She’s going to turn us in, you know,” Senya said. “We need to get out of here.”
“In a moment.” Gaven had set the adamantine box on the desk and was on his knees in front of it, carefully manipulating a set of dials set in the front. For twenty-six years he had clung to these numbers, the key to unlocking the one thing he still owned in the world outside Dreadhold. They were the numbers of the Prophecy, and as he set the dials to open the box the Draconic verses danced through his mind: the land of thirteen dragons, three ages of the world, sixteen gods. Then five beasts at war, three shards of three dragons for nine, and another thirteen-thirteen moons. He stared at the numbers before opening the box. “And the Storm Dragon emerges after twice thirteen years,” he whispered. Then he shook his head and opened the box.
Senya gasped, and Gaven felt a chill wash over him. It had been haunting his dreams, but he had not seen it in so many years. Cradled in black velvet, the clear crystal glowed with a purple-black light from a writhing vein of color at its heart. It mesmerized him as it had when he had first found it, and he stretched out a hand to it without consciously willing it. His hand brushed against Senya’s as they both touched its surface, which seemed to jolt them both out of a trance.
“A nightshard?” Senya said, drawing a hand across her eyes. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s called the Heart of Khyber,” Gaven said quietly, “sort of a dark twin to the Eye of Siberys. It-” He stopped, listening. Yes, there were footsteps in the hall, slow and heavy. “They’re here. Come on.”
Gaven shut the adamantine box and spun the dials. Senya moved to the door, still open from Rienne’s departure, and quickly jumped back, taking cover behind the jamb.
“Stay where you are!” a gruff voice shouted from the hallway. “Gaven the excoriate, surrender yourself to the Ghorad’din!”
“Dwarves,” Senya whispered as Gaven leaped to cover on the other side of the open door and slammed it shut. “House Kundarak.”
“Elite dwarf soldiers, no less,” Gaven muttered. “How many?”
“I saw two, but they were just coming around the corner. Might be more.”
The footsteps were right outside. “Open this door!” the same voice yelled.
“Surrender? Open the door?” Gaven’s tone was mocking. “Just like dwarves to expect someone else to do all your work for you.” He slid his sword out of its sheath, holding it in one hand and the box in the other.
The words were barely out of his mouth when a body slammed hard into the door on the other side. The door was strong, but not strong enough to withstand an angry dwarf. It slammed open toward Senya, who knocked it back into the dwarf charging through. The dwarf stumbled, and Gaven brought the hilt of his sword down to ring on the man’s helmet, sending him staggering backward into his companions.
That moment of confusion provided Gaven a chance to size up his foes. Three of them, all dwarves, two women. They all wore the manticore sigil of House Kundarak, the Mark of Warding, but Gaven didn’t see a dragonmark on any of them. The man and one of the women were dressed to fit in to the slum where Krathas’s office was located, which suggested that they had been here for a while, ready for him. Gaven silently cursed both Rienne and Krathas for this new betrayal. The third dwarf, evidently the leader, was a handsome noblewoman wearing a silk shirt of a rich red that complemented her marble-black skin. House Kundarak didn’t send inexperienced warriors far from their mountainous home in the east-these would be elite warriors, a real challenge.
I’m going to need both hands, Gaven thought. He tossed the adamantine box behind him, where it landed with a heavy thud on Krathas’s desk.
Senya stepped out from behind the door to face the dwarves, the tip of her sword pointing at the face of the nearest foe. The dwarf glowered at her, evidently incensed at having had the door pushed in his face. He hefted his spiked mace and charged. Senya smiled, shifting her sword ever so slightly.
The dwarf threw his weight sideways and crashed into Gaven, knocking him to the floor and sending his sword clattering to the floor. Gaven barely had time to roll to the side before the mace crashed down where his chest had been. He rolled with his momentum and came up on his feet, but his sword was on the other side of the angry dwarf.
He glanced at Senya as she parried the other soldier’s short sword. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I like your plan. Let’s get out of here.”
The leader of the dwarves planted herself in the doorway in response, her grim smile seeming to indicate that she looked forward to Gaven’s attempt to get past her. Gaven spat a few arcane words, sheathed his body in crackling blue flame, then lunged toward the dwarf who had knocked him down.
“That’s right, knock into me now,” he said with a grin.
As he had hoped, the dwarf avoided his lunge, which provided Gaven the opening he needed to reach his sword. He lifted the blade and swept it in a wide arc that forced the dwarf back another couple of steps. That gave Gaven room to reach the desk and pick up the box with the Heart of Khyber in it.
He glanced at Senya, who was still on the defensive, warding off a flurry of cuts and jabs. “Come on,” he said. He jumped onto the desk and threw himself at the window.
Heavy shutters splintered around him, and he fell. Another syllable of a spell brought his fall under control, and he floated gently from the second-story window to the street below. He looked up just in time to see Senya hurtle out the window, somersaulting in the air and landing hard on her feet nearby.
A crossbow bolt bit into Gaven’s shoulder, and he glanced around. He hadn’t seen a crossbow on any of the dwarves upstairs, which meant there was at least one more waiting here on the street. He heard one of the dwarves follow Senya out the window, and he knew the others wouldn’t be far behind. Shaking his head, he broke into a run.
Rain hissed into steam as it made contact with the flames wrapping his body, and he laughed as he ran. He felt the wind at his back, and he willed it to carry Senya along with him, and it obeyed his will. His feet barely touched the ground-he felt the cobblestones brushing the soles of his boots as he ran. Then the cobblestones ended, and it was rocks and grass that kissed his feet as he ran along the river out of the city. He let the fire wash off his body and felt the rain splatter on his face and drench his clothes. No more thought of pursuit entered his mind. He was the wind, carrying Senya as he blew-he was the rain, dancing in the wind and pattering on the ground. He was the storm.
When he finally stopped running, he stood with his face to the rain, his arms outstretched, and laughed. Senya collapsed on the ground at his feet, and still he laughed.
Rienne watched the dwarf approach through the rain, and she knew that Gaven had escaped. The dwarf’s scarlet shirt stuck to her skin, revealing the outline of her dragonmark beneath it. Her shoulders were hunched, and she walked slowly despite the downpour.
She came close to the doorway where Rienne stood out of the rain and gave a small bow. “I am Ossa d’Kundarak,” she said. “You should have come to us first.”
“I know.” It was an effort to speak. “You followed me?”
“You were followed from Stormhome, yes. We had a suspicion that you might try to contact him.”
“What happened?”
Ossa shook her head, as if she weren’t at all sure what had happened. “We found him, of course, in Krathas’s office, with the elf woman. They refused to surrender, drew arms against us, and then jumped out the window. They got away,” she added, quite unnecessarily.
“You had someone on the street, surely.”
“Kerra hit both of them with her crossbow. She thinks the woman must be pretty badly wounded. But it didn’t slow them.” She shook her head again, bewildered. “They ran fast. Impossibly fast. And when we ran after, it was like-” She looked away, into the sky where lightning danced among the dark clouds. “Clearly, he used magic to impede us. The wind blew in our faces, slowed us down. Thadar was struck by lightning.”
“Is he badly hurt?”
“He’s at the House of Healing now, but he’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“It’s quite a storm,” Rienne said, turning her eyes to the sky as well.
“Unnatural, surely. Must be related to his dragonmark.”
“I suppose. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve worked with House Lyrandar most of my life.”
“Let me say again, Lady Alastra, you should have come to us. He’s clearly dangerous.”
Rienne nodded.
