the queen. Gently she rested the flat of the blade on Jorlanna’s shoulder.
“Rise then, Jorlanna ir’Cannith. I accept your fealty and offer you the protection of the crown.”
Wheldren’s pledge of fealty was less momentous, but Aurala treated it with no less dignity. The dragons had spoken of a turning point in history, and Kelas knew he stood at that moment. Centuries of tradition had just been abandoned. The political and economic landscape of Khorvaire would never be the same.
A sharp crack of thunder echoed in the tunnel, jolting Gaven fully awake. It was close, perhaps directly overhead. Or right over the Dragon Forge. Rivulets of water snaked down the tunnel, and the next thunderclap sent pebbles trickling from the temple’s ceiling.
“It’s the damned forge,” Gaven said. “Using my dragonmark. Making another storm.”
“The Secret Keeper…” Ashara murmured.
Shouts from the soldiers outside almost drowned out her voice. Gaven peered into the tunnel. He couldn’t see the dragon, and the daylight at the far end was dim and gray, barely distinct from the darkness of the passage.
A more powerful storm than you ever created.
The voice whispered in Gaven’s mind, as close as his pulse. It was the same malignance that had haunted his dreams while he was a captive at the forge, the same evil that coursed through the forge itself.
“The bastard stole my storm!” Gaven growled, and thunder crashed in answer.
Why don’t you get it back?
Ashara tugged at Gaven’s arm. “We have to get out of here,” she said. Her eyes were wide with terror, and as Gaven turned to look for Cart, he saw why.
The azure crystal at the back of the temple had gone dark, drowned in inky shadow. At the center was a lighter portion, with a perfect black circle in its center. As Gaven looked, it moved, fixed its gaze on him. It was an eye.
The whisper in his mind erupted in growling, maniacal laughter as Gaven followed Cart and Ashara into the passage, terror racing in their veins.
The acidic rain and pelting hail of the storm had driven off the besieging dragon and the soldiers with it. Cart emerged from the passage as the last of the rain spattered on the dry ground and rays of sunlight broke through the clouds. Another peal of thunder drew his gaze to the west, and he saw the black clouds of the storm surging away from the canyon of the Dragon Forge.
“Where is he sending it?” Gaven asked.
“To the Eldeen Reaches,” Ashara said. “Probably Varna.”
Gaven came and stood over Ashara. “Varna? That’s a city of thousands!”
“Yes.” Ashara looked at the ground.
“You knew about this?” Cart said.
She nodded as she turned away.
“You helped them build it,” Gaven added. “You helped them steal my mark and use my storm as a weapon.” Ashara sobbed and fell to her knees.
Crouching beside her, Cart rested a hand on her shoulder, then looked up at Gaven. “Then she brought me back from the brink of death-and did the same for you. Let her be, Gaven.”
Gaven stared at Cart for a long moment, anger creasing his brow and the corners of his mouth. Then he turned to watch the retreating storm.
Ashara buried her face in Cart’s shoulder. Words and tears spilled from her in a torrent. “It’s all madness, Cart. Kelas is mad. They don’t know the power they’re dealing with here-the Secret Keeper is getting stronger. He could break free. Malathar’s flames on the crystal, the other dragon’s acid, the storm-they’re all weakening his bonds. Oh, Cart, Varna is the least of the evils I’m to blame for.”
Cart circled his arms gingerly around her and held her as she wept. When he looked up again, Gaven was gone.
Aunn stood at the top of the canyon and surveyed the wake of the storm. Little craters pocked the ground where heavy rain and hail had fallen. Lightning had struck a dry shrub here and there, and one still burned while others smoldered and smoked. His vantage point let him trace a path of devastation a mile or so toward the lake.
He looked down at the monstrosity of iron and flame squatting below him, like a swollen tick feeding on the magic of the blue crystal jutting up at the head of the canyon. He didn’t have to touch that stone to sense the lines of magic flowing freely out of it and into the eldritch machine, and his stomach revolted at the powerful sense of malice emanating from the whole canyon.
“His power flows into the world,” Aunn murmured. “If not stopped, soon he will be free.” Marelle’s words were engraved in his memory, and he thought he finally had some insight into their meaning. “Is this a weapon? More terrible than the barbarian foe?”
A line of people filed out of the iron building, and Aunn backed away from the edge. He found some cover and watched them walking to the edge of the canyon, then crouched down and peered over the edge. The people turned and began climbing a path along the canyon’s edge, and Aunn gasped as he recognized Kelas at the front of the line. His head pounded with anger. The group had climbed well up the path before Aunn realized who else was in the procession. He recognized Arcanist Wheldren from Haldren’s gathering in Bluevine, but the woman beside him was unfamiliar. The woman surrounded by a knot of soldiers, though-that could only be Queen Aurala.
What in the Traveler’s ten thousand names is she doing here? Aunn thought.
They were approaching his hiding place, so he withdrew to a point where he could safely see the plateau overlooking the canyon. A few moments later, Kelas emerged from the path and led the cluster of people to a circle scratched into the ground. Arcanist Wheldren busied himself retracing the lines of the circle, which must have been nearly obliterated by the storm, as the queen and the other woman talked together. Kelas stood back from the pair, but Aunn could see the look of smug satisfaction he wore. Clearly, whatever had happened here was a part of Kelas’s greater plan, but it was a part he had kept secret from Aunn.
Wheldren was preparing the circle for a ritual of teleportation, Aunn realized, which meant that Kelas would soon be out of his reach, and he didn’t know where. He entertained thoughts of attacking Kelas where he stood, the queen and her soldiers be damned. Suicide. Charging into the circle as Wheldren completed the ritual, teleporting along with them? The same. What if he put Haunderk’s face back on and approached Kelas as a friend? Kelas had sent him to the Demon Wastes to die-there was no reason to think he would not order Haunderk’s death more directly.
His anger and hatred paralyzed him, and he cursed himself for it. Wheldren began his ritual, and it was too late. He might be able to knock Kelas out of the circle at the last moment-but then Kelas stepped out on his own, bowing a farewell to the queen. Another moment, and Kelas stood alone on the plateau, looking tremendously self- satisfied.
Aunn stood from his crouch and stepped around the boulder that had shielded him. It took Kelas a moment to notice him, but his sword flew into his hand while Aunn was still some distance away.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“You don’t know me?” Aunn said. “I’m an old friend, Kelas.”
“I’ve never seen you-” Kelas’s eyes went wide. “Haunderk?”
Aunn changed his face, and he was Haunderk. “Very good. A lifetime of suspicion has served you well.”
“Haunderk! Your mission was a success!” Kelas smiled, but he didn’t drop his guard as Aunn drew closer.
“It was. Kathrik Mel is on the march, probably spilling over the Shadowcrags at this moment.”
“I commend you. Everything is falling into place.”
“The barbarians have sacked Maruk Dar. Soon they’ll set the Towering Wood on fire. If everything goes according to plan, they’ll meet the armies of Aundair somewhere in the midst of the Eldeen Reaches. And then what, Kelas?”
“Then we’ll crush them, and the Eldeen Reaches will sing the praise of their liberators.”
“What if we fail?”
“We won’t,” Kelas said. He nodded toward the canyon. “The Dragon Forge ensures our victory. And that’s enough questions. Come with me, and we’ll discuss your next mission.”
“Why don’t you just stab me in the back this time? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
