Gaven moved his head in the slightest nod.
“It’s Darraun,” the dwarf said. Gaven almost whirled around to face him. “Don’t move. Listen. If we ever get out of these crowds, I’ll release your manacles. As soon as you feel them loosened, you need to run, and fast-the way you did in Aerenal. I’ll take care of Rienne-just get out of here.”
Gaven nodded again, almost imperceptibly. The dwarves in front managed to force an opening into the crowd, and the dwarf who claimed to be Darraun nudged him to start walking again. As they made their way through the crowd, a hundred questions arose in Gaven’s mind. In the forefront was what possible reason there could be for him to trust the dwarf of House Kundarak who said he was a human artificer named Darraun.
So Darraun was a changeling-rather, a disguise adopted by a changeling. Gaven had known there was more to the artificer than he let on, and Senya had suggested that Darraun might have connections in the Royal Eyes of Aundair. It fit. But it left open some much larger questions. Why had Darraun been working with Haldren? And why had he infiltrated Ossa’s group of dwarves? Was he helping Gaven now in order to return him to Haldren or for some other purpose? Did Gaven want his help, or would it come with a cost he would be unwilling to pay?
The crowds grew thinner but more serious as they entered the Six Corners neighborhood, named for the junction of three roads in an elegant plaza outside the House Orien enclave. The people glowering at the sky there were heirs and functionaries of the dragonmarked houses, speculating at what failure House Lyrandar, their colleague and competitor, might be experiencing. Gaven kept his arms tense, straining against the manacles to be sure he’d know as soon as-
The manacles clattered to the ground.
Gaven roared, and lightning flashed in the sky. He whirled and thrust his arms out in front of him, and a gust of wind followed his arms in a mighty blast. Bordan, Rienne, Ossa, and the dwarf spellcaster were knocked to the ground, and Ossa’s dagger clattered to the cobblestones. Darraun was already running to Rienne, and the blast of air knocked him forward, into a somersault, and back up into his run.
Gaven ran, the wind howling at his back.
He hadn’t even thought about where he would run-he’d been too busy thinking and worrying about Darraun. He knew Six Corners well from his childhood, but he wouldn’t rely again on a mental map of streets and alleys that was years old. He looked over his shoulder. The Darraun-changeling was locked in battle with Ossa and one other dwarf, and Rienne fought beside him, using mostly her feet since the manacles still bound her hands. Bordan and the other two dwarves ran behind him. As he slowed to look behind, they gained several paces on him.
He had no choice. He had to trust Darraun to get Rienne safely out of there-if the changeling could free her hands, they’d be fine. So without any other plan in mind, he did as Darraun had told him: he ran like he had in Aerenal.
The wind blew like ragged wings at his back, speeding him through Six Corners and beyond, outside the city to the rain-spattered beach. He swept along the sand, leaving only the faintest of footprints. Waves rose up to drench him in their spray, and lightning flashed across the water. Rage and fear and grief overwhelmed him-they took shape around him like forces of nature as powerful as the storm, and he howled with the voice of the wind.
Sandy beach gave way to sharp rocks that cut his feet as he ran across them, but he felt no pain. His pursuers were lost in the distance, Stormhome had been swallowed in the mist and rain behind him, and even Rienne and Darraun were all but forgotten. Storm clouds blotted out the sunset and swallowed the stars. Soon he climbed above the tumultuous waves as the rocky beach rose toward the jagged cliffs at the far end of the island.
He ran, buoyed and buffeted by the wind, until he reached the highest bluff. Part of him imagined running off the point and either plunging down onto the rocks or somehow running onward, upward, becoming one with the storm. He stood at the precipice for a moment, suspended in the air, his eyes fixed on the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below, and then he sank to his knees, lifting his gaze to the storm clouds that brooded over the cliffs.
“Father!” he howled to the sky, and the wind howled along the cliffs and blew itself out.
Gaven slumped to the ground.
