“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 echoed his emotions, overriding the will of Esravash d’Lyrandar, the house matriarch, and all the Lyrandar heirs who worked together to maintain the paradisal climate of Stormhome.
Despite his boasts to Gaven’s face, Bordan found himself grappling with serious doubt for the first time in his career. Perhaps he could continue finding Gaven-but he’d found Gaven twice already and been unable to apprehend him. What if he never caught him? And even if he caught Gaven, could he hold him? Or would he meet the same fate as Evlan d’Deneith?
Could even Dreadhold contain a man with the power of the storm at his command?
The beach grew darker, as though a new storm cloud covered the sun. Bordan felt rather than heard a presence behind him, and he leaped to his feet.
A pool of shadow had formed on the white sand, roiling like smoke at the feet of Phaine d’Thuranni. An elf woman garbed in black stood just behind Phaine. Both elves had weapons drawn.
“Damn it, Thuranni, I didn’t hear you approach.”
“Few ever do,” the elf replied, taking a step forward. The darkness moved with him, clinging to him as he walked.
“What’s this about? Did you follow Gaven here?”
“Yes. He escaped.” Another step closer. “Again.”
“Now, wait a moment, Thuranni. If you had any inkling of his power-”
“I believe I do.”
“Did you see that storm?” Bordan said. “Do you know what he’s done?”
“Far better than you do.”
“Do you know what he’s been ranting about all these years? What he’s been dreaming?”
Phaine wrinkled his nose in disgust. “My blood is from an undiluted line of Aerenal, human.” He drew out the last word with a vicious sneer. “I know.”
Bordan’s gaze flicked between the two elves. “What are you doing?” he said. “Gaven is the enemy here.”
“Of course,” Phaine said.
The elf woman spoke for the first time. “We can’t let you fail again. He grows stronger each time.”
“Why don’t you get him, then?”
“We will,” Phaine answered.
“And this is what we’ll do to him,” Leina added.
Both elves’ swords spun in a burst of motion, and Bordan fell to the blood-spattered sand.
CHAPTER 43
The sun was dipping below the horizon, setting the last shreds of storm clouds ablaze with yellow and red, when Rienne returned to the main deck. Gaven watched as she looked up at the sky, and he smiled at the way the sunset glowed in her hair and eyes. She leaned against a railing near the wheel and smiled at him.
“How’s Darraun?” he said.
“Exhausted, but he’ll be fine.” She glanced at the hatch leading below. “I suppose we owe him our lives, or at least our freedom.”
“Again,” Gaven said. He remembered his first glimpse of freedom from his cell in Dreadhold: the Ring of Siberys framed within a ragged hole in the stone ceiling, the warforged jumping down and trying to coax him out, and then Darraun, finally, standing at his side and bringing him back to his senses. It seemed so long ago, and Dreadhold just a memory of a dream.
“Did you know he was a changeling?” Rienne asked.
“No idea. I remember that almost from the beginning I knew he was hiding something. He didn’t quite fit in with the others-he was the only one who would even think of challenging Haldren, for one thing. And Senya thought he had some connection to the Royal Eyes. But a changeling?” Gaven shook his head, remembering the dwarf who had released his manacles-the same one who had barged through Thordren’s back door and landed in a pile of cooking pots-and struggling to find any similarity to the familiar human artificer. “No, I can still hardly believe it.”
“It sort of makes you think, doesn’t it? Anyone you talk to could be a changeling, really-even someone you think you know. How can you ever be sure?”
Gaven had no answer for that.
Rienne watched him for a while, her eyes following the slight movements of his arms as he steered the airship over the sea. “So you’re flying an airship,” she said at last, a smile spreading across her face, gleaming white in her dark skin.
Gaven returned the smile. “I am,” he said. “It’s wonderful.”
“Is it hard?”
“Not in the least. She’s really not very different from a ship on the water. And the elemental does most of the work.”
“It seemed to be plenty of work for Darraun.”
“Oh, it was. These wheels are made to channel the power of a dragonmark-they’re the same ones they use on the seagoing galleons. They won’t work for just anyone.”
“It’s fortunate he was able to do it at all.”
“Yes, but not altogether surprising. Artificers are good at making magic work the way they want.”
Rienne ambled a few steps toward the prow. Gaven watched her as she stared ahead for a moment, then to the right, then to the left. She searched the horizon for a long moment, then turned back to him and asked the obvious question. “So where are we going?”
He gave her a sad smile. “If you don’t know what you want, you’re sure to do what someone else wants.”