Gaven’s chest. These people and that dragon had taken everything from him-Rienne, his dragonmark, his freedom. He tried to channel that rage and release it, to send a blast of lightning back up the tunnel at his enemies. Nothing.
“Gaven, get back!” Cart said.
Gaven heard the dragon’s deep intake of breath and leaped back away from the tunnel mouth just in time. More black acid sprayed out past him, spattering on the stone floor. Some reached as far as the blue crystal, and Ashara gasped as it burbled and disappeared into the azure pool.
“Get away,” Cart said. Ashara had repaired some of the acid’s damage, but his neck still looked seared and warped.
Gaven leaped past the tunnel mouth and crouched beside Cart. “We’re trapped,” he said.
“We’re under siege,” Cart answered, “but it could be worse. We can’t get out, clearly. But they won’t come in because we’d fight them right here, three of us against each one of them who came to the tunnel mouth. It’s a waiting game.”
“One we can’t win,” Gaven said. “They’ll starve us out, if nothing else. Or send the dragon into the tunnel first.”
“They won’t wait here forever,” Ashara said. “I have a feeling something will take their attention off us before long.”
“What do you mean?” Cart asked.
“The Dragon Forge.”
CHAPTER 41
So this is how Gaven felt in Dreadhold, Rienne thought. Trapped in a cage. She looked through the barred window of her cell, out onto the bustling streets of Thaliost, and wondered if Gaven had a window in Dreadhold. Probably not. She felt the morning sun warm her skin, and realized that she had no idea what Gaven had experienced. Twenty-six years in a prison far worse than her bare cell-it was still beyond her comprehension.
The worst part was that she didn’t know where Maelstrom was. They’d taken the sword as soon as they took her into custody, and when they led her to her cell the guard carrying it had gone a different way. She’d been tempted to break free of the guards and seize the sword, fight her way free, but she couldn’t imagine a conclusion to that course of action that didn’t make her situation worse than it already was.
The morning wore into afternoon, casting the tower’s shadow across the town below her window. A guard brought her a passable meal sometime between midday and evening, and shortly after that a man came to see her. He dressed like a nobleman, all frills and frippery, but he walked like a soldier, intense and direct. He’d probably received a noble title as a reward for his service in the Last War, and tried his best to act his part in an alien world of diplomacy.
He looked down at the identification papers in his hand, then back up at her face. “Lady Alastra?”
“Yes.” Best just to answer his questions, simple and direct.
“I’m Padar ir’Hollen. The borders of Thaliost are ultimately my responsibility, and the soldier at the docks report to me. Were you mistreated in any way while in our custody?”
“No, and I thank you for asking.” Rienne liked this man’s approach-he was direct, he didn’t bother with titles except to make sure she knew he was a noble. She’d never heard of the ir’Hollens, of course, and Padar might very well have been the only member of that recently formed noble house.
“Lady Alastra, I’m sure you can appreciate how seriously I take my responsibility for our security, particularly now. Since Aundair’s attack, we have been even more concerned with possible breaches of our borders.”
“I do understand. But the attack in the north was the action of a rogue general, not the Aundairian government.”
“So Aundair claims. But if that’s true, he had a remarkable amount of support from the army.”
“Along with his flight of dragons, yes.”
Padar’s eyes went wide. “You seem to know a great deal about that battle.”
Rienne drew herself up proudly. “I helped defeat that rogue general.”
“You what?” Padar’s mouth hung open after his question.
“I was there. I fought one of the dragons Haldren brought with him. I fought in the midst of the horde of monsters that rose from the earth. And as the battle wore down, I found Haldren and his-and the woman with him and I fought them. I’m no pretty noblewoman sitting in my estate, weaving and gossiping, Sir Hollen.”
“I can see that,” Padar said, scratching his head. “But now I’m far less sure how to deal with you.”
“You’re making it too complicated. It’s really quite simple. Bring a scribe from House Sivis back here with you. Question me about my destination and purpose, have the scribe draw up traveling papers for me, and send me on my way.”
“Why don’t you tell me your destination and purpose now?”
Rienne had spent the morning formulating her answers to those inevitable questions. A fugitive following a vague sense of impending danger to the west would not quickly endear herself to any border authority. “I’m bound for Daskaran.” As the other major town in the north of Thrane, Daskaran would give her a reason to leave Thaliost without raising the question of why she didn’t sail on to Flamekeep-Thrane’s capital gave better access to most of the nation. “My family wishes to forge an agreement with the ir’Cathra family there-they own mines in the Starpeaks and we can help them distribute the ore.” As mundane as possible, not something that would arouse attention.
“From battling monsters to negotiating trade agreements? You are versatile.”
“One reason my family values me.”
Padar looked at another paper in his hand. “Your family is located primarily in Stormhome, correct?”
“That’s right. Our ties to House Lyrandar give us an edge in our shipping deals.”
“And you sailed from Stormhome? Before arriving here?”
“Yes.”
“I assume you purchased a regular fare on the Lyrandar galleon-the, ah, Windborn?”
Rienne forced her face to keep smiling as she cursed herself. She was a stowaway as well as a fugitive, and she had failed to account for that in her morning planning. “Of course,” she said, as though it were nothing.
“It’s strange that the Windborn carried no record of that purchase. Did they not check your papers when you bought the fare?”
“They did check my identification papers, but I’m afraid the young man was somewhat distracted. He never did ask about traveling papers, and he must have forgotten to record me in the passenger manifest.”
“I see,” Padar said.
He studied the papers in his hand once more, then stared at Rienne too long. She had the sense he was imagining what might have distracted the young Lyrandar agent, and his eyes made her uncomfortable.
“Well, Lady Alastra,” he said at last, “I will need to discuss this situation. Perhaps I will bring a Sivis scribe with me when I return.”
And perhaps not, Rienne thought as he disappeared down the corridor.
When the sun went down, Rienne’s cell plunged into near-total darkness. Only shreds of light from the streets below reached her window, everbright lanterns and the lamps carried by the night watch-not nearly enough to let her see the walls, the bars, or even the cot she sat on. Sleep evaded her, so she sat and tried to focus her mind, find some rest in meditation at least.
“Where is he?” A gruff voice jolted her from her stillness, and she sprang to her feet.
A halo of light filled the far end of the corridor and lit the angry face of Ossa d’Kundarak. The dwarf stormed toward her, another pair of dwarves trailing at the edge of the light. Ossa wore her usual scarlet shirt beneath a heavy breastplate of cured leather, but it was wrinkled. Wisps of hair escaped the tight braid coiled at the back of her head, her face was drawn, thinner than Rienne remembered. She exuded a frantic energy that bordered on madness. The search for Gaven had not been good to her, Rienne thought.
“Where is he?” Ossa repeated when she reached the bars of Rienne’s cell.
Rienne fought back a surge of anger. The last time she’d seen Ossa, the dwarf held a dagger pressed to her
