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

friend Kelas
.
    “What is it?” Aunn asked.
    I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve enclosed the latest reports from House Kundarak—more of the same. I certainly hope they mean more to you than they do to me
.
    Gaven’s own father, writing to Kelas as if to an old friend?
    “Gaven?”
    “My father sent them.”
    Gaven flipped through the last pages, scanning dates again. The last letter was dated the fourth of Eyre, 999 YK—less than a week before Gaven escaped from Dreadhold, just over a month before his father’s death.
    Dear Kelas
,
    My younger son and all Stormhome are sleeping soundly as I write this, but sleep eludes me. Perhaps I have let my mind be influenced too much by Gaven’s ravings, if that’s what they are. I feel the weight of the future pressing on me. My health, I must accept, is failing. But how can I accept that if it means I am never to see Gaven’s face again?
    You have long assured me that I would live to see Gaven walk free of his prison, his innocence proven at last, and that hope has sustained me through these years of our correspondence. But unless you know some way to prolong my life—or Gaven’s release is somehow imminent—I fear you have been mistaken
.
    So now I am preparing myself for death. Thordren will carry on my business, as he has ably done for many years now. If you wish, I will send a letter to House Kundarak, asking them to continue sending their reports to Thordren, and instruct him to send them on to you as I have done. And I will go to the Land of the Dead and strive to retain my memories there in the endless gray, so that when Gaven joins me there—many years from now, if it please the Host—I might still know him and be able to tell him what I couldn’t tell him while I lived
.
    Thank you again—a thousand times—for all that you have done for me and my son. I hope you will continue your efforts on his behalf after I am gone, for the sake of our friendship
.
    Your friend,
Arnoth d’Lyrandar
        Gaven read the letter three times—the first time, blinking back tears as he thought of his father, gripped with the pain of having missed the chance to see him by a few hours. The second time, he hunted through every sentence for a hint of what Arnoth had wanted to tell him. The third time, his tears dried, he looked for a better idea of what Kelas had supposedly been doing on Gaven’s behalf.
    “You worked for Kelas,” he said at last.
    Aunn was holding a glass orb and peering intently into its depths. “I did,” he said, setting the orb aside on the desk.
    “He sent you to join Cart and Senya, to get me out of Dreadhold.”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “Why?” Gaven asked.
    “Why did he send me? Isn’t it obvious? He wanted your mark for the Dragon Forge.”
    “Did you know that at the time?”
    “No,” Aunn said. “I knew he wanted your knowledge of the Prophecy. Please believe me, Gaven, if I’d had any idea—”
    Gaven shook his head. Cart had said the same thing. It didn’t matter. “Did you know he was corresponding with my father?”
    “I had no idea.”
    “He thought I was innocent,” Gaven said. “He called me his son, even though I was excoriate, and he always believed he’d live to see me walk free.”
    “And he did, right?
    “No. He knew I’d escaped, but that’s not the same thing. I’m still not free. I’m still guilty, they’d still throw me back in Dreadhold if they could.”
    Aunn leaned forward over the desk. “But are you really guilty?”
    “What do you mean? I did the things they accused me of.”
    “But the dragon—”
    “I wasn’t possessed. Its memories confused me, to be sure, but it was still me, doing what I did. As much as I’d like to avoid responsibility, I can’t. The Thurannis killed all the Paelions because of me.”
    Aunn sat back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the desk.
    “Bordan d’Velderan kept saying that I was no different from any other common criminal,” Gaven said. “I have to