north, the land sloped down to the water, and in the distance he could see a small fishing village. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he looked to the south, where the shore curved off to the east. Darraun figured that the city of Starilaskur, one of the larger cities in the north of Breland, stood in that direction, not too far beyond the lake. That meant they were probably not far from Hatheril, a tiny hamlet that was only important because of its position at the intersection of a caravan route stretching west from Starilaskur and a lightning rail line heading north to Aundair.
A gateway to anywhere I want to go, he thought. He shook his head. Maybe when this is over.
Haldren shielded his eyes and looked out over the lake as Cart stood watching, impassive.
“What are we looking for?” Darraun said.
“Vaskar, you fool.”
Darraun looked back over the lake, squinting into the glare. The sky was light blue and clear of clouds. A flock of gulls swarmed near the village to the north, stealing from the fishers’ morning catch, and what might have been pelicans soared over the waters to the southeast. Nothing in the sky was large enough to be a dragon. Then something in the water caught Darraun’s eye.
A moment later, the shape rose up from the water, leaping into the air and beating its wings fiercely to stay aloft. The sun gleamed on Vaskar’s bronze scales and shimmered in the drops of water cascading off his body and spraying from his wings. He caught the air under his wings and glided over to the bluff where they stood, alighting gently near Haldren.
Haldren smiled, though it seemed to require an unusual effort. “Hail, Storm Dragon!”
“Show me the Eye of Siberys,” Vaskar said.
The smile fell from Haldren’s face, and he reached into a pouch. He produced the Eye of Siberys but held it close to his chest as he displayed it to the dragon.
“Here is the Eye,” he said. “We found it outside the City of the Dead, as Gaven predicted.”
“Excellent.” Vaskar hissed. “And Paluur Draal? Did you find what you sought there?”
Haldren winced at the mention of the city, as if its name was enough to remind him of what he had left behind there. “I did.”
Sure you did, Darraun thought, I was just along for the ride.
“The map, Darraun.” Haldren held a hand out to him without taking his eyes off Vaskar, still clutching the dragonshard to his chest.
Darraun slid the map he had copied from the ruins out of its case and handed it to Haldren. The sorcerer fumbled to unroll it while keeping a grip on the Eye of Siberys. He pointed to the map as Vaskar lowered his enormous head to see it.
“We found a map carved in the pavement of a plaza in the city,” Haldren explained. “The outline of Kraken Bay was very clear. Naturally, the locations on the map were marked with their ancient Dhakaani names, when they were labeled at all. But certain geographical features are unmistakable.” He shifted his grip on the map and traced his finger over it. Darraun noticed that the Eye of Siberys disappeared at some point in that process, and he wondered if Vaskar noticed it too. “The Seawall Mountains run parallel to the western edge of Kraken Bay. They turn to the east here, at Marguul Pass, then there’s the gap where Kennrun stands now-a Brelish fort on the border of Darguun. Then more mountains rise up from the plain-and that’s where the Mournland begins now. If you continue following the line of the mountains, you hit Lake Cyre, here. But the map indicates the Sky Caves here, to the southeast of the mountains.” With a flourish, he indicated the strange symbol Darraun had transcribed on the map.
“You seem reluctant to deliver the Eye as we agreed, Haldren,” Vaskar said. “Why is that?”
“What? Reluctant?” Haldren stammered. “Not at all!”
“Where is it, then?”
“Well, I returned it to its pouch so I could more easily hold the map.”
“Give it to me.”
Haldren drew it out but cradled it to his chest again. “I will deliver it as I promised, Vaskar. I’m a man of my word. But-”
“Give it to me now.”
Darraun could see Haldren struggling against the command, which must have carried a magical weight. In the end, his resistance failed, and he extended the Eye to Vaskar. The dragon plucked it from Haldren’s outstretched hand with a gigantic claw. Darraun couldn’t see what Vaskar did with it.
“What about your end of the bargain?” Haldren said. “The aid you promised me?”
“Don’t worry, Haldren,” the dragon said. “My promises are as good as yours. A flight of dragons is on its way to Aundair as we speak, ready to do battle at your command.”
Haldren’s face lit up. “A flight? How many dragons?”
“More than enough for your purposes. No army in Khorvaire will stand against you.”
“Tell me about the Prophecy.”
The Ring of Siberys was bright enough to shine through a thin layer of clouds. Gaven and Senya had laid out their bedrolls in a bend of the river, so their camp was surrounded by water on three sides. Gaven was exhausted from the day’s march, but so far he’d been unable to sleep. Apparently Senya had the same problem.
“What about it?”
He heard Senya’s bedroll rustling, and glanced over to see her propping herself up on her elbows. “Well, how does it work? I mean, does it describe events that are sure to happen? Is the path of my life spelled out in advance? Am I just following a story that’s already been written, like… like a stage actor or something? Is that what life is?”
Gaven laughed. “An actor trying to follow a script you’ve never read, fumbling your way through lines you’re making up as you go? That feels about right.”
“But you can read the script.”
“No. I see bits and pieces of the script, as if it’s been transcribed by a madman. Unconnected scenes. Lines here and there, with no idea who’s supposed to be speaking.”
Senya put her head back down and was silent for a long time. Just as he began to think she’d fallen asleep, she said, “I don’t believe it.”
“What?”
“I don’t believe there is a script.”
“But you believe in destiny. You seem set on making sure I fulfill mine.”
“That’s different. Destiny is… it’s like the highest hopes the universe has for you. Like-like my mother wanted the best for me. And you can either fulfill your destiny, or you-” Her voice became strangled, and she stopped trying to speak.
A wave of thicker clouds drifted across the sky, and the night grew darker. Gaven brought his hand up to his neck and traced the lines of his dragonmark. Suddenly he was an adolescent again, adrift at sea at the mouth of Eldeen Bay. This was his Test of Siberys, a rite of passage of the dragonmarked houses, a trial meant to force his dragonmark to manifest, if he was to bear one. Heirs of the houses usually developed their marks in times of great stress in their adolescent years, so the Test of Siberys had been developed to create just the right stress.
Most children spent the Test straining in the desperate hope of forcing a mark to manifest on their skin. Gaven saw himself on his knees, pouring out desperate prayers to each god of the Sovereign Host that no mark would appear on him. The sea was calm, under the command of a Lyrandar windwright, and he drifted for days, pouring out his prayers. Some dragonmark heirs would call up a wind to move their little boats, while others would develop a protective mark that would inure their bodies to the burning sun. Still others would call up great billowing banks of fog to shield themselves from the heat. Gaven did not. Day after day he knelt in prayer under the sun’s unblinking gaze, and his prayers were answered.
At the end of the test, an elemental galleon came to his rescue. Some strong cousin lifted his body, weak and weathered from the scorching sun, and carried him aboard. He was feverish, and most of the faces surrounding him were blurred together, indistinct. But one face was clear in his memory-his father’s, trying to smile at him but unable to hide the disappointment etched into every line.
At least there could be no doubt that this memory was his and not the other’s.
