Keith Baker - The fading dream

One quick pull and she was on top of the carriage. She could see the scorched wood on the opposite side of the coach; strong as the defensive enchantments were, they wouldn’t take another blast. And there was the shadowy figure standing in the window of a nearby inn, a wand leveled at the carriage. Thorn didn’t hesitate. It took her two steps to reach the edge of the coach, and on that second stride she leaped, flinging herself into the air.

“Kharbys!” Thorn snapped out the word as she jumped. A buoyant wave of magical force lifted her into the air. It wasn’t true flight, but the little spell was all she needed. The man in the window ducked out of the way as she came crashing in. Thorn rolled to her feet, lashing out with Steel, but the man was out of her reach. He raised his wand, but she was already charging.

Thorn knocked the wand aside before the man could unleash whatever spells were held within, and the weapon skidded across the floor. She made a quick thrust, hoping to catch her enemy in the shoulder and cripple him before the fight even began. She wanted to take him alive if she could. Oargev aside, the man had crippled or killed a host of civilians in the blast. She wanted to know exactly who was responsible for that.

Her enemy wasn’t going to make it easy for her. Thorn hadn’t seen the buckler in his hand, but he knocked Steel out of line with a swift, confident blow. Then the buckler was gone, replaced by a dark blade driving straight at her exposed breast. She twisted away, feeling a shiver of pain as the blade grazed her shoulder.

Only then was Thorn able to recognize details about her foe, as their blades clashed and they circled the room. His weapon was formed of shadow bound to a solid hilt, and it could shift between sword and shield to be whatever he needed. With each thrust and riposte, she was able to see more. Straight thrust, sidestep and move in, keep the distance close. Human. Male. Silver-gray hair. Gray eyes. Ugly scar on the left side of his face. Striking with the shield, evade and use the momentum against him. Dark skin. A build pairing speed and strength in equal amounts. Loose, black clothes sewn from enchanted shiftweave, more effective than any mundane camouflage. A blow to the throat, parry and lash out with a pommel to the face. A badge on his collar, a silver wedge with gray enamel. Leg sweep, leap over and kick low.

The kick connected and the man staggered back. Thorn didn’t hesitate; she threw Steel, burying the blade in her enemy’s right shoulder. She didn’t call him back; she wanted the assassin off balance. Instead, she ran forward, raising her empty hands for an overhead blow.

A weaker man would have been in shock from his wounds, but her opponent didn’t hesitate. His shadow-blade shifted into its shield form, and he brought it forward to meet her fists. An easy defense if she struck with her empty hand. But as the blow fell, she reached into her left glove and pulled another weapon out of the space bound within-a wicked axe with a long, curved blade on one end of the haft and a vicious spearhead on the other. Thorn didn’t strike with either blade; she just brought the full weight of the axe down on her enemy’s injured arm. As she’d hoped, it was more than he could bear. The man dropped to his knees, his shadowy weapon collapsing into the form of a short rod and rolling from his grasp. Holding her axe with both hands, Thorn knocked him to the floor, pressing one knee into his chest and the haft of her axe into his throat.

“Enough,” Thorn hissed. She could feel blood matting her sleeve, and the shard in her neck pulsed like an angry wasp digging into her spine. She wanted to drive her spear into his throat. “You’ve got an appointment across the bridge, you bastard.”

The man struggled ineffectively, blood flowing from his shoulder and his breath coming in ragged gasps. A moment more and he’d pass out. He met Thorn’s gaze, and his eyes were wild. “The prince will fall,” he rasped. “And Galifar burn until our home has been returned.”

“You’re not burning anything-” Even as she spoke, Thorn felt an awful spark of doubt. The wand! It had fallen on the floor, across the room…

But somehow it was back in his hand.

Fire filled the room. The force of the explosion hurled her off of the man and slammed her against the wall, driving the air from her lungs. There was a sharp crack, and in a shower of soot and plaster, both floor and ceiling collapsed. Thorn was caught in the cascade and rolled into a ball as she fell. The chaos took only a moment. Then all was still save for the cries of those injured and trapped by the burning debris.

Thorn carefully rose to her feet, shifting aside the few pieces of rubble that had fallen on top of her. Smoke and ash filled the air, and her clothes were smoldering; the wood around her was seared, and she could smell blood and burned flesh. Aside from her bruises and scrapes, she was unhurt. Whatever power shielded her from flame had saved her yet again. She should have been blinded and choking on the thick smoke; instead it gave her no more trouble than cool fog, and even though she couldn’t see, she knew where the rafters had fallen, her mind painting a picture using the sound of crackling flames and the shifting pressure of air and ash. She returned the axe to its pocket of space within her glove and reached out to Steel with her thoughts. Charred wood shifted as the dagger pulled free and flew to her hand.

Get out of here immediately, he told her. The building could collapse at any moment.

“And our friend?”

Little left of him. What’s there will keep. Best to see to Oargev. It seems I was wrong to question his fears.

“Just coming to that conclusion, are you?” Thorn pushed through the rubble as quickly as she could, dodging the chunks of wood that fell from the ceiling. “What’s out there? Are there more of them?”

No significant mystical signatures. But I didn’t sense the presence of the assassin until he charged the wand for the initial strike.

“Lovely.” A moment later she was out of the smoke and back in the clear air of the street, or at least as clear as riverside Wroat ever was. While the walls of the Cyran coach had survived the blast, one of the wheels was shattered, and those horses that had survived were too badly injured to move. One of the King’s Shields was helping Essyn and Oargev out of the battered wagon. The other Shield, Delru, had leaped down from the coach and was scanning the streets. He leveled his crossbow at Thorn as she emerged then lowered it as he recognized her.

“The Watch and the Wands should be here in minutes,” he said as Thorn approached.

“We’re not waiting,” she said.

“Jovi’s not back-”

“Which means he may have died buying us the time you’re wasting,” Thorn snarled. “This wasn’t the work of one man. Lanner, take point on that alley. Your Highness, stay close to him.”

Delru grabbed her arm. “We should wait for reinforcements to-”

“Down!” Thorn saw the spark in the shadows even as Steel cried a warning in her mind. She slammed into Essyn Cadrel, knocking him to the ground and shielding him with her body. The spark became a flash, the raw power of the storm harnessed by arcane skill. Delru’s silhouette was seared into Thorn’s eyes as the lightning engulfed him, and the shattered remnants of the carriage fell all around her. She felt the sheer power of the lightning as it passed over her, and just the force of its wake was enough to set her nerves tingling.

“Get to the alley!” Thorn pulled Cadrel to his feet and shoved him toward the edge of the street. She could see Lanner in the mouth of the alley, shielding the prince with a field of shimmering energy projected from his bracer. Delru hadn’t been so lucky. Thorn could see a shirt of light chain mail gleaming in the gaps in his smoldering clothes. The enchantment in the armor had saved the bodyguard’s life, dispersing the full force of the blast. But his skin was charred and cracked, and he’d fallen to one knee. It was a miracle he was still conscious, and he wouldn’t be running anytime soon.