Kelas repeated the dragon’s words in the Common tongue, his arms spread wide like a priest in prayer.
Gaven whispered the Draconic words along with the dragon-king. “Blood is drawn from a serpent binding the spawn of Khyber and the fiend that is bound.” His eyes fixed on the crystal and the vague shapes within it. “Bound they remain, but their power flows forth in the blood.”
From somewhere inside his coat, Kelas produced a large silver ring, a torc in the shape of a twisting serpent. He held it up, and silver light flashed within the crystal in answer.
“The Torc of Sacrifice,” he said, addressing the entire assembly, “an embodiment of the power that allows the serpent of the crystal to bind the fiend. With this torc around her neck, a paladin of the Silver Flame took a possessing spirit into her body and bound it there, then gave her own life to destroy it. With the torc at the heart of the Dragon Forge, we will siphon power from the mighty beings in this prison-without setting them free.”
“Bound they remain,” Gaven said, “but their power flows forth in the blood.”
Kelas turned, all warm smiles again. “Very good, Gaven.”
Gaven looked at Cart, a willing participant in this… the only word Gaven could find to describe it was blasphemy. The emblem of a paladin’s sacrifice, used to draw power into this Dragon Forge. For what purpose?
Kelas walked to the crystal prison, holding the torc in both hands, and carefully placed it over the ring of gold at the center. It flared with brilliant white light, and white fire ran along the intricate gold inlays, outward from the ring, turning the gold to silver. Kelas stepped back and watched the transformation, flexing his hands in anticipation. When the fire had burned to the gem-covered cylinders and gone out, he drew his sword and held it above his head.
“The Ramethene Sword,” he said, “forged by fiends for their champion to wield in battle against the dragons of the world’s dawn. Haldren, what say the Serpentes Fragments?”
Ramethene Sword, Serpentes Fragments-the names meant nothing to Gaven, but the sword drew his attention. It was heavy and angular, almost as though it had been carved of stone. It looked like it might have come from the ruins of Paluur Draal or Xen’drik, but it was not really like anything Gaven had seen before.
Haldren cleared his throat and recited a verse, unfamiliar to Gaven. The Sunderer smote to the dragon’s heart, and its blood formed a river upon the land. The Fleshrender drew forth the serpent’s life and its blood gave life to the gathered hordes. For the blade drinks the blood, and the hand that wields it feasts on the life.”
The Sunderer seemed more like a name from the Prophecy, and Gaven racked his brain in an effort to dredge up anything pertinent.
“The Sunderer, the Fleshrender,” Kelas said. “This is the weapon that will smite to the heart of this prison and draw forth the blood to power the Dragon Forge.”
Gaven wondered whether Kelas had any idea what he was doing. He had noticed that the dragon-king omitted any mention of the Time Between from his recitation of the Prophecy. Almost without doubt, Kelas was a tool in the dragon’s claw, fulfilling the Prophecy of the Time Between while vainly pursuing his own ends.
Once again Kelas stepped up to the crystal. He put both hands on the hilt of the Ramethene Sword, drew a deep breath, and shoved it through the circle of the silver torc.
There was a sound like the plucking of an enormous string, almost too low to hear, but making the air thrum with its vibration. Gaven felt a wave of nausea pass through him, and his muscles felt even weaker. The soldiers supporting him staggered as well, and his knees buckled. Everyone standing around the crystal clearly felt it-they lowered their heads, staggered backward, or fell to their knees. The dragon-king and Cart alone seemed unaffected.
The canyon was hardly vibrant with life, but something was happening to it-the thin patches of grass dissolved into ash, bare rock blackened, the dry shrubs that grew here and there on the canyon walls shriveled and died. Desolation spread out in a wave from the crystal. Gaven looked in sheer terror at the shadow, expecting to see it burst forth from its azure prison.
Both the silver serpent and the dark fiend were agitated, moving quickly, almost frantically. The Ramethene Sword glowed so brightly it hurt his eyes to look at it. The inlaid tracery pulsed with light as well, and gemstones came to life on the surface of the cylinders, glowing in a mosaic of different colors. The liquid in the glass tubes began to bubble and churn.
Then fire burst from the earth to fill the trench that surrounded the Dragon Forge.
CHAPTER 31
Rienne awoke, and Gaven was not there. She frowned at the place where he’d lain-usually she awoke long before he did and had time to exercise and meditate before she roused him for the day’s journey. Something was wrong.
She sprang up with Maelstrom in her hand and rushed out of the small shrine. The dragonborn city was only starting to come alive with the first light of dawn. She saw dragonets flapping at open windows where dragonborn placed scraps of meat in tiny houses. She heard strange singing, low droning chords and high chanted melodies, that might have been a form of morning prayer. But she couldn’t see Gaven.
“Gaven?” she called. Several pairs of eyes turned her way and quickly turned back. Louder-“Gaven!” He did not appear or call an answer.
The sky was cloudless, which gave her an odd reassurance that he was not in serious trouble. If he were fighting somewhere, certainly a storm would be brewing. At the same time, it was disappointing-if nothing else, she could have found him by heading to the heart of the storm.
“Gaven!” She heard the desperation in her own voice.
“Rienne!” The voice was not his, and she barely recognized her own name. A dragonborn was running toward her-the one who had led them to this city and shown them the shrine. Lissa.
As the dragonborn drew nearer, Rienne clenched the hilt of Maelstrom more tightly and called out. “Where is he?” Even as she said it, she realized the stupidity of it-Lissa didn’t understand Common, and Rienne knew only a few words of Draconic, mostly words related to obscure aspects of the Prophecy that resisted translation.
Lissa’s axe was slung at her belt and her shield at her back, so Rienne sheathed Maelstrom out of courtesy. The blade could be back in her hand in an instant if she needed it. When the dragonborn reached her, spewing a torrent of Draconic babble, she put a hand on Rienne’s shoulder and tried to guide her back into the shrine. She seemed anxious, so Rienne followed.
When they were in the shrine and safely out of view, Lissa slumped against the wall beside the archway. Rienne could read the fear on her face, but couldn’t determine the cause of it-was she being pursued? She should, perhaps, not be here with Rienne.
“Gaven?” Rienne asked desperately. Could Lissa give an answer she could understand?
Another gush of Draconic, but Rienne heard Gaven’s name. She stared blankly at the dragonborn, and Lissa started again, slowly as if talking to an imbecile, but accompanying her words with pantomime, watching to make sure that Rienne understood each concept.
“Gaven,” she said… hands bound together-a prisoner. Lissa pointed at Rienne… go, go quickly, Lissa wiggled her fingers like legs at top speed. Run. Run away. Lissa shook the axe at her belt and then pointed again at Rienne.
Flee or die.
“Not without Gaven,” she said, more to herself than Lissa. She took the dragonborn’s hands and put the wrists together, as Lissa had done to show Gaven’s imprisonment. Pointing at Lissa, she said, “Gaven.” Then she pointed at herself, and chopped her hand between Lissa’s wrists. “I must free him.”
Lissa’s eyes went wide with fear, and she shook her head. Rienne guessed that meant the same thing to the dragonborn that it did to her.
“I can’t leave him here,” she said, her voice pleading. Lissa’s eyes softened-she recognized the tone, at least. Rienne held up one fist-“Rienne”-and the other, “Gaven.” She brought the two hands together, entwined the fingers. “Together.” Hands still together, she moved them in imitation of the gesture Lissa had used to mean go away. “We have to leave together.”
Lissa’s face mirrored her own sadness. She took Rienne’s wrists gently in her big, clawed hands and slowly
