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

Thrane the most, with its theocratic government, the Keeper of the Flame at its head. Perhaps, in Kelas’s mind, meeting at the cathedral symbolized Aundair’s victory over Thrane. The idea made Aunn’s stomach turn.
    “No,” he said, “meet me at Kelas’s real office, in the Tower of Eyes. It faces the west side of Crown Hall.”
    Crown Hall was the queen’s palace. It made Aunn nervous to get so close to the heart of the whole affair, but he needed a secure place to take Gaven, and few places were safer than the stronghold of Aundair’s Royal Eyes.
    “I know where it is,” Cart said. “I went there with Haldren once. But how will we get in?”
    Aunn pulled some paper and a small writing set from one of Kelas’s pouches. Using Cart’s back as a desk, he scrawled a hasty note and signed it in a perfect imitation of Kelas’s hand. He touched a ring he’d pulled from Kelas’s dead fingers to the paper, felt with his mind for the tiny knot of magic contained in the ring, and tripped it. A pattern of faintly glowing lines appeared on the paper beneath the signature, and Aunn smiled in satisfaction.
    “Show this to the guards at the door and tell them you have an appointment to see me. Tell them to summon me if they give you any trouble. I’ll take Gaven there now and wait for you.”
    Cart took the paper, scanned the words and nodded.
    “Be careful,” Aunn added.
    “Always.” Cart held Gaven’s arm out for Aunn to take, then Ashara took his arm and they strolled off together toward the eastern side of town.
    Aunn looked at Gaven and smiled. “All right, Gaven, we’re going this way. Can you walk with me?”
    Slowly Gaven shuffled along beside him as Aunn made his way to the Tower of Eyes.
    *  *  *  *  *
    Walking beside Ashara was the opposite of marching in a unit of soldiers, Cart thought. His stride was long and even, like the steady cadence of a drum keeping soldiers in step. Her shorter legs made her steps quicker, and she had trouble keeping up with him, so she’d occasionally take a flurry of little, half-running steps, her boots pattering like hail on the cobblestones. There was a pleasing music to it, somehow—her melody playing against his constant drone.
    Aunn and Gaven were long out of sight, and the busier streets of Fairhaven’s downtown soon fell away behind them, replaced by quiet rows of homes and apartments. Cart was lost in the rhythm of their steps.
    “What’s wrong, Cart?” Ashara asked, breaking the silence.
    Cart took a few more steps before he answered. “You don’t really think I’m yours, do you?”
    “What?”
    “Back there. I said I didn’t have papers and you said, ‘He’s mine.’ Like it was nothing.”
    “Oh, Cart, no. I just wanted to make sure they didn’t give you any trouble, that’s all. Sometimes House Cannith can still be very possessive about warforged.”
    “But those were warforged we were talking to.”
    “Warforged who might as well still be slaves owned by the House,” Ashara said. “They’re not legally slaves, but they don’t get paid what human guards do.”
    It came to Cart like a dawning realization, full of wonder. “Nobody owns me,” he said.
    Ashara clutched his arm. “Of course not.”
    Cart walked in silence again. They approached a group of young men, who stopped their boisterous conversation and stared as they walked past, arm in arm. Ashara shifted her grip and Cart thought for a moment that she might release his arm in embarrassment, but she held on. Her hands were warm where they touched the cords and sinews between his armored plates.
    “I think,” Cart said, “that I would like to get identification papers. Would you help me?”
    “You’ve never had papers?”
    “I had military identification, but that was before the Treaty of Thronehold. Those papers showed me to be the property of Aundair. I belonged to Haldren. Right up until I killed him.”
    “So now you’re free.”
    “I suppose I am,” Cart