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

that. “It’s my life, spoken in the words of creation, part of the Prophecy.”
    “But there are many paths here.”
    “Many paths and many destinations.”
    “Why are we going this way, then?” Havrakhad asked. He stopped and gazed into Gaven’s eyes.
    “This is the path I choose.”
    They were in a room, and the light was only a single lamp on a table beside him. The dragonshard floated just above Havrakhad’s fingertips. Other faces crowded behind Havrakhad—Cart, Ashara, and … Kelas ir’Darren?
    “No!” Gaven cried. He leaped up from his chair and pulled the sword from its sheath on his back, then swayed as dizziness washed through his head. Havrakhad jumped back, and the dragonshard clattered onto the floor. “What have you done to me?”
    “Gaven, calm down,” Havrakhad said.
    Cart stepped closer, wary of Gaven’s sword. “You’re safe,” he said.
    “Whose side are you on today, Cart? I can’t keep track any more.”
    “Yours, Gaven.”
    “Then what’s he doing here?” He turned his gaze to Kelas. “You were dead. I saw Aunn kill you. Am I still dreaming?”
    Kelas met his eyes, and then—just for an instant—he wasn’t Kelas anymore. Darraun’s face appeared where Kelas’s had been, and just as quickly vanished. Then his eyes flicked over to Havrakhad and back. Gavenstared, uncomprehending, for a moment, all the more convinced he was still dreaming, but then he understood.
    “I’m sorry, Kelas,” Gaven said. He sheathed his sword, trying to think of something to say that would allay any suspicion his behavior had stirred up in Havrakhad, but he decided to keep quiet until he had a better understanding of what was going on.
    “I understand,” Kelas—or rather, Aunn said. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
    “Where are we?” Gaven said, looking around the unfamiliar room.
    “My office in Fairhaven.”
    “Fairhaven?” Gaven wasn’t sure exactly where the Dragon Forge had stood, but he knew it was near the Blackcaps, and it would have taken three or four weeks to get from there to Fairhaven on foot. “How long was I …?” He realized he didn’t know what state he’d been in. Had he been unconscious?
    “Not long. Twelve or fourteen hours, perhaps.” Aunn looked as though he were about to say more, but he glanced at Havrakhad and closed his mouth.
    Havrakhad must have noticed that he was crowding the small room. “My work here is done,” he said. “But you should contact me again if Gaven’s sleep is particularly troubled—or if you can’t wake him up, of course.”
    “Wait—the dragonshard,” Ashara said. “What should we do with it?”
    Gaven’s gaze followed hers to the dragonshard on the floor. The lines of his dragonmark beckoned him to walk their pathways.
    “I should think that House Cannith would be best qualified to find an answer to that question.”
    “But should we … keep it away from him?” Cart asked.
    “What do you think, Gaven?” Havrakhad said.
    Gaven stooped to pick up the dragonshard, hesitating just a moment before curling his fingers around the smooth crystal. A tingle of soft lightning ran down his neck and chest, the tender skin where his dragonmark had been, and he thought he heard a distant rumble of thunder. He stared at the twisting lines for a moment, the path he’d chosen shining clear in his mind.
    He smiled at Cart. “You want to try to take it?” he said, laughing. “I’ll wrestle you for it.”
    “It’s yours,” Cart said. “I want no part of it. Oh, uh, Kelas—I told Havrakhad that he should work out the details of payment with you.”
    “Of course,” Aunn said, moving to sit in the chair behind the desk. “Did you agree on terms?”
    “Cart generously assured me that I could name my price,” Havrakhad said. “But I live simply. I don’t need much.”
    “But you were here all night, and it was very taxing work.” Aunn produced paper and a quill from the desk and began writing out a letter of