CHAPTER 27
Darraun stayed in camp, staring into the fire. It was easier that way. Earlier, he had made the mistake of wandering out to look at the dragons.
On every ledge jutting out from the cliff they perched or wheeled through the air like seagulls. More huddled in circles on the ground outside the camp. Great four-legged lizards-some squat and strong, others long and sinuous-with wings folded alongside their scaled sides or fanning out above and behind them. Long tails lashed along the ground, and teeth like swords tore the flesh of the game and fish they caught. And these monsters, these dragons… they spoke.
It was the speech that really unnerved him. It was one thing to see a score of dragons as something like a flock of birds, riding the wind and roosting on the cliffs as if they jockeyed for the best roosting places and squabbled over fish. It was something very different to recognize them as a collection of intelligent creatures, gathered in this place for a purpose-a purpose they took very seriously. It made them less like a flock of animals and more like an army.
Of course, the closer Darraun got to any dragons, the larger he realized they were. Again, as they circled in the sky above, it was easy to imagine they were no larger than eagles. But when he rounded a corner and found himself face-to-flank with a red dragon, it struck him that many of these creatures were the size of a horse, and a few were larger than Vaskar. He stumbled away from a blast of flame that he was pretty sure had been meant merely as a warning, and retreated to the camp.
He caught enough snippets of dragon conversation on his brief stroll outside the camp to confirm that the dragons gathered here shared Vaskar’s philosophy, more or less.
“We’re not mercenaries,” a large black dragon had protested within his earshot. They spoke Draconic, of course, which made Darraun a little unsure of his understanding.
“Of course not,” a smaller silver had answered. “This isn’t about serving a human army. It’s about the Prophecy.”
Darraun stared into the fire. What part of the Prophecy did the dragons think they were accomplishing by fighting for Haldren? He thought he remembered Gaven saying something in the City of the Dead about a “clash of dragons,” but that seemed to imply dragons fighting other dragons. Or dragons fighting people with dragonmarks. Or dragons fighting the Storm Dragon. Or the Storm Dragon fighting Vaskar, for that matter.
“Thinking about the Prophecy makes my head spin,” he muttered.
“That’s why I don’t think about it,” Cart said. His voice startled Darraun, who had been so wrapped up in his thoughts he’d forgotten the warforged was there.
Darraun arched an eyebrow. “Just do as Haldren says, and trust everything to work itself out?”
“Trust Haldren to make everything work out. That’s why he’s a general.”
“What’s that all about, Cart? You’re anything but stupid. You could think for yourself, but you choose not to.”
Cart stood a little straighter, still staring away from the fire as if he were on watch. “I think for myself where it’s appropriate, and I obey orders where that’s called for. That’s why I was part of the general’s trusted staff.”
“But you’re not in the army anymore. And Haldren isn’t a general any more. By obeying Haldren, you’re disobeying his superiors. You’re disobeying the queen.”
“My loyalty is to Haldren, not to Aundair or Queen Aurala.”
“I see.” Darraun picked up a stick and stirred the embers of the fire.
“It’s what I was made to do,” Cart added.
Darraun watched the sparks rise from the coals and climb into the sky, glowing with all the brightness they could muster before winking out.
The first light of dawn gleamed in the sky when Haldren’s grand pavilion opened, vomiting a stream of drunken generals, majors, and captains, staggering and weaving their way to bed. Their tents were safely away from the dragons’ roosts, so there were no ugly encounters between belligerent commanders and short-tempered dragons. Darraun watched them emerge and disperse, making sure to keep his disgust from showing on his face.
“Well, I suppose that’s my cue to go to bed,” he said to Cart.
The warforged nodded, still staring into the distance. Darraun stood and shuffled out of Cart’s sight. With a tent between himself and the warforged, Darraun rubbed the fatigue from his eyes and circled back as quietly as he could manage. As he approached the pavilion, he heard Haldren’s voice, and he hurried closer.
“… interested in celebrating,” the sorcerer was saying. “Now that they’ve seen the dragons, they have no doubt of our victory.”
There was another voice, this one quieter-but Darraun couldn’t make it out from behind the tent. He made his way to a flap, dropped to the ground, and crawled inside, disturbing the fabric of the pavilion as little as he could. He stayed on the ground, behind the great table Haldren had set up for the feast.
“I am exceedingly grateful,” Haldren said. It was a protest. “You have certainly fulfilled your end of our arrangement, and I believe my plans are assured of success as a result. And in turn, I have performed my obligations to you. If your plans are not turning out as well-”
A harsh growl cut him off. “You let him get away from you.” The voice was Vaskar’s. Darraun risked raising his head above the table to scan the inside of the tent. He was relieved to see an image of Vaskar’s face floating in a large silver mirror, not the dragon himself.
“You hardly seemed concerned about that at the time,” Haldren said. “You told me the Sky Caves would render him obsolete.”
“I admit that I did not consider the possibility that he would appear at the Sky Caves and wrest their secrets from me.”
Darraun’s mouth fell open. No, he thought, I didn’t consider that possibility either. Well done, Gaven.
“And you did not destroy him?”
“Do not mock me, Haldren. He acquired tremendous power in the Sky Caves, power that should have been mine. He could not have done that if he had remained in your custody.”
Haldren’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. “In case you have forgotten, he kidnapped Senya when he made his escape. I would have pursued him across the Ten Seas, but you dismissed them both as irrelevant. I owe you nothing.”
“Idiot,” Vaskar snorted. “I have seen two mates and half a dozen hatchlings die. They are irrelevant. We seek greater things. Would you abandon the throne of Khorvaire for her? Should I put aside a chance at godhood for the sake of your lust or love or whatever you call it?”
Darraun heard the rustle of cloth. Haldren did not answer for a breath-two breaths, five. Darraun began to panic. Had Haldren heard him somehow? His heart beat so hard he was sure Haldren could hear it in the silence.
Ten breaths, and still neither Haldren nor Vaskar had spoken. Keeping his head sideways, Darraun raised one eye above the table to see what was going on.
Vaskar’s head still hovered in the mirror, but Haldren had turned away from it, his hands clenched over his temples. Unfortunately, that meant he stared right at the table where Darraun hid. Darraun ducked his head back down, but it was too late.
“A spy? Darraun?”
Haldren’s confusion lasted only an instant, and in the next, a blast of fire exploded around Darraun, engulfing him as well as the table and the wall of the tent behind him. Searing pain shot through his body as he rolled away, under the flaming edge of the tent, and up to his feet outside. Clenching his teeth to quell the pain, he scrambled to the nearest tent.
“Darraun!” Haldren cried behind him. “Traitor! Coward!”
Darraun ducked into the nearest tent, hoping Haldren’s cries hadn’t woken the occupant.
“Who’s there?” A man’s voice came from the ground at his feet-very close. The inside of the tent was pitch
