salvation. Many of the assembled notables received the message as if their salvation did depend on it, nodding or grunting or sometimes shouting their approval of the Lord General’s words. Darraun was almost certain Haldren had woven some magic into his words, though subtly. Sometimes even he felt swayed by the rhetoric.
Looking around the table, Darraun made sure he had fixed every participant in his mind. Most were officers who had served under Haldren in the war. None of these were a surprise. Colonel Kadra Ware, Lord Major Parron ir’Fann, Major Rennic Arak, and Lord Colonel Deina ir’Cashan. Ir’Fann and ir’Cashan were not old noble families-the officers or their parents had earned titles during the war. All four of them had lost any importance they might have had when Haldren was stripped of his rank and imprisoned, so they all had good reasons to support Haldren’s return to power. Ware and ir’Fann were the most vocal in their approval of Haldren at this gathering, but all four nodded at times and seemed very receptive to his message.
General Jad Yeven was also not a surprise, though he had been Haldren’s equal rather than his subordinate. The two had collaborated a great deal during the war-sometimes in actions that, while showing initiative and ability, landed them in trouble with the crown. Unlike Haldren, though, Yeven had reined in his insubordinate streak at the end of the war, which had probably saved him from Dreadhold. Yeven sat with his arms crossed and a thoughtful scowl on his face-clearly, he would need more convincing, but he was willing to listen.
The other two were the interesting ones, and Darraun watched their reactions carefully. Darraun knew of Arcanist Wheldren only by rumor. He was supposed to hold great influence among the researchers of the Arcane Congress. Any involvement of those wizards was interesting, not least because Queen Aurala’s brother, Lord Adal, maintained close ties with the Congress in his role as minister of magic. Adal was also the chief warlord of Aundair, however, and was well known to want the throne of Aundair-and, indeed, of all Galifar-for himself. Wheldren’s involvement in Haldren’s schemes could mean that Adal was also involved, or there could be a personal connection between the two that Darraun wasn’t aware of, perhaps dating back to Haldren’s magical education. The wizard was completely inscrutable. His face didn’t move as Haldren spoke, and he never uttered a word.
And then there was Ashara d’Cannith. By law and longstanding tradition, the dragonmarked houses generally stayed out of political affairs. Their neutrality allowed them to pursue their activities across national boundaries-and to avoid too much government interference in their business. House Cannith was in a fragile state, though, with three branches of the house working almost independently. There was some speculation that the house would split the way House Phiarlan had during the war, with Merrix d’Cannith of Sharn going his own way. Jorlanna d’Cannith led the northern branch of the house from an enclave in Fairhaven, and Darraun had heard rumors that Jorlanna was interested in seeking closer ties with the throne of Aundair. Darraun had no idea what Ashara’s relationship to Jorlanna was, but she had warmed quickly to Haldren’s speech.
“Dragons.”
Darraun realized he’d been so caught up in gauging the reaction of Haldren’s audience that he had barely heard a word Haldren had been saying. Someone had asked Haldren a question, and that had been his answer-and it had left the rest of the table speechless.
“That’s right, friends,” Haldren went on. “At this moment, a flight of dragons is making its way from Argonnessen to a rendezvous point in the Starpeaks. The dragons are coming to Khorvaire to fight at my command. And no army will stand in their way.”
Arcanist Wheldren spoke for the first time. “The dragons of Argonnessen do not fight for human causes.”
“Do you doubt my words, Arcanist Wheldren?” Haldren said, smiling. He gestured around the table. “Those who know me will attest that I do not make idle boasts.”
“I have no doubt that the dragons are coming as you claim. I question only their reasons for doing so.”
“You prove yourself as astute as your reputation suggests,” Haldren said. “You are correct, Wheldren. The dragons have their own reasons for fighting in our cause. Will that make their breath less deadly, their teeth and claws less sharp, their presence less fearsome to our foes? No.” He slapped the table for emphasis. “They will drive our enemies before us in terror.”
