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

prove him wrong.”
    “And how—” The glass globe on the desk began to glow, cutting him off. He looked at it for a moment, as the light grew from a faint shimmer to a brilliant glare, then reached for it. As soon as his fingers touched the smooth surface, the light faded, but Gaven could see the hint of an image inside the sphere.
    “Kelas?” A woman’s voice came from the globe, as clear as if she were in the room. “What’s going on? I’ve been waiting all night!”

C HAPTER
9
    T he forest to the east burned with the false promise of dawn as Rienne kept watch over Jordhan. The airship’s fiery ring held the vessel aloft just above the tops of the charred trees, but its harsh light was a small flicker in a much larger darkness, leaving Rienne to peer nervously at every hint of movement at the edge of the encroaching shadows.
    No attack came, and at last the eastern sky came alive with fiery red and yellow heralding the sun’s true arrival. No bird calls greeted the dawn light, though, and as the light spilled across the ground beneath her Rienne saw the extent of the devastation left in the barbarians’ wake.
    The earth was a wide field of black rock and gray ash, the charred trunks of once-mighty trees jutting up like the crumbling stone pillars of an ancient ruin, many of them half toppled, inclined almost to the ground in their grief. Bones littered the ground as far as she could see—the snarling skull of an Eldeen bear nearby, shattered ribs jutting from the blackened tatters of a chainmail coat just beyond it. Among the bones vultures hopped, flapped, and swarmed over the fresh corpse of the dragon.
    Vultures wheel where dragons flew, picking the bones of the numberless dead
.
    The words from Rienne’s dream sprang to her mind, and brought with them images of battle—dragons flying overhead, a bone-white banner marked in blood, wave after wave of the enemy crashing down over her and Maelstrom. A demon standing before her, his sword burning with hellfire.
    Rienne shook herself—had she fallen asleep?—and walked the perimeter of the deck. She and Gaven had visited the Towering Wood once, chasing a rumor of a dragonshard deposit, and she had loved the feeling of shelter she found beneath the arching branches of the ancient trees. The ground seemed like a magical twilight world where the sun never quite reached,yet it was warm and alive. Now the ruin of the forest was laid bare to the dawn, extending as far as she could see in every direction.
    She turned Maelstrom over in her hands, searching the blade for the hundredth time for any pit seared into the steel by the dragon’s acidic breath or blood, any nick left behind as the blade pierced its armored plates. Maelstrom was perfect, as sharp and whole as the day she’d received it.
    “Lady Alastra,” the messenger said, bowing low, “your presence is requested at the home of Master Kevyen.”
    She knew instantly what had happened. Her master was dead. It was not a shock—he had been ailing for months. Still she was too numb to feel the grief, and she would later be ashamed to realize that the first thing she felt was a tiny surge of joy. Maelstrom would be hers
.
    The tears came as she followed the messenger through Stormhome to the master’s home, hurrying to keep up with his fast pace, wondering if it would be the last time she walked this particular path through the city’s winding streets
.
    The modest house had been a blur of confusion in the wake of the master’s death, and she stood in the midst of it, trying to find a still center of calm and patience. At last the steward had found her and carelessly thrust the case into her suddenly awkward hands
.
    She fell to her knees and the commotion around her faded. She ran her hands over the velvet that covered the case, the color of wine, and breathed in the musty smell of it. The smell awakened such memories in her! She remembered kneeling before the master at the beginning of her studies,