They hurried up the street away from the provisioner’s, the rain drenching them. Only when they were about to turn a corner did Gaven risk a look back at the shop-just in time to see a trio of soldiers arrive and peer through the shop door.
“What in the Ten Seas happened back there?” Darraun said as they turned the corner.
“My fault,” Gaven said. “I got Cart a little riled up, and he let a mention of Dreadhold slip out. The shopkeeper heard it and took the first opportunity to get out and summon help.”
“The fault was mine, then,” Cart said. “I’m sorry, Darraun. I don’t even remember mentioning it.”
Darraun sighed. “We were about to finish the deal, too,” he said. “Now what do we do? We should find Haldren and get out of town, but we don’t have supplies.”
“We find Haldren first,” Gaven said. “Tell him what happened, and figure something out from there.”
“The general is not a forgiving man,” Cart said. Gaven could hear the trepidation in his voice.
“Put the blame on me. Tell him I blurted something about Dreadhold. He can get as angry at me as he wants to, but he has to answer to Vaskar about my fate, and something tells me he wouldn’t want to have to tell the dragon he killed me.”
The warforged strode along in silence, making Gaven wish for the hundredth time that he could read Cart’s unmoving face.
“Back to the hostel, then,” Darraun said, turning a corner and leading them back to break the news to Haldren.
“I wonder what he’s telling them,” Cart said. He stood by the door of their little room, occasionally pacing as much as the tiny space allowed.
Gaven sat on the bed, staring out the window to the street below, watching for any sign that guards were coming after them. Darraun had insisted on breaking the bad news to Haldren himself, and neither he nor Cart was clear on which version of the story Darraun would tell. So far Gaven had not heard any shouting, but Haldren did not strike him as the yelling kind. For that matter, he couldn’t be sure Darraun was still alive.
“Do you hear anything in there?” he asked the warforged.
“I can hear them speaking,” Cart said. “I can’t make out what they’re saying. You can tell when the general is really angry, because he whispers. It’s frightening.”
The general, Gaven thought. He began to understand what Darraun meant about Haldren’s ability to inspire loyalty. Haldren hadn’t been a general in at least three years, but he would always be “the general” in Cart’s mind.
The door flew open, banging hard against Cart’s shoulder. The warforged stepped out of the way, and Haldren came barreling into the room. “We are leaving now,” he said, very quietly.
Gaven looked around as if he had a pack to load, then got to his feet. Darraun slipped into the room behind Haldren, eyes lowered.
“Circle up,” Haldren commanded. Senya entered, fumbling with the last buckle on her pack, and quickly joined the others in a circle, taking Haldren’s right hand. Darraun stooped to lift his own pack to his shoulders, then took Gaven’s hand, still avoiding his eyes. Haldren glared at each of them in turn, not even sparing Senya his withering stare, then began another incantation.
Gaven blinked, and he was in another forest, sweltering hot and buzzing with insects. Haldren freed his hands and stormed away from the circle.
CHAPTER 6
Are you Arnoth d’Lyrandar?”
Evlan watched the old man carefully. Every reaction was important. Any twitch or shift of the eyes could reveal whether Gaven’s father was aware of his son’s escape or had any idea of his whereabouts.
“I am,” the man said. He was hoarse and short of breath, but he stood as tall as Evlan despite his age. The hair was gone from the top of his head, but what remained still bore traces of black amid the gray and white. His dark eyebrows bristled. “What is this about, Sentinel Marshal?”
“My name is Evlan d’Deneith. I’m here to talk to you about your son.”
Arnoth turned to the stairs behind him. “Thordren?” he said, and the young man who had kept a respectful distance on the stairway came to stand beside him. Thordren strongly resembled what his father must have looked like in his youth-fine, black hair cut above his shoulders and combed away from his face, high cheekbones, and proud brown eyes.
“I’m sorry,” said Evlan, “I meant your other son.”
“My other… Gaven?” The old man’s skin went ashen, and he slowly sank down onto a bench. Then he seemed to recollect himself, and he looked away. “I have no other son, Sentinel Marshal. He was excoriated a long time ago.”
“All the same, it’s Gaven I need to talk to you about.” He shot a pointed glance at the other man, but Thordren sat down on the bench next to his father, his eyes glued to Evlan.
“Is he dead?” Arnoth’s eyes told Evlan almost everything he needed to know. Excoriate or not, Arnoth loved his son, and as far as he knew, Gaven was still locked away in Dreadhold.
“No. At least, not as far as I know. He has escaped.”
“Escaped? From Dreadhold?” Arnoth got to his feet again, Thordren fluttering after him, trying to get him back to the bench.
“Yes,” said Evlan. “According to House Kundarak, there was a dragon involved.”
The old man’s eyes went wide. “Where is he?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Evlan said. “I take it you have not received any communication from him?”
“Not in twenty-six years, no.”
“Were you aware that he manifested a Siberys mark during his imprisonment?”
“Yes. House Kundarak has kept me informed of developments.”
“You have seen the reports of his ravings?”
“Ravings?” Arnoth said. “You think he is mad?”
“His mind hardly seems stable, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
“You underestimate his mind, Sentinel Marshal. He is not all brawn.”
Evlan shrugged and tried another tack. “Does the name Haldren ir’Brassek mean anything to you?”
“Ir’Brassek?” Arnoth scratched the side of his face. “Wasn’t he an Aundairian general? Tried for war crimes?”
“Yes. Are you aware of any connection between your son and ir’Brassek?”
“Gaven and Haldren?” Arnoth seemed genuinely confused. “No. I can’t imagine that Gaven would associate with such a person.”
“They occupied adjacent cells in Dreadhold,” Evlan said, a reminder that Gaven was no less a criminal than Haldren.
Arnoth shook his head and looked back at Thordren. “No, I’ve never heard their names connected.” He looked back at Evlan. “Did Haldren escape with Gaven?”
“Yes, they fled Dreadhold together. Mounted on wyverns.”
Arnoth raised his eyebrows and sank back down to the bench, to Thordren’s obvious relief. “Gaven is free,” he muttered, running a hand through his short gray hair.
Thordren spoke for the first time. “Sentinel Marshal, my father is in poor health. I must ask-”
Evlan cut him off. “He has escaped, but he is hardly free. He is a fugitive from justice, and the combined efforts of Houses Deneith, Tharashk, Kundarak, and Thuranni will locate him eventually.”
“House Thuranni?” Arnoth said. “They’ll kill him!”
“Probably. Certainly you can appreciate that it would be better for Gaven if I find him before Thuranni’s assassins do. If you have any information that might help me locate him…”
“If I knew anything, I would certainly tell you, Sentinel Marshal,” Arnoth said, and Evlan believed him. “And if I hear from him…”
