Mauren raised her eyebrows. 'You think Thuel is dead?'
'Almost certainly. Vec would have to be a fool to impersonate the Spy Master of the Royal Eyes in his own office if the Spy Master were still alive to get wind of it. Well, in case there was any doubt before, I guess that makes it quite clear that I can't go back to the Tower of Eyes.'
'And it means we can't rely on any help from them, either,' Mauren said.
'Neither can the queen,' Ossa added. 'If the assassin's posing as the head of the Royal Eyes, he doesn't even need the distraction of a battle to get into the palace.'
'I wouldn't bet on that,' Aunn said. 'There are enough magical wards protecting the palace that he'd probably be revealed before he got close enough to hurt her.'
'So the plan probably remains in place,' Mauren said. 'The mercenaries attack, and that's when Vec strikes.'
'And so the question remains-when?'
Mauren leaned over the table. 'In your conversations with Nara, she said nothing?'
The details of his conversations with Nara were a blur in his mind, all but erased by the stress of the encounters, pretending to be Kelas and acting as though he had some idea what Nara was talking about. 'She did say something,' he said, grasping for the memory. 'About how I should lock Gaven away, because he needed to be in place when the time was right.'
'That's all she said? 'When the time is right?''
'For the reunion, she said.'
'What reunion?' Ossa said. 'Is she planning a gathering of those who are loyal to her?'
'No, wait,' Aunn said. 'Gaven said something about the reunion-there was something in the Prophecy.' He closed his eyes and let the memory rise to the surface. ''In the darkest night of the Dragon Below, storm and dragon are reunited.' And he said the Time of the Dragon Below was beginning now, or a couple of weeks ago.'
'So what's the darkest night?' Mauren asked.
'It doesn't matter,' Aunn said. As much as he hated trying to wrap his mind around the intricacies of the Prophecy, it seemed to be drawing him along its twisted pathways. 'The reunion had something to do with Gaven arriving in Varna. Remember? Gaven said as much before he left.'
Mauren scowled. 'So?'
'Gaven will probably arrive in Varna in the next day or two-he's been traveling almost two weeks. Whatever the darkest night of the Dragon Below might be, that's when it's going to happen. And I'm certain that Nara is planning some kind of grand conjunction of historical events, sending the assassin to strike at Aurala at the same moment the Storm Dragon confronts the Blasphemer. That's the moment we're looking for.'
Ossa clapped her hands together. 'I'll contact House Sivis and see if there's any news of a battle near Varna. Last I heard, Aundair's troops were pulling back toward the remains of the city.'
Aunn nodded. Besides scribing arcane marks and official documents, House Sivis also operated a network of magical communication, so they would be the first to know of an impending battle anywhere in Khorvaire. He got to his feet.
'The time is close, I'm sure of it,' he said.
CHAPTER 41
Cart and Ashara walked behind the three warforged, leaving no question who was in command of the little procession. All three of the Cannith warforged were unarmed, their weapons on the floor back in the Ghallanda hostel. Cart's axe was at his belt to avoid drawing too much of the wrong kind of attention as they walked through the city, but his hand was never far from its haft, in case one of the warforged tried anything. But they were back to their docile, obedient manner, in the presence of a Cannith heir who had the power-if not the legitimate authority-to command them, and they walked to the Cannith forgehold without ever looking back at him or Ashara.
Ashara seemed confident, but beyond a hastily whispered assurance that it would be all right, she hadn't had a chance to explain why they were marching willingly into the stronghold of their worst enemy. They had been in the forgehold once already, and it had been all Aunn could do to get them out without turning Ashara over into the baron's custody. Cart was not eager to return, but he trusted that Ashara knew what she was doing.
They reached the forgehold, spewing its black smoke into the sky. The leader of the warforged pounded a metal fist on the door, and Cart heard the whir of locks and sliding bolts before the door creaked open. Fear surged in his chest, but Ashara quelled it with a smile. The warforged leader looked back at them for the first time, Ashara nodded, and they all strode into the forgehold together.
A murmur traveled through the forgehold as they entered, and even the din of machinery and working hammers seemed to fade as magewrights and warforged ceased their work to stare down at the excoriate who so boldly entered the enclave of her angry baron. Cart stared around at the angry faces of the Cannith heirs throughout the large room-and the blank expressions of the warforged.
'What god watches over my people, Gaven?' Cart asked as he stared down into the gaping maw of the stone dragon, the bridge to Siberys. 'Which Sovereign has our interests at heart?'
'Are there gods for each race and people?' Gaven said. 'Doesn't the whole Host keep watch over us all?'
'Perhaps. But the gods made all the other races. We were made by artificers and magewrights. Does Onatar then care for us, the god of the forge? Or perhaps the warlord Dol Dorn, since we were made for war? Or do they see us as many mortals do-simply as tools for war? There is no god of swords or siege engines. Perhaps there is no god for us.'
'You want to be one, then?' Gaven asked. 'What would you do as god of the warforged? Would you urge them into war?'
No, Cart thought as he looked around at the blank faces of the Cannith warforged, I would urge them to love.
'Ashara!' Jorlanna emerged from a workshop somewhere above and leaned over the rail of a balcony that encircled the great room.
Cart found the sight amusing. The only other time he'd seen Jorlanna, she had sat at Kelas's table like a dignitary, clothed in finery, her hair carefully sculpted to rise from her head in an elegant design. Now she wore comfortable, practical clothes beneath a thick leather apron and boots. She pulled heavy gloves from her hand as she looked down, and pushed wayward strands of hair from her soot-blackened face. The Mark of Making on her cheek said it all-for all her aspirations to nobility, even royalty, she was born to the forge, destined to make.
'Good morning, Jorlanna,' Ashara said, pointedly ignoring the proper way to address the head of a dragonmarked House. 'Cart and I were delighted to receive your invitation. It's nice to be here again. I do hope you're serving breakfast.'
'Oh, Ashara.' The baron seemed genuinely distraught, making Cart wonder what the real purpose of this audience was. 'Let me come down and see you.'
Jorlanna disappeared from the balcony. Ashara glanced at Cart, looking as perplexed as Cart felt. He shrugged, then the baron reappeared at an archway to their left.
'What a terrible mess this has become,' Jorlanna said as she strode toward them. 'I would so much rather be working with you than against you in all this.'
'Perhaps you should have considered that before declaring her excoriate,' Cart said.
Jorlanna shot Cart an irritated glance, then looked back at Ashara. 'So this is the warforged I hear so much about. It should know its place, Ashara.'
Cart drew himself up and stepped closer to the baron, interposing himself between her and Ashara. 'I do know my place, Baron. According to the Treaty of Thronehold I am a free citizen of Aundair, an honored veteran of the Last War, and worthy of the same rights and privileges afforded to every other sentient and civilized race.'
'Perhaps it escaped your notice, warforged, but the Treaty of Thronehold is no longer upheld in Aundair, and the provisions you mention will be among the first things to change in the new Aundair.'
'The new Aundair is a pitiful delusion, Baron.'
