“How did he write them?” Evlan asked.
“We gave him a small metal stylus so he could scratch his writings on the walls.” The Lord Warden’s eyebrows bristled as he glared at Evlan. “Before that, he demonstrated that he would resort to writing in blood given no other means. In twenty-six years, he never used the stylus for anything but scrawling on his walls, and we’re quite confident that it had nothing to do with his escape.”
“I assume that you kept a copy of all information sent to House Lyrandar,” Bordan said. “I would like to see it.”
The Lord Warden nodded. “I think you’re wasting your time. It’s nonsense, and there’s a great deal of it. But I’ll let you sort it out.”
“Is he marked?” Evlan asked.
“Ah,” Zaxon said, and the hand went over the bald head again. Bordan’s eyes narrowed. “He failed the Test of Siberys in his youth, and he did not carry a dragonmark before his imprisonment. However, he manifested a Siberys mark five years ago.”
Bordan saw the surprise register on the other three faces in the small room. The Siberys Mark of Storm meant that Gaven had significant power-power that House Lyrandar would much rather have under its control than loose in the world. Bordan smiled behind his folded hands. That might make the chase more interesting.
Ossa changed the subject, speaking for the first time. “He was to be married.” Her voice was gruff, and she tugged at one of her thick braids as she spoke.
“Yes,” the Lord Warden said. “Rienne ir’Alastra was his betrothed. She was actually the first to suggest that he was possessed, and she helped the Sentinel Marshals find him and bring him into custody.” He nodded at Evlan, acknowledging his order’s role in Gaven’s arrest.
“Did she marry someone else?” Bordan asked.
Zaxon was starting to look exasperated. “I have no further information about her, as she is not and never has been a prisoner of House Kundarak. Now, our guards have reported communication between ir’Brassek and Gaven-their cells were across the hall from each other. As far as we know, these conversations were typical for Gaven: he’d report his dreams or recite bits of the Prophecy, but ir’Brassek seemed eager to hear all that.”
“Is it possible they used a code to plan the escape?” Evlan said.
“Anything is possible,” the Lord Warden said, “but I believe it highly unlikely. The conversations always occurred in the middle of the night and seemed to be precipitated by Gaven starting from sleep, awakened by a dream. After telling ir’Brassek about the dream, Gaven would write it down. It’s all recorded on the walls of his cell.”
“They weren’t confined to their cells at all times, were they?” Bordan asked.
“Of course not. Gaven occasionally had to be confined for long stretches, when he’d go into a violent phase. But ir’Brassek wasn’t considered particularly dangerous or an escape risk. They both worked in the mines. They walked the courtyard when Gaven was able. And they had access to the library.”
Evlan leaned forward in his chair. “Did they speak together at those times?”
“Gaven rarely spoke at all outside his cell, except to rant. Ir’Brassek approached him a few times, but Gaven either ignored him or flew into a rage, and he gave up after a while. Gaven never read, barely walked, and worked only because we forced him to.”
“He was here a long time,” Bordan said.
“Twenty-six years, yes.”
“Was he any different before his mark appeared?”
“Not at all.”
“Was there any change in him after Haldren arrived?”
The Lord Warden shook his head. “None. He gives the sense that he’s not quite present, like his mind’s off in the Realm of Madness while his body’s trapped here.”
“What are we up against, Lord Warden?” Evlan asked. “Besides the Siberys mark, what can we expect of these two?”
“Haldren ir’Brassek is a sorcerer, hence his lodging in the Spellward Tower. He likes fire, burning things down. He could, of course, be anywhere by now.” A trace of Zaxon’s seething rage returned to his face.
“And the Lyrandar?” Phaine said.
“Gaven no longer has the privilege of carrying the name of his house. He is… accomplished. He had a reputation for great physical strength, perhaps a result of clambering around in the caves of Khyber for years. He favors a greatsword in combat, taking advantage of that strength. And he also has some facility with magic beyond what his dragonmark grants him. Although the full extent of the power of his dragonmark has never been seen.”
“Was there any manifestation when the mark first appeared?” Bordan asked.
“Yes,” Zaxon admitted. “We had to move all prisoners and guards underground for an hour to wait out the storm.”
Bordan enjoyed watching the others’ eyebrows rise. He got to his feet.
“Lord Warden, House Tharashk thanks you for your confidence in us and the detailed information you have provided. On the honor of my house, I swear that I will not rest until these two prisoners are safely returned to your custody.”
The others scrambled to their feet as well. “Lord Warden,” Evlan d’Deneith blurted, “House Deneith promises a tireless effort to recover these fugitives. I will personally select a team of the finest Sentinel Marshals to assist me in bringing them to justice.” He gave a small bow.
Phaine d’Thuranni was the next to speak, in his whispery voice. “The finest of House Thuranni are also at your service, Lord Warden.”
“For the honor of House Kundarak,” Ossa d’Kundarak said, “the Ghorad’din will hunt them to the depths of Khyber.”
The Lord Warden stared at them. Bordan hid a smirk behind his hand as the Old Rock searched for a response to all these oaths and boasts. Finally, his eyebrows bristling again, he blurted, “Well, what are you waiting for? They’re probably in the Demon Wastes by now!”
Bordan was the first out the door.
Bordan paced the courtyard of Dreadhold, ignoring the drizzle of rain that heralded a larger storm. Stark stone walls loomed over him, windowless and forbidding. Stout dwarf guards watched him from ledges on all sides, crossbows in their hands and axes at their belts. One archway led back into the prison interior, blocked by a heavy portcullis backed by iron-banded doors. When he was ready to leave, he could signal to the guards, and the gate would open. He tried to imagine being a prisoner-to spend all his days surrounded by those walls, those watchful guards, iron and stone on every side. Even the sky was granite.
Shaking his head to dispel those thoughts, he replayed the Lord Warden’s briefing in his mind, sifting his memory for details that might be important in his coming search. He had a pretty good idea of what the others would do. Evlan would assemble a troop of Sentinel Marshals that would march across Khorvaire like overblown city guards. They’d probably question Gaven’s family, find the Aundairian officers loyal to Haldren, follow up on people mentioned in the briefing. Phaine would pull together a small team of Thuranni elves more suited to assassination than investigation. They would probably pick up the trail first, and it might just be a question of whether the fugitives stayed alive until their hunters could return them to Dreadhold. Bordan wasn’t sure about the other dwarf, Ossa. He didn’t know much about the Ghorad’din, but he thought it was more of a covert military force than a group of trained inquisitives. It was possible that they were brought in just to make sure House Kundarak had a hand in retrieving the prisoners that had been in its care, but Bordan had no real reason to doubt their effectiveness. He just wished he had a better idea how they would go about the task.
For his part, he would start with the documents Zaxon had promised-copies of the reports sent to House Lyrandar describing Gaven’s ravings.
CHAPTER 3
Gaven stared at the emerald orbs of the dragon’s eyes, overwhelmed at the size and majesty of the great bronze beast. Behind those eyes, bony ridges swept back to form a crest around the back of his head, crowned with a pair of curving horns. Smaller horns jutted out along the edge of the crest, at the lower joint of his jaw, and on the chin of his beaked snout. Thick scales overlapped to form an armored plating over the front of his neck and his belly, while smaller interlaced scales covered the rest of his body. Above the muscles of his shoulders, a pair of membranous wings stretched upward and fanned the sea air. Spiked frills adorned the back of his neck down to his wings, stretched between his forelimbs and his flanks, and extended up from his long, heavy tail. Vaskar was larger than any creature Gaven had ever seen. Gaven focused on the emerald eyes and tried to listen to the words coming from the dragon’s mouth.