Gaven didn’t know where the dwarves were taking them. He had assumed at first that they’d bring him to Stormhome’s jail, to hold him until they could arrange transport back to Dreadhold. But the jail was near the center of the city-unless it had relocated during Gaven’s imprisonment-and they were headed toward the northern neighborhoods. A few dragonmarked houses had enclaves in the northern district of Six Corners, but neither the dwarves’ House Kundarak nor Bordan’s House Tharashk were among them. House Deneith’s Sentinel Marshals also occupied a large tower in the city center, not far from the jail. The docks were situated to the southeast, but Gaven realized that he didn’t know where in the city airship mooring towers might be concentrated. That became his working assumption: The dwarves and Bordan would load him on an airship for immediate transport back to Dreadhold.
The rain fell harder as they walked, and the mood of the people in the streets grew worse. When lightning flashed in the sky, Gaven heard a woman scream, and he suddenly realized the flaw in his theory. Bordan and Ossa were not stupid enough to put him on an airship-they had both been aboard the Morning Zephyr when storms forced her to the ground.
The dwarf behind Gaven yanked on his manacles, and he stopped walking. The leaders of their cavalcade were embroiled in an argument with a group of men who had apparently objected to being pushed aside. The dwarves kept their voices calm, but the men yelled and waved their arms.
“Gaven, listen to me.” The dwarf behind him still had a hand on his manacles, and he whispered up to Gaven. Gaven moved his head in the slightest nod.
“It’s Darraun,” the dwarf said. Gaven almost whirled around to face him. “Don’t move. Listen. If we ever get out of these crowds, I’ll release your manacles. As soon as you feel them loosened, you need to run, and fast-the way you did in Aerenal. I’ll take care of Rienne-just get out of here.”
Gaven nodded again, almost imperceptibly. The dwarves in front managed to force an opening into the crowd, and the dwarf who claimed to be Darraun nudged him to start walking again. As they made their way through the crowd, a hundred questions arose in Gaven’s mind. In the forefront was what possible reason there could be for him to trust the dwarf of House Kundarak who said he was a human artificer named Darraun.
So Darraun was a changeling-rather, a disguise adopted by a changeling. Gaven had known there was more to the artificer than he let on, and Senya had suggested that Darraun might have connections in the Royal Eyes of Aundair. It fit. But it left open some much larger questions. Why had Darraun been working with Haldren? And why had he infiltrated Ossa’s group of dwarves? Was he helping Gaven now in order to return him to Haldren or for some other purpose? Did Gaven want his help, or would it come with a cost he would be unwilling to pay?
The crowds grew thinner but more serious as they entered the Six Corners neighborhood, named for the junction of three roads in an elegant plaza outside the House Orien enclave. The people glowering at the sky there were heirs and functionaries of the dragonmarked houses, speculating at what failure House Lyrandar, their colleague and competitor, might be experiencing. Gaven kept his arms tense, straining against the manacles to be sure he’d know as soon as-
The manacles clattered to the ground.
Gaven roared, and lightning flashed in the sky. He whirled and thrust his arms out in front of him, and a gust of wind followed his arms in a mighty blast. Bordan, Rienne, Ossa, and the dwarf spellcaster were knocked to the ground, and Ossa’s dagger clattered to the cobblestones. Darraun was already running to Rienne, and the blast of air knocked him forward, into a somersault, and back up into his run.
Gaven ran, the wind howling at his back.
He hadn’t even thought about where he would run-he’d been too busy thinking and worrying about Darraun. He knew Six Corners well from his childhood, but he wouldn’t rely again on a mental map of streets and alleys that was years old. He looked over his shoulder. The Darraun-changeling was locked in battle with Ossa and one other dwarf, and Rienne fought beside him, using mostly her feet since the manacles still bound her hands. Bordan and the other two dwarves ran behind him. As he slowed to look behind, they gained several paces on him.
He had no choice. He had to trust Darraun to get Rienne safely out of there-if the changeling could free her hands, they’d be fine. So without any other plan in mind, he did as Darraun had told him: he ran like he had in Aerenal.
The wind blew like ragged wings at his back, speeding him through Six Corners and beyond, outside the city to the rain-spattered beach. He swept along the sand, leaving only the faintest of footprints. Waves rose up to drench him in their spray, and lightning flashed across the water. Rage and fear and grief overwhelmed him-they took shape around him like forces of nature as powerful as the storm, and he howled with the voice of the wind.
Sandy beach gave way to sharp rocks that cut his feet as he ran across them, but he felt no pain. His pursuers were lost in the distance, Stormhome had been swallowed in the mist and rain behind him, and even Rienne and Darraun were all but forgotten. Storm clouds blotted out the sunset and swallowed the stars. Soon he climbed above the tumultuous waves as the rocky beach rose toward the jagged cliffs at the far end of the island.
He ran, buoyed and buffeted by the wind, until he reached the highest bluff. Part of him imagined running off the point and either plunging down onto the rocks or somehow running onward, upward, becoming one with the storm. He stood at the precipice for a moment, suspended in the air, his eyes fixed on the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below, and then he sank to his knees, lifting his gaze to the storm clouds that brooded over the cliffs.
“Father!” he howled to the sky, and the wind howled along the cliffs and blew itself out.
Gaven slumped to the ground.
The rain pounded his back, stinging his skin, and the waves thundered as they crashed against the cliffs. His body clenched like a fist around a knot of grief in his belly, and he pounded his hands against the rock. The storm began to wane and the knot in his gut loosened, and his breathing went from shallow gasps to a slower, deeper flow of air.
He drew one last, long, shuddering breath and uncurled his body, lifting his head to a sky that began to show patches of blue. He saw ships navigating the bay and imagined their crews’ relief at the passing of the freak storm. The waves started to quiet, and gulls took to the air again, calling to each other with keening cries.
Arnoth d’Lyrandar is dead, he thought, but life will go on. It must.
He stood, taking another deep breath, and looked behind him for any sign of his pursuers. The beach was still deserted, but a ring of fire flickered in the sky, growing quickly larger as the airship it propelled drew nearer. He watched it warily, feeling power welling up within him while hoping he would not have to use it again-he was so tired. Finally he saw a figure in the prow, arms waving in the air-Rienne. The airship was the Eye of the Storm, his brother’s vessel.
Gaven turned back to the sea and thought of Thordren, and his father, until Rienne called down from the airship above him. “Gaven! Are you all right?”
He looked over his shoulder and saw a rope ladder hanging over the ship’s bulwarks, dangling just outside of his reach. Rienne leaned out over the top of the ladder, a look of worry on her face.