Keith Baker - Son of Khyber

No. She could. Thorn had never been one for grandiose dreams. All she wanted was to serve her country, to know that her father would be proud of her. And that was enough. She was fighting for Breland and the memory of the best man she’d ever known, and she had no intention of failing either one. There was always a way. There was always hope.

The angel screamed again.

Hope. That was her weapon. Vorlintar consumed hope, and he could not claim hers. He struggled, howling, but Thorn locked her hands together and refused to let go. He would fall. They would find a way. She was sure of it.

The shadows the angel had summoned vanished, and Drego’s flames washed over him. For a moment Thorn thought she would be burned, but she felt only the slightest tingle against her skin. Not so Vorlintar. The angel’s thrashing grew weaker. The weight of his chains pulled him to the ground.

Daine moved forward and placed his hand against the angel’s forehead. His dragonmark burst into light, and the lines of it flowed off of his skin and wrapped around the head of the Keeper of Hopes. The angel’s cries suddenly silenced, and he stiffened in Thorn’s arms. As she held him, his body began to fade beneath her hands, as if he were turning into mist. There was a jangling sound as one of his chains fell to the floor. Another followed, and another, and then there was a crash as dozens fell at once. Thorn’s arms closed on empty air. Daine held a ball of writhing shadows in his hand, bound in the brilliant lines of his mark. He took a deep breath and closed his palm, crushing the sphere. He gasped as inky blackness spread from his hand along his mark, flowing up his arm.

“Thorn, get back!” Drego cried. “Stay away from him!”

Daine’s face was a mask of pain. The shadows spread to his face, moving across his eye. He dropped to one knee, his fist still clenched, every muscle bulging.

Thorn snatched Steel off of the floor. “What can we do?”

“Just stay back!” Drego yelled.

He’s right, Steel whispered. I don’t know what this is, but there’s immense power at work. You need to stay clear of it.

It seemed that the shadow-touched mark was fighting to pull free of Daine’s body. Inky tendrils rose from his skin, lashing at the air. It was a terrifying sight, and yet Thorn couldn’t just stand by and watch. She was sure that she could help. You’ll know when the time comes, he’d told her. And she did. Sheathing Steel, Thorn walked to Daine’s side and set her hands on his shoulders. Immediately, she felt a surge of warmth in the shard in her neck. Only this time, it wasn’t pain.

“You can do this,” she said. The words came to her without thought. “Remember who you are. Remember what you’ve done. What’s one more to one such as you?”

Daine stiffened at her touch. Then, as she spoke, crimson light burned at the shadows along his skin. The ruddy glow reclaimed the lines of the dragonmark, and the mark itself pulled back against his flesh. He gasped, falling forward and catching himself with one hand.

“You have my thanks, my lady.” His voice was ragged. “I knew I could count on you.”

Thorn didn’t even know what she’d done or where the words had come from. Yet it had felt terribly familiar, as if she’d done it before.

“Of course,” she said.

“Xu,” Daine said, rising to his feet.

The chaos had passed. Thorn saw that Brom was sprawled out on the floor behind him. Daine was still unsteady on his feet, but he pushed passed Thorn toward the mass of savage children.

The battle was over. The children were sprawled across the room. A few bore signs of injury, but others seemed completely unharmed. As Thorn followed Daine, she saw that all of the fallen were smiling, their faces frozen in expressions of joy and peace.

Not so Xu’sasar. The dark elf had held her own, but the children had possessed the manic strength of the marauders at the tunnel, and she’d fought dozens of them. She was covered with bruises, and there was something wrong with her left leg-a sprain, if not a broken bone. Blood was flowing from her mouth, and Thorn wondered if there was internal bleeding.

Daine took her in his arms. She looked at him, and her pale eyes were glazed. “It reflects poorly on the soul… when one is killed… by children,” she whispered.

“You’re not dying here,” he told her. “Drego!”

“I cannot let you… stand alone,” she said. “The spirits told me… danger still to come.”

“I will not be alone,” he said. “And you have done your duty to the spirits.”

“Brom’s dead,” Drego said, coming up behind them. “A mercy after what that thing did to him.”

Daine looked up at him then back at Xu’sasar. “Help her.”

Drego looked down at the injured woman. “There’s little I can do-”

“Do it.”

The Thrane knelt beside Xu’sasar, studying her wounds. Even weak as she was, she refused to cry out in pain. But it was plain to see that she was in agony. It was then that Thorn remembered what she had in her cloak. Finding the proper pocket, she produced the second vial of dreamlily that she’d taken from the Tarkanan stores.

Xu’sasar resisted when Drego tried to give her the medicine. “Weakens the mind,” she murmured.

“Drink,” Daine said. “I need you alive.”

On his order, she swallowed the potion. Her breathing slowed, and she relaxed.

Drego studied her for a few more moments. “She’ll live,” he said. “I need to splint the leg, and she needs to rest. But as long as she avoids any strenuous activity, she’ll survive.”

“Do what you need to do,” Daine said. He looked away, and Thorn finally had a good look at him. His dragonmark had spread, covering his entire neck and a wider portion of his face.

“What happened?”

“Vorlintar,” he said. “He’s bound within my mark. It’s difficult to hold such a powerful spirit. Fortunately for me, I had an experienced mentor.”

“Your mark’s spreading.”

“I know. It always does. I imagine the spirits I had bound were released when I died. When I returned to the flesh, my mark was the same size as when it first appeared. With each new spirit, it grows. I can feel it, writhing against me, struggling to be free.” As if to illustrate his point, the lines along his arm twisted and shifted. “But I held it before, and I can contain it now.”

Thorn said nothing, just watched the aberrant dragonmark as it crawled on his flesh. Drego called them back.

“I’ve done what I can,” he said. “But we should get her back to the haven.”

“No,” Daine said. “There is no haven in Sharn. Not anymore. My orders to our brethren were to evacuate as soon as we left. If Cannith hasn’t found it yet, they will soon.”

“So where are we going?” Drego asked. “Xu’sasar can’t fight.”

“And she will not be joining us,” Daine replied. “I will speak to her alone. As for us, we have one more angel to find.”

“What do you mean?” Drego said.

“I want you to take us to the Cardinal Point.”

“The Cardinal Point?” Drego said. “You mean…”

“Yes,” Daine said. His mark gleamed against his skin. “Tonight we face the Angel of Flame.”

Fallen Lharvion 22, 999 YK

I am the Angel of Flame. The words from her dream echoed in Thorn’s mind, and she found that her hand had tightened around Steel’s hilt. “We’re going to fight a dragon?”

If Daine meant her any harm, she could see no sign of it. He frowned, puzzled. “No. An angel, an embodiment of fire. I do not know its proper titles, only that it holds power over flame. Drego, perhaps you could enlighten us?”

The Thrane nodded, but Thorn could tell that he was surprised by the topic. As before, he wove a pattern with his fingers, creating a ward that shimmered in the air. “The guardian of the Cardinal Point is one of the Burning Host of Syrania, the vanguard that stands against the fiends of Shavarath. She is Vyrael, the Ashen Sword, Eighth among the Burning Host.” As before, the translucent sigil caught fire and burned away in the air. “Hers is the strength of smoke and flame. Less subtle by far than our fallen foe but easily as dangerous in battle. Why her?”