Keith Baker - Son of Khyber

Secure, she thought.

Let’s go, Mayne’s voice returned.

Two shadows slipped out from behind the crates and joined her. Mayne and Lharen, her partners. It was Lharen’s magic that linked their thoughts. Mayne was their muscle, when it was required. So far, this job had taken more finesse than force. Whatever Minister Adal was developing here, he’d sunk a great deal of resources into protecting it. The mystical wards were lethal and well hidden. And the guards were surely members of the elite Knights Arcane, armed with powerful wands in addition to their own skills with sword and spell. The least of them could fill a room with flame with just five words. When facing such enemies, stealth and speed were the only options. Thorn and her companions couldn’t give these enemies time to bring magic to bear.

The target’s just ahead. Mayne’s thoughts pressed into her mind, calm and steady. Just ahead, beyond a narrow corridor. Two guards in the chamber.

If the information is good, Thorn replied.

Mayne shrugged.

Thorn slid along the nearest crate, peering carefully around the edge. She could see the passage, and it was narrow indeed. Barely wide enough to walk through, let alone swing a sword. She fixed her eyes on a point at the very center of the entrance. Watch and wait.

As she’d expected, there was a faint ripple, something an untrained eye might dismiss as a trick of the imagination. Thorn knew better. She drew a lens from a belt pouch and stared through the glass at the empty space; then she rotated the lens, looking through the other side.

An alarm, she thought. And the hallway becomes a chokepoint for whatever they can bring to bear.

Can you silence it? Lharen’s thoughts were a comforting presence in Thorn’s mind.

Given time. But the focal point is inside the corridor. I’d be completely exposed, and with the amount of time it’s likely to take-I’m sure they’d see me.

So turn invisible.

Thorn shook her head. Not all of us are master sorcerers. I drew on all the energy I could muster to hide our tracks. If this is the end, I think surprise and confusion are our best weapons. She pointed to the ring on her left hand. Time to put these to work.

Lharen nodded. Night’s shadow.

As far down the corridor as possible. Mayne, take point and left. I’ll follow. Lharen, stay back. Cover if you can, but we can’t risk you getting caught in the fire.

She could feel Lharen’s reluctance. He hated staying back when she was in danger. But his mystical skills were the key to accomplishing their mission. Thorn and Mayne were expendable, but Lharen needed to reach the target alive.

Mayne caught Thorn’s eye and raised his arm. A rectangle of shimmering energy appeared across his forearm, a shield almost as wide as the passage itself.

Thorn reached out for Lharen with her thoughts. Now.

Stepping out from the crates, Lharen swept his hand toward the hallway. “Mabar asht tol!” he said, flexing his fingers in an intricate pattern. A bolt of energy flowed from his hand, a narrow column of dark mist that moved with astonishing speed. The murky beam expanded as it moved forward, filling the corridor entirely.

Mayne charged, his shield raised in front of him. Thorn was right behind him.

She stepped into the shadows, and everything went black. But only for a moment. The ring on her finger was enchanted to let her eyes pierce the dark, and even as she pressed forward, her surroundings snapped back into view, painted in stark shades of black and white.

She felt a burst of heat, and Mayne staggered as something struck his shield. But the guards ahead were casting blind. They couldn’t see what was coming.

Mayne slammed into the soldier standing in the archway ahead, knocking him back and to the side. Thorn slipped in behind him. The second knight had raised his wand and was tracking Mayne’s movements, following the sounds of battle. Thorn knocked the wand from his hand and followed the blow with a quick thrust at his throat. She didn’t expect it to be that easy, and it wasn’t; the soldier was fast and called out a word of shielding the instant his wand slipped from his grasp. Thorn’s dagger flew back from his neck, and it was all she could do to keep hold of it. He made a sharp gesture with his hand. A wind rose in the room, a gale that pounded into Thorn, pushing her back from her foe.

No time to waste. The soldiers were blind, but there was no knowing what alarms or wards they could activate. The knight raised his hand to cast another spell, and Thorn threw her dagger. The blade lanced straight through his outstretched palm, the point driving through his hand and pinning it to his chest. Hardly a lethal blow, but enough to cause him to choke on his spell.

He reached up with his good hand, but Thorn was on him. She drove her elbow into his chest, felt ribs crack, then slammed the heel of her hand against his nose. He fell to his knees, but Thorn couldn’t afford to give him a moment’s respite. Another blow sent him tumbling to the floor. She pulled her dagger free from his maimed hand and made a certain end of him.

An awful cry came from behind her, along with the foul stench of burning flesh and hair. Thorn turned in time to see the second guard collapse, struggling to put out the flames that had engulfed his head.

Lharen stepped out of the tunnel, flexing his fingers. “Arcanix be damned. When it comes to the mystic arts, no one beats a Brelish mage.”

“Really?” Mayne said. “So I suppose you could build that?”

There was no question as to what Mayne was talking about. They had come in search of the arcane core, and now it lay before them. It was a massive pillar of twisted metal, pipes of mithral, silver, and adamantine coiled around the darkwood core like steel serpents twisting around the trunk of a tree. Glowing runes covered the exposed wood, and Thorn could feel the magical energies shift in the room as the sigils pulsed and flickered.

“Sovereigns and Six…” Thorn murmured.

It wasn’t the size of the pillar that brought on the curse, nor the sensation of power tingling against her skin. It was the glittering wall surrounding the column, a tornado formed from shards of glass.

“What is it?”

“Dragonshards,” Lharen breathed. “The balance is amazing. Khyber, Siberys, Eberron-thousands, each one linked directly to the power of the core.”

“Lovely,” Thorn said. “Can we destroy it?”

Lharen shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting this. Stand back.” He raised his hands and whispered in an ancient tongue. Light and heat filled the air, a brilliant burst of eldritch power that flowed from Lharen and played across the stones… with no effect at all. Lharen maintained the mystic barrage for ten seconds before he had to stop, gasping for breath. “It’s as I feared. The shards will absorb any energy I throw at them. The ritual I’ve prepared can’t penetrate it.”

“There’s got to be something we can do,” Mayne said.

Lharen stared into the tower of glittering stones then sighed. “There is. Mayne, I’ll need your shield. And your cloak. Is it still charged?”

“A few moments left, no more,” Mayne said, unpinning the cloak and pulling off the bracer that held his mystic shield. “What do you have in mind?”

“The shards protect the core. So I’m going to have to get through the shards.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Thorn said, grabbing Lharen’s arm. “You’ll be torn apart.”

“Mayne’s cloak will provide me with a few moments of protection, and the shield will help.” Lharen grimaced. “I don’t expect to walk away from this. But I’ve beaten the odds before. Perhaps I’ll do it again-if not, I’ll finally pay my debt to the Keeper.”

“There’s got to be another way.”