CHAPTER 2
The Lord Warden scowled, his rage written plain across his face. Of course, Bordan thought-so brazen an attack on Dreadhold was unheard of, even during the chaos of the Last War. The fact that the dragon had been able to penetrate the tower walls was astonishing. Two prisoners escaping before the guards could respond… well, that was simply embarrassing.
Bordan settled back in his chair and stroked his neat beard, watching the other two people in the briefing. One was a Sentinel Marshal, who had introduced himself as Evlan d’Deneith. He was frowning, which Bordan could tell had become a habitual expression for him. Evlan wore his age and his station well. The gray at his temples made him look distinguished, and he had the body of a much younger man beneath his mithral mail and black surcoat. Above the collar of his mail on his neck, the Mark of Sentinel was just visible, an abstract tracing of color on his skin that resembled the head of a dragon with long spines trailing behind the neck. Like Bordan’s own dragonmark, Evlan’s was an intricate weaving of blue-more a part of his skin than a tattoo, and far more elaborate than any birthmark. The skin that bore the mark was slightly raised, and Bordan knew that the ‘mark gave Evlan powers similar to those of a wizard. The bodyguards of House Deneith used the powers of the Mark of Sentinel to protect their charges from harm, and the Sentinel Marshals used the same powers to protect themselves as they pursued dangerous criminals across Khorvaire.
Seated beside Evlan was another dwarf of House Kundarak, much calmer than the blustering warden. The warden had introduced her as Ossa d’Kundarak. She had not yet spoken a word. A scarlet shirt of fine silk stood out against her black skin. She sat with her hands folded on her lap, studying Bordan as carefully as Bordan examined her. Bordan had heard that House Kundarak maintained a small force of soldier-assassins called the Manticore’s Tail-or Ghorad’din in the Dwarven language-and he suspected Ossa represented that organization. Ossa’s dragonmark wasn’t visible, but her surname indicated that she carried the Mark of Warding, which the heirs of House Kundarak used to protect banks and vaults in every city of Khorvaire, as well as the prison of Dreadhold.
The Lord Warden, Zaxon d’Kundarak, wore his red-brown beard long, with braids hanging down on either side of his mouth. He was clearly struggling to keep his emotions under control, and that spoke volumes. For a dwarf nicknamed “the Old Rock,” any trace of emotion that leaked onto his face demonstrated the true extent of his fury. The clearest sign of his emotional state was an angry flush of red on his bald pate, and he compulsively ran his hands across the top of his head as if trying to hide it. Each time he did, Evlan could see the tracery of the Mark of Warding across the back of his left hand, resembling rays of light emanating from a shape that some thought resembled an eye and others identified as a coiled dragon.
“Where’s the damned elf?” the Lord Warden said, starting to pace again. “I have no intention of giving this briefing twice.”
“That won’t be necessary, Lord Warden.” The elf slipped through the door, his movements making no sound, his black garb seeming to meld with the shadows. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said. “I am Phaine d’Thuranni.” He sat in the empty chair and did not move again, except to let his gaze rest on each of the others in the room. His dragonmark, the angular Mark of Shadow, started on his cheek and ran down his neck. Deception and illusion were the powers of the Mark of Shadow, as well as espionage.
“Glad you could join us, Thuranni,” the Lord Warden said. He swept his gaze across the four dragonmark heirs. “I am grateful to your houses for offering your services to help us handle this… situation.”
The Lord Warden’s eyes lingered on Ossa as he said this; the honor of House Kundarak would recover more quickly from this blow if a Kundarak managed to retrieve the fugitives. Dreadhold was operated by House Kundarak, whose Mark of Warding and expertise with security made it well suited to keeping prisoners confined and the prison secure. But all the dragonmarked houses had an interest in the great prison, since it held many of their most dangerous secrets.
