not hot as he’d feared. Its yellow surface shone with light reflected from the Ring of Siberys high above, and veins of gold in its heart pulsed with a light of their own. He scooped it up with both hands, holding it in front of him like a chalice full of holy water. As he stood, he heard thunderous footsteps behind him, and he pulled it close to his chest as he turned to face his companions.
Darraun reached him first, wild amazement in his eyes. He was breathing too hard to speak, and he bent over double to catch his breath before Haldren and the others reached them.
Gaven cradled the Eye of Siberys close. Its warmth spread through him and set his dragonmark tingling.
CHAPTER 10
That was quite a run,” Darraun said, trying to smile as he panted.
Gaven ignored him, his gaze fixed on the pulsing veins of gold in the heart of the dragonshard.
“Gaven?” No answer.
Darraun shot a nervous glance over his shoulder at Haldren, who ran as fast as his old legs could carry him. He was still a bowshot away, though Senya and Cart were closer.
Stepping closer to Gaven, Darraun tried to get a good look at the crystal, good enough to analyze the magic in it. “Gaven, if you’ll let me look at that…”
Gaven turned away, shielding the dragonshard against his chest, his eyes still glued to it.
Darraun put a hand on Gaven’s shoulder. “Gaven, look at me.” He shook him gently, then harder. Gaven pulled away but didn’t raise his eyes.
“This is not good,” Darraun muttered. “I’m sorry about this, Gaven.” He swung his fist at Gaven’s chin as hard as he could, hoping to snap Gaven out of this trance.
A deafening clap of thunder shattered the air, and Darraun found himself on his back two strides away from Gaven, gasping for breath. His ears rang, but he could still hear the footsteps approaching.
Senya and Cart stopped dead near where Darraun lay. Cart fell to one knee beside him.
“Are you injured?” the warforged asked, his voice heavy with concern. Darraun shook his head. “What did he do to you?”
Darraun sat up. Gaven still held up the hand he had used to block Darraun’s punch, but his eyes remained focused on the dragonshard in his other hand. Senya stood behind Cart, staring at Gaven as if she were entranced. A clap of thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I think the dragonshard is enchanting him somehow, so I tried to wrench his attention away from it. Evidently he’s got some attention to spare-enough to defend himself anyway.”
“Evidently,” Cart said. He lifted Darraun to his feet and shifted his shield on his arm, his right hand coming to rest on the head of his axe.