Aarnamor, nearing complete dissipation, felt a renewed flood of energy as his master gifted him with power, drawing upon the darker places, conjuring a regeneration in the dismal chamber. Zuharrin began the workings that would evoke yet more servants bound to his service. Over Urgal Shahiz, thunder rolled like the voices of dark gods. Far out across the ocean beyond it, ships heard the forbidding sound, and their crews shuddered, hands clasped to protective talismans, invoking lighter powers.
9
House of the Unicorn
As the flight swept them far across the southernmost edges of the Endworld Mountains and over the borderlands of northern Valenar, Vaddi and his companions felt themselves lulled almost to sleep by the ease of the journey. None of them spoke for a long time, though with the wind rushing past them, it would have been difficult. Vaddi, still holding tight to Zemella, felt a mixture of emotions stirring within him. It was as though in crossing into Valenar, something deep had awoken in him—a response, he thought, to his mother’s elf blood. There was an undercurrent of excitement to it, as if it reacted to the power that rose off the land below. Coupled with this was the power inherent in the unicorn horn, which seemed almost alive, a tiny engine of power, humming to itself, in tune with the lands so far beneath it. The combined energies did not stop there.
Zemella. There is power in her, he thought, suddenly conscious of touching her. He felt…
His mind closed out the thoughts, afraid that she would reach around with her own mind and read them. He felt himself flushing, dreading the thought that she would sense this through his touch.
She has power, he thought. A sorceress. My elf blood is responding to hers. Surely it is no more than that.
Again he tore his mind away from contemplating the girl. Nyam had teased him, but was it that obvious that she had struck him dumb with … what? Reverence?
He looked across the cloudy expanses to the east. Rising thermals from the hot land of Valenar turned to banks of cloud up here—an endless quilt of milk, an ocean. The sun heated the company and the skies seemed devoid of other life, but Vaddi sensed something to the east, a huge bulk of movement, just below the white surface of cloud, as though a denizen of this tranquil sky-ocean swam there, effortlessly and lazily. Instinctively he knew what it was. The waking powers within him told him.
Dragon!
“Zemella,” he said in a whisper, so close to her ear that his tips almost touched her neck.
“I know,” she said, turning her head. “It travels on its own secret mission, heading far to the southeast.”
“Has it sensed us?”
“Probably. Who knows the minds of those majestic creatures? Their work is their own. To them we are no more than little birds. You see it?”
“No. I … just know it’s there. I can feel it.”
“In your blood.”
“Yes! That’s it. I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to. I understand.”
“Then you sense it also?”
She laughed very softly and his heart lurched.
“Do all elves feel this? Affinity for them?”
She shook her head. “No more than men do—or others in Eberron. There has been much blood spilled between dragons and elves in the past. Some revere them, some would war with them anew. Blood is a strange thing. High magic runs through it in some, none at all in others. Perhaps there is dragon blood in you.”
Then it is in you, too, he thought. We have that in common. It was an idea that elated him. He studied the eastern clouds, eager to catch a physical glimpse of the hidden creature, but he felt it moving away, its shape masked from him.
He felt something else within himself, a very different kind of power. Something negative. A cold presence, a shadow that cloaked his own, stirring emotions and powers. All his life this shadow had shifted within him, a sluggish parasite. I am an Orien, my father’s powers in me. I am dragonmarked, but I cannot yet unlock the powers that should come with this. What is it that holds me back? Why am I thus crippled? Time and time again he had agonized over this but to no avail. Perhaps the elf sorceress would know and could help him, but now was not the time to speak of it.
“Where are we bound for?”
“We will go to my city, Pylas Maradal. Your House has people there. You are related to its main representative, Kalfar Munjati. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“He is distantly related to your family through one of your mother’s brothers, who also married a human. He will give you sanctuary, though I am sure he will seek a fee. These Valenar Oriens are great ones for haggling!”
“Then perhaps I should let Nyam do the talking for me. It is an art form he is well versed in.”
“He is well known in Pylas Maradal. He has rivals there, some of whom would accord him a less than friendly welcome.”
“Then he is a trader?”
“Indeed, and a very successful one, for one reason or another! There will be time enough to explain this when we reach the city. We’ll be there before nightfall.”
“And you, Zemella? What will you do?” He did not want to contemplate the possibility that she would leave them.
“I must report back to my warclan, the Finnarra. They must be told of the movements of Caerzaal and this minions. They will send others to Taeris Mordel to watch the lands there, although now that the horn has eluded him, Caerzaal will quit the mountains. Be warned, Vaddi, you have not seen the last of Caerzaal, I think.”
He shuddered at the thought. “What exactly is the horn?” he said as softly as he could.
“When we reach Pylas Maradal, I will tell you more. It is for you only to know. Its safety is paramount. Let no one know you carry it. Not even Kalfar.”
“You do not trust him?”
“If I were you, Vaddi d’Orien. I would put your trust in no one.”
“I trust you.”
He could feel her smile. “An elf sorceress? You should be more careful.”
When they finally dropped down through the cloudbanks, the sun was falling in the west, spreading the heavens with a tide of color—reds and golds and deeper shades of violet over the sea far to the east. Below them was a land that differed markedly from the great expanses of the Talenta Plains. It was flattish, rolling steppes broken by fertile plains, well forested, with rivers gleaming in the dusk as they wound down to the inlets and shores of the coast. There were small hamlets visible but few major cities, and on the higher slopes. Vaddi was sure that he could discern numerous ruins from another age. He recalled what little he had heard of the Valenar lands and the beasts that were still said to roam them. The elf warclans were very active, and several had to keep a close watch on the lands of the western border, where the notorious Mournland intruded, but on this flight, those grim areas were mercifully out of sight, obscured by distance and twilight.
Pylas Maradal was far to the south of Valenar, on its southwestern coast, a large city sheltered from the storms of Kraken Bay by a curve of land. As they swept down toward its towers and minarets, Vaddi felt the blast of warm air come up to meet them. In spite of the hour, it was hot here, a climate altogether different to what he was used to in the north—humid and dusty. The smells from the city were new to him, too, a strange mixture of spice and sea, the deep blues of which washed up close to the harbor spread out like a map below him.
Zemella guided the hippogriff to one of the numerous towers that rose up from the city like a forest, their amazing architecture matched only by the splendour of their carvings and paintwork. Fascinated, Vaddi was almost disappointed not to be able to drink in more of this compelling vista as the hippogriff glided on to the wide, flat top of the tower, sheltered by a dome overhead, itself supported on four splendidly carved colonnades. These were etched around with dragon motifs, the work of artisans who must have spent incalculable hours perfecting their beauty, their homage to it. Around the rim of the flat space, several tall stone statues, also of dragons, gazed motionlessly out over Pylas Maradal from jewelled eyes.