Free Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three by James Wyatt Page A

short. “Cart, would you …?”
    Cart’s armor-plated hand closed over the dragonshard and pulled it away, and in one smooth motion he deposited it back into Ashara’s belt pouch. Gaven slumped back into his chair, like a discarded puppet.
    “That was strange,” Ashara whispered.
    “And very enlightening,” Havrakhad said. “I think that now I have what I need.” He stood. “Ashara, will you please stand and face me?”
    Ashara hopped down from her seat on the desk and faced the kalashtar, turning her back to Gaven.
    “Now can you slowly withdraw the dragonshard from your pouch again? Let your body block Gaven’s view of it, please.”
    Ashara did as he instructed, holding the shard gingerly in the fingertips of both hands. Havrakhad reached toward it, but he didn’t touch it.
    “Let it go,” he murmured, and the shard floated up from Ashara’s fingers. “Thank you.”
    He stepped around Ashara, the dragonshard suspended in the air between his hands. Gaven stirred slightly, and Havrakhad shifted the dragonshard so that it hovered over one hand. He extended the other hand to touch Gaven’s shoulder, and Gaven slumped down again, though his eyes remained fixed on the shard.
    “Excellent,” the kalashtar said. “The third trial is the favored one.”

C HAPTER
8
    T he light reappeared, brighter than before, but this time Gaven turned away from it, buried his face in his arms to shield his eyes. The darkness stirred in response to his movement, then settled in around him again, rustling softly, cold but comfortable.
    “This is where I belong,” he murmured. “What I deserve.”
    A chorus of whispers voiced its assent. “What you deserve.”
    “No, Gaven.” An unfamiliar voice cut through the whispers—a voice made of light, clear and strong. Gaven tried to lift his head, but the darkness held it down. “You are a prisoner here,” the clear voice said.
    “I was sentenced,” Gaven said, “sent to Dreadhold …”
    “But now the Keeper of Secrets holds you bound.”
    “It lies,” Gaven said, a reflex. “Truth would burn its tongue.”
    “It speaks nothing but lies,” the voice said. “Cast it off. Stand up, Gaven.”
    Gaven lifted his head, pulling against the tendrils of darkness that held him down. The light was close beside him, and a man stood at the center of the light. Tall and slender, the man was a vision of beauty, like the light made flesh.
    “Are you the Messenger?” Gaven asked. The darkness stirred in angry whispers around him.
    “I’m Havrakhad, and I’m here to lead you to freedom,” the man said. “Take my hand, get up, and follow me.” He bent over Gaven, extending a hand.
    Gaven wrenched a hand free of the darkness and seized Havrakhad’s hand. The whispers turned to shrieks of pain and fear as the darkness fled. Gaven stood on a floor of pale pink crystal. Red fire burned just beneath his feet, leading off in both directions, forming a maze of whirling lines stretching as far as he could see.
    “I know this path,” he said. His eyes traced the pathways, seeing morethan the glowing lines. They were the words of creation, and they spoke to him of what had been and what might yet come to pass.
    “We can lead each other,” Havrakhad said.
    “Wait—Rienne …” Gaven turned. A cloud of darkness formed before him, and Rienne’s crying face appeared in the midst of it. She stretched her arms out to him.
    “Don’t leave me here, Gaven!” she wailed.
    “Rienne isn’t here,” Havrakhad said. “Follow me to freedom, then you can find her.”
    “He’s lying, Gaven!” Rienne cried.
    “It lies,” Gaven murmured. “Truth would burn its tongue.” But that was the darkness—the Keeper of Secrets. He turned back to Havrakhad and the light. He surveyed the pathways again, and he made his choice. “This way,” he said, and together they started walking.
    “What is this path?” Havrakhad asked.
    “It’s my dragonmark,” Gaven said. But it was more than