him there. She turned slowly where she stood, as if she could see through the thick growth of trees to scan the horizon.
Gaven’s ears cleared enough that he could hear Haldren’s voice, coaxing her, almost pleading in its tone. Senya lifted an arm to point into the distance, and Gaven could clearly hear her words: “The City of the Dead awaits us.”
CHAPTER 8
Gaven took an involuntary step backward as the weight of Senya’s words-the weight of what they were doing here-finally registered in his mind. He was no longer in his cell, dreaming of the Prophecy and remembering all the research he had done into its mysteries. No, he was in the jungle of Aerenal, outside the City of the Dead, waiting for the Eye of Siberys to fall in fulfillment of the Prophecy. He was helping to bring it about.
That was what had landed him in Dreadhold in the first place.
Haldren’s eyes narrowed and rested on him. “What is it, Gaven? Did you see something?”
“With respect, Haldren,” Darraun said, “I’m particularly interested in what Senya is seeing right now.” Senya took a few steps in the direction she had indicated, her eyes still fixed on some distant point.
“Senya will guide us to the City of the Dead,” Haldren said. “But the Prophecy-Gaven, what did you see?”
Gaven didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted his eyes skyward. The clouds of his unnatural storm had cleared, but the sky was beginning to darken. Even in the deepening blue, the Ring of Siberys was visible, glowing faintly. By the time the sun’s light faded, the ring would be as bright as the sun-turning the night into day.
Haldren followed Gaven’s gaze, and remembered the words Gaven had uttered before. “When Siberys turns night into day,” he muttered. “Yes, Gaven. The Time of the Dragon Above is here. All is coming to pass as the Prophecy declares.”
Gaven shuddered. Some part of him wished he were back in his cell with his nightmares. That seemed preferable to living them out.
Senya led them through the jungle as though following a distant call, and as they crested a hill, the forest cleared before them. The City of the Dead lay exposed to their wondering gazes. Wide streets ran straight and long between hulking buildings-sloping pyramids crowned with pillared temples, squat ziggurats decorated with elaborate skull motifs, graceful domes with chiseled arches, winged pillars, and flying buttresses. Great eldritch fires leaped skyward atop towering columns and danced inside the galleries of ancient temple-tombs.
Gaven saw no sign that the jungle encroached into the city-no trees adorned the streets, no vines clung to the ancient stones. No wall surrounded it, either, but the line between the vibrant life of the jungle and the calm stillness of the City of the Dead could not have been more clear. Where ferns and grasses ended, stone began. People walked the streets, though not in any great numbers-and Gaven couldn’t be certain whether those people were themselves alive. In the elven homeland, the spirits of long-dead ancestors still inhabited their desiccated corpses, speaking to the living within their ancient tombs. The City of the Dead was the center of the elves’ ancestor worship, where the Undying Court continued to guide the spiritual and political affairs of the elves, unhindered by the death of their mortal bodies. Even the guards at the gate might be undying soldiers conscripted to guard the elders’ rest.
Senya insisted on leading them to a towering arch set up as an entrance. Two guards wearing helms decorated to resemble skulls crossed their spears in the archway as Senya approached, and easily a dozen more stood beyond. One spoke in Elven. Gaven couldn’t make out any words, but the hostility in his voice was unmistakable. Senya stepped forward proudly and replied in the same language. She spoke more slowly, and her voice wasn’t muffled by a helmet with a skull mask, so Gaven caught a few words: “the right of counsel,” “revered elder.”
The guards looked at each other and moved their spears out of the way slowly, as if it caused them pain. Gaven watched them stare at Cart as the warforged lumbered past, and he thought he heard one of them make a spitting sound as he followed Cart through the arch.
Then he was surrounded by the monumental buildings of Shae Mordai, the City of the Dead. He felt as though he had stepped into a tomb.
“Haldren?” Darraun said.
Darraun had been lingering behind as they entered the strange city of monuments, but now he hurried to catch up to the front of the group, where Haldren walked beside Senya. Gaven noticed that he still seemed pale, and wondered if the necromancy of the elves unsettled him. Haldren barely glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge Darraun.
“Why are we entering the city? Didn’t Gaven say that we’d find what we need near the City of the Dead, not in it?”
Haldren stopped and turned around. “Indeed he did, though I was not aware you had overheard that part of our conversation.” His pale blue eyes burned into Darraun. “However, Senya has access to an unusual store of knowledge here within the city, and I would not miss the opportunity to tap it while we’re here.”
The Right of Counsel, Gaven thought-the privilege to confer with her ancestors within their tombs. The tradition of the elves attached so much weight to that right that the elders would be compelled to answer her questions. He wondered what they might have to say about the Prophecy and Haldren’s plans to fulfill it. The elves were the ancient foes of the dragons, sporadically warring with them since their first arrival on the island continent of Aerenal. The elves studied the Prophecy as a matter of survival.
For that matter, what would they say about him? He had not missed the hostility of the guards at the gate, and he felt certain that elves more ancient would share that distaste for a half-elf violating the sanctity of their tombs. And what of a half-elf who carried so much knowledge of the Prophecy?
The sound of his name drew Gaven out of his reverie. Darraun had stepped closer to Haldren and lowered his voice, but he was gesturing in Gaven’s direction.
“Yes, we do have Gaven,” Haldren said, turning his icy gaze on him. Gaven looked away. “But Senya’s additional information could corroborate what Gaven has told us-or contradict it. Or it could expand our understanding further. Besides, we have time. The Ring of Siberys is at its brightest, and the Eye should fall tonight. It might turn out that our hasty departure this afternoon was actually advantageous. Now come! Senya’s family is waiting.”
“Family?” Darraun said. He looked slightly relieved and turned to Senya. “You have family living here?”
“The living members of my family left Aerenal many decades ago,” Senya said, her voice little more than a whisper. “But the dead remain.”
She started walking again, and Haldren took her arm. Darraun stared after her. Cart clapped him on the shoulder as he and Gaven walked past, and Darraun trailed behind them.
Senya led them down a wide, quiet street into the city’s heart. The city seemed almost normal as they passed through-merchants beginning to pack up their wares for the evening, loading their carts and rolling up the tents they’d erected in front of the gigantic stone buildings. Most of the people on the street were alive, Gaven could see now, though a few had painted their faces to resemble skulls or corpses. All were elves, and they clustered together as Senya passed with her non-elf allies in tow. The hostility on their faces was clear.
They turned a corner, and the trappings of life fell away. Twin rows of towering monuments stretched before them, many-tiered pyramids topped with thick columns, each column supporting a blazing beacon in honor of the dead who resided within. The air was thick with incense, wafting out the open doorways of the temple-tombs. This was the heart of the City of the Dead, where the Aereni priests performed the Ritual of Undying, which bound the spirits of revered elders to their bodies so they could continue sharing their wisdom with their descendants through the ages. Gaven stopped in his tracks.
He had been here before.
The power of the memory overwhelmed him. He had stood on this spot-seen the same line of ancient temples, heard the roar of the blazing beacons, breathed the thick, scented air. He had been here with a friend, an elf, who sought the counsel of his ancestors just as Senya did now.
