The Killing Song

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Vennet d’Lyrandar stood with his eyes closed and surrendered himself to the wind. He let it buffet him, cool against the bare skin of his torso, let it pull at his long hair and push on him until he leaned. The breeze whistled into his pointed ears. You grow stronger every day, Vennet!

The half-elf, former captain of the elemental galleon Lightning on Water, smiled and answered. “Just wait,” he said. “The power of my dragonmark grows. Soon I’ll have you dancing to my will.”

Dancing? the wind asked in polite disbelief.

Vennet’s smile grew sharp. “Do you think you could resist the Siberys Mark of Storm?”

The wind had no answer for that. Its force eased. Their conversation was over for now. The wind was fickle. Sometimes it would answer, sometimes not. But Vennet had told it the simple truth. When his mark had grown into its power, the wind would be compelled to obey him. An early flush of power warmed him. He opened his eyes.

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