“Do we need to take him down?” Senya whispered.
Darraun turned around just as Haldren caught up with them, breathing heavily from the exertion. “I don’t think-” he started to say, but Haldren cut him off.
“Gaven!” Haldren stepped forward, extending a hand to Gaven. “Give me the Eye of Siberys now!”
To Darraun’s surprise, Gaven looked up at the sorcerer, holding the dragonshard in his left hand, as far from Haldren as possible.
“Not until you tell me exactly what is going on,” Gaven said.
Seeing the Eye of Siberys and touching it, Gaven’s mind flooded with memories. There could be no doubt that it was the dragonshard of his visions-he had seen that crystal shard carved to a point and bound to an ash-black staff to form a spear. He’d seen it plunge into the twisting shadow body of the Soul Reaver, in fulfillment of the Prophecy-
There among the bones of Khyber the Storm Dragon drives the spear formed from Siberys’s Eye into the Soul Reaver’s heart.
As he continued gazing into the dragonshard’s liquid depths, Gaven found himself very aware of the present. The Eye had earned its name. Staring into it was like opening a great eye onto the world. He saw Darraun approach, with the others straggling behind. He saw Darraun pulling his hand back for a punch, and it took little more than a thought for him to react, blocking the punch and knocking Darraun away, without ever looking up from the dragonshard. He saw as he had never seen before-he saw every living thing nearby, from the gibbons in the trees to the ants crawling along the ground. He saw each tree, the orchids nestled in their branches, the lianas coiled around their trunks, and the ferns shielding the earth.
And then he saw himself, far more clearly than ever before. He remembered who he was, the man he’d been before Dreadhold, before the memories of the other came and coiled in his mind. And he saw the man he’d become, stumbling along behind Haldren’s lead in a fog of confusion or madness. He realized that he did not want to be that man any longer. It was time to confront Haldren, who had reached him and demanded the dragonshard.
“Not until you tell me exactly what is going on.” Gaven stared into Haldren’s pale blue eyes, which were open wide in surprise.
“Very well, Gaven,” the sorcerer said. Gaven enjoyed seeing Haldren caught off guard. “Very well. We have no secrets here. What do you want to know?”
“You think Vaskar is the Storm Dragon of the Prophecy,” Gaven said. “You’re helping him raise the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor so that he can walk in the paths of the first ascendant and become a god. What’s in it for you?”
“A noble enough goal in itself, don’t you think?” Haldren had recovered his wits, and his voice was smooth.
“I don’t know about Vaskar, but most people don’t aspire to seize godhood out of a benevolent desire to make the world better,” Gaven said.
“On the contrary, Gaven, most of us believe that the world would be a better place if we had the power to shape it according to our will.”
“I’m sure you’d like the same power. How do you plan to get it?”
“In exchange for my aid in acquiring divine power, Vaskar has agreed to help me acquire power that is more temporal in nature.”
“Which throne do you plan to seize?”
Haldren smiled. “The only throne worth holding.”
Something gnawed at the edge of Gaven’s mind-a fragment of the Prophecy, a flash of a vision or a nightmare, but he banished it. He would not be the madman any longer. “Thronehold?” he said. “A new Galifar?” Before the Last War, all Khorvaire had been united in a single empire ruled from Thronehold. The scions of old Galifar had warred for a century over the right to sit in that throne.
“Something like that, yes. You know that I appreciate your assistance, Gaven. I can assure you of a position of power in the new world.”
“Why were you in Dreadhold?”
“For no worse crime than yours,” Haldren whispered. Gaven could tell that he had struck a nerve. “I disagreed with our Queen Aurala over the way the war should be prosecuted.”
“Sounds like you should have been stripped of your command, maybe thrown in an Aundairian jail. Why Dreadhold?”
Haldren’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper, and he stepped closer to Gaven, speaking right into his face. “You were already imprisoned at the time, Gaven, but at the end of the war the nations decided they could put the horrors of the war behind them if they locked some people up. I was a scapegoat-they locked me up so they could believe that all the death and destruction was the work of criminals. I was fighting a war, damn it!”
“And now you’re going to start the war all over again.”
“It will be different this time. With Vaskar’s help-”
Haldren reached out suddenly and tried to snatch the Eye of Siberys from Gaven’s hand, but Gaven yanked the Eye back away from Haldren, simultaneously thrusting his other hand forward. There was another thunderclap, but this time Haldren only stumbled back a few steps, while Gaven flew backward, landing hard a few paces away.
Haldren smirked and strode to stand over Gaven. “I won’t underestimate you again, Gaven.” He crouched and took the Eye of Siberys from Gaven’s limp hand. Gaven stared wildly up at the sorcerer, every nerve in his body tingling. “I expect the same consideration in return.” He turned away, stowing the dragonshard in one of the many pouches he wore.
Gaven sat up and glared at the sorcerer’s back, embarrassed that Haldren had gotten the shard from him so easily. Then he slowly got to his feet and looked around at the others. Senya had Haldren’s arm, apparently congratulating Haldren, though she kept glancing back at Gaven too. Cart stood near Haldren as well, demonstrating his loyalty to his commanding officer, awaiting orders. Darraun had turned his back on the group and was looking at the surrounding jungle.
Gaven reviewed his situation. He was stuck on an unfriendly island with a war criminal who wanted to rule the world. And who, Gaven reminded himself, was his only means of getting back to the mainland. His most likely ally was Darraun, who was clearly hiding something, maybe a great deal. The warforged was completely loyal to Haldren-Darraun had said as much, and Cart’s behavior reinforced it.
His eyes lingered on Senya. She was still something of a mystery to him, but the prospect of unraveling that mystery was starting to grow more interesting. She glanced back at him, caught his stare, and flashed him a coy smile before looking back at Haldren.
Haldren conferred briefly with Senya, then announced his plans.
“Tonight we’ll make camp in the jungle,” he said, “but not here. We need to get far enough from the city that the elves will leave us alone.”
“And far enough that we won’t be bothered by treasure-seekers scouring the jungle for dragonshards,” Senya added.
“We need supplies,” Haldren said with a glare at Darraun, “so Senya will return to the city and secure them. The rest of us can relax for a short time. As soon as Senya returns, we march.”
With that, he settled himself onto the ground. He was still breathing heavily from his exertion, Gaven saw, which gave him a slight feeling of satisfaction. Cart stood guard by his general, and Darraun busied himself with his pack, preparing for another march. Gaven sat as far away from Haldren as he thought the sorcerer would allow-still in sight and earshot.
He closed his eyes and imagined that he still held the Eye of Siberys, trying to remember the thoughts and feelings it had stirred in him. He’d seen the man he was before, and he clung to that memory-a sense of self that kept him in the present. But over and over he found his thoughts straying to what he had not seen: the man he could become.
In his youth, before he’d taken and failed the Test of Siberys, he’d had a clear idea of his future, even if it was not one that he would choose. His father expected him to manifest the Mark of Storm and work for House Lyrandar. Arnoth had groomed his eldest son to take over his dynasty, ignoring every indication that Gaven would have preferred a different life.