Colonel Ware shouted her approval, and Darraun noticed a smile behind General Yeven’s hand as he stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Haldren leaned forward, planting his palms on the table, and a conspiratorial tone entered his voice. “But in the dragons’ view, greater events are afoot than the reunification of Galifar. The dragons act in accordance with their understanding of a great prophecy, which they see revealed in the movements of the stars and moons, in the bones of the earth, and even in the flesh of the races of Khorvaire, in dragonmarks. They would not be coming to fight on our behalf were it not for their belief in the Prophecy.”
“Our victory is foreordained!” Lord Major ir’Fann laughed, pounding his fist on the table.
Darraun noted how carefully Haldren responded. He smiled and laughed slightly. He did not confirm the Lord Major’s interpretation of his words, but neither did he correct it.
And his audience was won. The four loyal officers clinked their wine glasses together, already celebrating their victory. General Yeven was smiling openly now, his eyes not quite focused in the room, as if he were seeing the dragons flying in front of his armies, breathing terror and devastation before them. Ashara d’Cannith leaned in to share a joke with Major Arak, clearly caught up in the excitement. Only Arcanist Wheldren seemed to have noticed Haldren’s careful choice of words. He was not, perhaps, fully won over to the cause, but neither was he going to run back to Arcanix and tell Lord Adal all about this treasonous gathering.
Darraun stared into his glass, swirling the wine. Greater events afoot, indeed, he thought. Haldren had no idea.
Bordan hated Zilargo. It wasn’t the gnomes themselves, but the constant feeling of being watched, almost overseen. There was a reason he worked alone-he’d worked hard in his house to earn the privilege of working without supervision. Among the gnomes, he felt as though every step he took was being watched and evaluated, and at any moment he could be judged a threat to the social order and dealt with. He knew only too well that the agents of the Trust, responsible for maintaining peace and stability, didn’t look kindly on people like him.
On the other hand, that constant watchfulness proved helpful sometimes. After Gaven and his elf companion ran through the lightning rail station in Korranberg, evading the idiotic Medani agents, dozens of gnomes could describe everything the fugitives had done from the time they entered the city to their hasty departure. They came in from the north, but walked around to the west gate to enter by the main road. Gaven’s eyes had lingered on a well-crafted suit of plate armor, but he hadn’t bought it. The pair had shared an intimate moment just outside the rail station-or had they? The elf had looked wary a moment before, as if expecting an attack, so the intimacy might have been a cover. Bordan couldn’t argue-the eyewitness reports were thorough and useful.
There was much they couldn’t tell him, though. Who was Gaven’s elf companion? He’d only been out of Dreadhold a few days, which didn’t seem long enough to persuade some new romantic interest to risk her life running from the authorities in a lightning rail station. She didn’t match descriptions of Gaven’s betrothed. It might be possible to mistake a half-elf for a full elf, Bordan supposed, but he had been told Rienne had brown skin, not the pale ivory of Gaven’s current companion. He figured she must be part of the group that had broken him out of Dreadhold, but that left plenty of questions unanswered. Starting with where Haldren ir’Brassek was.
In contrast to the detailed reports of Gaven’s activities, there was no indication that Haldren had been in Korranberg at all. Even though Gaven had evidently made no effort to alter his appearance, Bordan tried to imagine every possible way that Haldren might look different than he did in Dreadhold, but the basics-a male human about sixty years old-drew a blank from the gnomes of the city council. It seemed clear that he had not been here at all. He and Gaven must have split up-and perhaps split up the rescue party as well. Certainly there had been no dragon sightings in the region.
Bordan left the city council hall and made his way through the crowded streets to the lightning rail station. He didn’t expect as much detail from the Orien and Medani witnesses to the event, but there were certainly some things they could tell him that the gnomes couldn’t. Starting with the agent who sold them passage.
“Of course I remember them,” the young woman said. “He was an heir of Siberys with the Mark of Storm. Hard to forget.”
“You checked their papers?”
The woman flushed crimson. “I checked hers. You’ll see her in my log, there.” She pointed to the sheaf of parchment Bordan was idly flipping through while he listened. “Both her identification papers and her traveling papers were issued in Fairhaven. I remember thinking she’d come a long way.”