The rain pounded his back, stinging his skin, and the waves thundered as they crashed against the cliffs. His body clenched like a fist around a knot of grief in his belly, and he pounded his hands against the rock. The storm began to wane and the knot in his gut loosened, and his breathing went from shallow gasps to a slower, deeper flow of air.
He drew one last, long, shuddering breath and uncurled his body, lifting his head to a sky that began to show patches of blue. He saw ships navigating the bay and imagined their crews’ relief at the passing of the freak storm. The waves started to quiet, and gulls took to the air again, calling to each other with keening cries.
Arnoth d’Lyrandar is dead, he thought, but life will go on. It must.
He stood, taking another deep breath, and looked behind him for any sign of his pursuers. The beach was still deserted, but a ring of fire flickered in the sky, growing quickly larger as the airship it propelled drew nearer. He watched it warily, feeling power welling up within him while hoping he would not have to use it again-he was so tired. Finally he saw a figure in the prow, arms waving in the air-Rienne. The airship was the Eye of the Storm, his brother’s vessel.
Gaven turned back to the sea and thought of Thordren, and his father, until Rienne called down from the airship above him. “Gaven! Are you all right?”
He looked over his shoulder and saw a rope ladder hanging over the ship’s bulwarks, dangling just outside of his reach. Rienne leaned out over the top of the ladder, a look of worry on her face.
“I’m fine,” he called. He walked slowly to stand just below the end of the ladder, and carelessly jumped up to grab the lowest rung. “Don’t worry about me,” he said as he started to climb.
The airship jerked in the air, nearly throwing Gaven off the ladder. He saw Rienne clutching the bulwarks, her eyes wide. “I’m not worried about you,” she hollered back. “I’m worried about how long Darraun can fly this thing. Hurry!”
Gaven clambered up the ladder as fast as he could, even as it writhed and jerked in his hands. Rienne helped him over the edge, and shoved him aft, where Darraun clutched the wheel-and wore Darraun’s face again. That face was chalk white, and his eyes were wide. He didn’t give any sign of recognition as Gaven approached him.
“He’s been trying to convince the elemental that he has the Mark of Storm,” Rienne explained, “but it’s a losing battle.”
Gaven saw a pattern on the changeling’s skin that suggested a Lyrandar dragonmark, but it wouldn’t fool even a casual observer, let alone grant Darraun the magical ability to control the airship.
Gaven moved to stand behind Darraun and reached his arms around the smaller man to clutch the wheel.
Be still, he told the elemental, channeling his will into the helm and into the conduits that bound the elemental to the ship. A true heir of Storm commands you now.
The ship stopped bucking, and Darraun slumped to the deck in front of Gaven. Rienne took his hand and led him out of Gaven’s way. Pulling Darraun’s arm around her shoulder, she led him below decks. Gaven stepped closer to the wheel and settled into a comfortable stance. A smile blossomed on his face as the ship responded to his every thought, soaring smoothly away from the island and into the clearing sky.
Since Darraun had first mentioned airships to him in White-cliff, Gaven had been waiting for this moment. Since he had first laid eyes on one in Korranberg, he had dreamed of standing at an airship’s helm. His smile broadened into a boyish grin, as a single thought ran over and over through his mind:
I was born for this!
Bordan fell to his knees on the sandy beach. The dwarves hadn’t been able to match his speed, though he wouldn’t be surprised if they ran all the way to Storm Point before they flagged. He glared up at the airship receding into the rain, the sign of his defeat. Gaven had escaped him again.
The storm lashed him, though it had diminished as Gaven got farther and farther away. Gaven had been the cause and the center of the storm. Bordan was sure of it. A harder rain had begun almost at the moment that he’d knocked on Arnoth’s door. The thunder that accompanied Gaven’s kick-he rubbed his sore head thinking of it-and the wind that had literally carried him out of the city made it clear. The storm obeyed Gaven’s command-or at least
