nothing.
On the other hand, the ruse that had kept him safe at Zolanberg had been her idea. And more importantly, she was at the moment the only person in Khorvaire who was actively trying to keep him out of Dreadhold. That thought had brought him as far as the roof of the cart she was in.
But he stopped there. The lightning rail was just out of Sterngate and wouldn’t reach its next stop, Starilaskur, until the middle of the night. If he was going to attempt some kind of rescue, it made more sense to do it under cover of darkness and closer, at least, to his destination. He tried to find a position that would let him relax without slipping off the cart’s roof and shield him from the brunt of the wind. He ended up lying facedown on the beam with his arms and legs spread wide to keep him balanced. It wasn’t very comfortable, and the rain was coming down harder. At least it was warm. He sighed. It would be a long ride to Starilaskur.
He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted again. But every time he started to drift into sleep, he felt as though he were slipping off the beam and he woke up with a start. The third time that happened, he opened his eyes and saw a pair of booted feet planted on the roof beside him. Then something hit his head, and everything went black.
A sharp crack of thunder startled Evlan, and he glanced out the window. The storm raged. Trees bent over in the wind, and from time to time a particularly strong gust set the lightning rail to rocking. He’d never heard of high winds blowing the lightning rail off its conductor stones before, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.
He looked back at his prisoners and was pleased to see Gaven stirring. The marshal had hit him too hard. Still, Gaven was lucky Phaine d’Thuranni hadn’t found him first. At the hands of House Thuranni, he’d be dead instead of nursing a headache.
Gaven groaned and looked around. His eyes fell on the elf woman first-he looked at her face, which was set in a grim expression, then to the ropes binding her to her chair. He tested the strength of the ropes binding his own wrists, without putting much effort into breaking them. Only then did he seem to take in the rest of the compartment-the wood paneling, the upholstered chair, the ceiling ornamented with filigree. And then he saw Evlan.
Evlan took that opportunity to introduce himself. “Ah, Gaven,” he said. He watched Gaven’s eyes drop to the dragonmark on Evlan’s neck, then flick over his armor and the heavy bastard sword at his belt. “I am Evlan d’Deneith, Sentinel Marshal of House Deneith, and you are under arrest.”
Evlan wasn’t sure what to expect from his prisoner-resigned defeat or spirited defiance. He’d seen fugitives go both ways, and a range of emotions in between, upon finding themselves captured and bound. Sometimes they pleaded for their lives or for the lives of their companions. He certainly did not expect the reaction he received.
“A clash of dragons signals the sundering of the Soul Reaver’s gates,” Gaven said, his eyes wide but fixed on Evlan’s neck. On his dragonmark. Evlan found himself looking at Gaven’s own mark-a huge, sprawling Siberys mark that extended from his jaw down beneath his shirt.
“Ah, yes,” Evlan said. “They did tell me that your mind was off in the Realm of Madness.” He sighed and sat down in the seat next to Gaven. He glanced at the woman, whose face had not changed. “Listen, Gaven. Your friend here has been singularly uncooperative. She didn’t tell us where to find you, and she says she doesn’t know where Haldren ir’Brassek is. So I need you to think very hard in that warped little mind of yours and see if you can tell me where he is.”
Gaven stared at the woman.
“Gaven?” Evlan said. “Look at me, Gaven.”
Gaven turned his head.
“Where’s Haldren ir’Brassek?”
“A clash of dragons signals the sundering of the Soul Reaver’s gates.” Gaven didn’t look at Evlan’s dragonmark this time, and Evlan thought he detected the faintest hint of a smile.
“Yes, you said that already. Are we the dragons, Gaven, you and I? Two heirs of dragonmarked houses? Is our confrontation cosmically significant?” Evlan got to his feet and spat on the floor. “I’ll tell you what’s significant, Gaven. You’re going back to Dread-hold, and you’re going to rot there. I haven’t decided yet what to do with your friend Senya, but I’m fairly certain it will involve rotting in a cell somewhere too. This is no clash of dragons. I’m a Sentinel Marshal, and you’re a criminal and a fugitive from justice. You’re mine now. Can you understand that? You’re mine.”
“The hordes of the Soul Reaver spill from the earth, and a ray of Khyber’s sun erupts to form a bridge to the sky.”
Evlan spun on his heel and left the compartment. He barked an order for another marshal to relieve him, and he started toward the galley cart to get something to eat. He would need to keep his strength up to deal with this one.
As he reached the door at the front of the cart, a gust set the cart rocking again, and Evlan nearly lost his footing. He gripped the handle mounted beside the door, cursing the storm under his breath, and yanked the door open.
A brilliant flash of light exploded in his face with a crash of thunder, sending him sprawling backward into the cart, blind and deaf. The cart shivered from front to back. Evlan lay on his back, gasping for breath. Someone grabbed his hand and tried to pull him up, but he couldn’t seem to plant his feet on the floor. He heard shouts-quiet, as though they were far away, though he could feel breath on his face. His sight started to clear at the same time, though blue-green lights danced across his vision. He found his feet at last, mumbling his thanks to whichever of his marshals had helped him stand.
And then he saw Gaven. The prisoner had broken his bonds and forced his way out of the compartment. Two Sentinel Marshals lay on the ground by his feet, unmoving. The storm wind howled through the cart, entering by the door that Evlan had opened. It swirled around Gaven where he stood before blowing out a broken window beside him. Hail drummed the roof, and constant flashes of lightning engulfed the cart like a slow, steady heartbeat of the storm.
Evlan drew his sword and charged. The cart lurched to starboard, sending him careening. His shoulder slammed into the wall of the corridor, but he kept his feet. A few more steps and he was there-at the heart of a churning maelstrom of wind and thunder. The air itself buffeted him backward, thunderclaps ringing in his ears.
“Merciful Sovereigns,” he shouted. “What are you?”
“Don’t you remember?” Gaven’s voice was a peal of thunder. “I’m a criminal and a fugitive. And I’m yours. Your doom.”
He stretched out his hand, and lightning coursed outward, swallowing Evlan in another burst of blinding light.
Gaven looked up at a purple-gray sky. Wind lashed the tall grass across his field of vision and blew rainwater onto his face. He sat up with effort and watched the last cart of the lightning rail disappear behind a curtain of rain in the distance. A few yards away, a conductor stone sparked with the memory of the carts’ passing, as if imitating the angry sky. He looked around, saw another depression in the grass nearby, and crawled over to where Senya lay flat on her back, staring blankly up at the sky.
He tried to speak, but his voice came out a croak. He coughed, sending a jolt of pain through his throat.
Senya’s eyes flicked to his face, then back to the sky. “What does the Prophecy say about me, Gaven?”
He watched her face for a long time, watched her eyes follow the clouds as the sky slowly began to clear. Finally he stood up, bent down to take her hand, and lifted her to her feet.
“I think that’s up to you,” he said, his voice still gravelly.
“How do you know so much of the Prophecy?”
Gaven found his sword, liberated from the Sentinel Marshals’ custody, a few paces away, and Senya’s pack nearby. They shouldered their gear and walked to the conductor stone, then to the next one on the line, leading them slowly toward Starilaskur. Gaven thought about his answer for a long time before speaking.
“Years ago, I made it my life’s work to learn all I could about it.”
“My ancestor said she’d talked to you before.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Well, did she? Had you been there before?”