“The first prisoner is Haldren ir’Brassek, a noble of Aundair.” Speaking seemed to help the Lord Warden bring his emotions back under control, and his face slowly set into a stony mask. “He was a general during the war-a hero in some circles and a villain in others. He recaptured the city of Cragwar twice, but he was also responsible for the massacres of civilians at Twilight Creek and Telthun. He led troop movements in violation of the Treaty of Thronehold before he was finally captured and brought to trial for his war crimes. He was sentenced to Dreadhold rather than face execution because many officers in Aundair’s military remain loyal to him, and Aundair feared what would happen if Haldren were martyred almost as much as they feared his escape. I have already received communication from Queen Aurala to the effect that Aundair will be most distressed if ir’Brassek returns to his homeland.” A thick hand ran over his bald head again, and the Lord Warden took a deep breath, staring at the floor.
“I am not familiar with the ir’Brassek family,” Evlan said.
“It was once a prominent line in Aundair,” the Lord Warden said, “but it has diminished. The fugitive has a few cousins, I believe, who maintain the appearance of luxury despite the loss of their ancestral holdings. The general sense in Aundair’s military was that ir’Brassek wanted to restore his family name to prominence. He had some success in that regard, but obviously took it too far. I think it unlikely that he will make contact with the cousins.”
“And the other prisoner?” Bordan asked.
“Gaven, formerly of House Lyrandar. A strange case. He worked for his house during the war, prospecting for Khyber dragonshards for use in their galleons. All that time crawling around the depths of Khyber must’ve driven him mad.” The Lord Warden glanced at Phaine. “House Phiarlan claims he was involved in the Paelion affair.”
Bordan nodded. The Paelion family had been a part of House Phiarlan, an elf house that bore the Mark of Shadow. Phaine’s house, Thuranni, had also been one of the Phiarlan families. Some thirty years ago, the leader of the Thurannis had led his family in a brutal slaughter of the Paelions, claiming to have evidence that the Paelions plotted against the rest of the dragonmarked houses. If Gaven had been involved, then he was part of the reason that House Thuranni was no longer a part of House Phiarlan.
“During his trial,” the Lord Warden continued, “Gaven swung between incoherent muttering and murderous rage. He’s a strong man, and it was difficult to keep him restrained long enough to pass judgment. There was a suggestion that he was possessed, but an exorcist examined him and found no evidence of that. He was convicted, and House Lyrandar declared him excoriate.”
That explains the “formerly,” Bordan thought. Gaven wouldn’t be recognized as a Lyrandar any more, and other members of the family would be forbidden to give him aid. That would make him easier to find.
“Why Dreadhold?” Bordan asked. “Why not execute him?”
“Two reasons,” Zaxon said. “His betrothed made a rather impassioned plea for his life, asking that he be imprisoned in case some day he recovered his senses. Also, his house expressed an interest in the content of his lunatic ravings and requested that he be kept alive. When they learned that he was writing in his cell, they requested a report of what he wrote. I don’t know whether they considered it useful or not.”
“What did he rave about?”
“They say he always had an interest in the Prophecy of the dragons, and it’s all he’s talked about for the last twenty-six years. Half his speech is prophetic mutterings-perhaps it makes sense to him, but to everyone else it’s nonsense. Just about every inch of wall and floor in his cell was covered with bits and pieces of the Prophecy.” Bordan saw Phaine shift slightly-the first disruption of his unnatural stillness.
“How did he write them?” Evlan asked.
“We gave him a small metal stylus so he could scratch his writings on the walls.” The Lord Warden’s eyebrows bristled as he glared at Evlan. “Before that, he demonstrated that he would resort to writing in blood given no other means. In twenty-six years, he never used the stylus for anything but scrawling on his walls, and we’re quite confident that it had nothing to do with his escape.”
“I assume that you kept a copy of all information sent to House Lyrandar,” Bordan said. “I would like to see it.”
The Lord Warden nodded. “I think you’re wasting your time. It’s nonsense, and there’s a great deal of it. But I’ll let you sort it out.”
“Is he marked?” Evlan asked.
“Ah,” Zaxon said, and the hand went over the bald head again. Bordan’s eyes narrowed. “He failed the Test of Siberys in his youth, and he did not carry a dragonmark before his imprisonment. However, he manifested a
