Rise of the Seventh Moon: Heirs of Ash, Book 3 by Rich Wulf Page B

here seeking those same secrets, prophet.” He glared at Zamiel.
    “We worry a great deal about what may be, Ashrem,” the prophet said. “Let us worry over what we know, not what we might know. I will not lie. The knowledge we seek is deadly. If you fear the wrath of Argonnessen, then walk away. I shall bother you no more. But consider that the secrets of dragons can grant incredible power. Perhaps even the power to end this war.”
    Ashrem’s frown deepened. He turned his back to the prophet, walking swiftly toward the door. Wizened fingers rested upon the brass handle. Ashrem stood there, unmoving, for a long moment.
    “Leave, Ashrem,” Norra said, though she knew he could not hear. “Leave this manipulative charlatan behind.”
    “Morien mentioned something called the Legacy,” Ashrem said. “An artifact crafted countless ages ago when dragonkind ruled Eberron.”
    “Yes,” Zamiel said.
    “You know of it?” Ashrem demanded, looking at the prophet.
    “It was a tool so powerful it could alter the world,” Zamiel said. “Its power created the Boneyard in the Talenta Plains, ending a war between dragonkind and the demons of Khyber. It nullified the very magic that was the demon horde’s lifeblood.”
    “And slew the dragons as well,” Ashrem said.
    “Only because dragons are creatures of magic,” Zamiel said. “Humans are not. Think of it, Master d’Cannith. Such power could neutralize the magical weapons that allow the Five Nations to fight one another—but leave the people alive.”
    “Foolishness,” Ashrem said. “Wars existed long before airships and warforged. Without magic, men would still kill one another.”
    “But the wars of times past were not as savage as this one,” Zamiel said. “You have seen the signs, Ashrem. You know if yourfamily and others like them do not cease to pursue the use of magic as a weapon that the situation will only escalate. Things can grow much worse than they are now.”
    “So you want me to prevent the Five Nations from destroying themselves by creating an even more dangerous weapon?” Ashrem sneered. He pulled the door open with a creaking wooden cough.
    “You have been trying to end this war for how long now?” Zamiel said. “What progress have you made?”
    Ashrem’s fingers tightened on the brass handle. He glared over his shoulder at the prophet.
    “I apologize, Master d’Cannith,” Zamiel said, bowing his head. “I did not mean to insult your good works. I did not anticipate that you would be the sort to shy away from knowledge. I cannot believe you would fear this opportunity.”
    “Knowledge does not frighten me,” Ashrem said.
    Zamiel’s dark eyes narrowed. “Then there is something more,” he said. “Something you have not told me. What did you see in Markhelm’s report?”
    “Markhelm found sections of the Draconic Prophecy transcribed on the walls of a cavern deep in Argonnessen,” Ashrem said, pulling away from the door. “He transcribed them in his reports in perfect detail. That was how he learned of the Legacy, but there was something more.” Ashrem’s expression became troubled.
    “The future is often troubling,” Zamiel said. “Especially when we learn our part in it. Tell me.”
    “It isn’t that,” Ashrem said. “These weren’t mere words. When I looked at Markhelm’s transcriptions, it was as if I heard a voice in my mind. I saw things that were impossible.”
    A vision, Norra reflected. Much like this one?
    “The Prophecy spoke to you?” Zamiel asked, growing obviously more excited. “A rare but not unprecedented occurrence. Tell me what you saw, Master d’Cannith! Please.”
    “I saw a mortal rebuild a weapon once wielded by ancient dragons,” Ashrem said. “I saw him use it against the nations of Khorvaire, destroying their weapons, rendering them helpless. I saw this man cursed as a traitor. I saw him flee into exile.”
    “But what became of Eberron?” Zamiel asked. “Did the vision show you