Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [52]
I suppose—
Steel’s voice was cut off as Thorn released the dagger and took Daine’s hand. “I will.”
He smiled, his dragonmarked eye gleaming in the torchlight. “I thank you for your trust. Tomorrow you will see that it is a battle worth fighting. For the moment, I suggest you rest. We’ve got a challenging day ahead.” He glanced toward the door. “I think it’s best that you avoid Xu’sasar for the next few hours.”
Thorn nodded and turned to go. She took hold of Steel as she retraced her path through the hallway.
A hidden creation forge, Steel mused. I hate to admit it, but he’s right. We’ve always known Merrix was an ambitious man. If he’s hiding such a thing from Boranel, who knows what else he’s been doing? Being able to gather intelligence and destroy the forge while blaming it on the Tarkanans … it’s an invaluable opportunity.
Thorn knew that tone. “But …?”
We still don’t know that it’s true. And even if it is, he admits to stealing the soul of that child, artificial though it may be. If you believe his claims, he stole his own body from a descendent of his. Be careful. It may be that his goals serve Breland. But how long will that last?
“I don’t know,” Thorn said. “All I know for certain is that I could use a good night’s sleep.”
Very well then, Steel whispered. I trust you’ll have pleasant dreams.
The dagger never laughed, but Thorn could feel his mirth as she released him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Undercity
Lharvion 21, 999 YK
Had I the appetite, I would feast on your flesh, little half-elf. But instead I will give you to the storm.”
The voice was as loud as thunder, and Thorn could feel the vibrations through the floor. Impressive as it was, it was nothing next to the speaker. Drulkalatar Atesh was a lord of the first age of Eberron, a giant with the head of a tiger and vast leathery wings painted in black and crimson. Lightning crackled around his hooked talons, and as he raised his arms, a howling wind whirled around him, pressing Thorn against the floor.
Memories rushed back to her. Droaam. The Stormblade mission. She’d tracked down the architect of disaster, only to find that he was a demon in disguise.
Drulkalatar raised his hands, and arcs of lightning surrounded Thorn, crackling around her. She dropped to her knees, howling in agony. Pain tore through every muscle, and she could feel bones breaking under the pressure. Her body was twisting, joints coming apart, blood burning in her veins. And then the pain was gone. Her blood still burned, but now this felt right. The fire was a source of power and comfort, the same energy she’d used to fight Fileon. She spread her wings and glared down at the little demon.
She’d become a dragon, with scales the color of fresh blood and long, black talons.
“Storm?” she snarled, and now it was her voice that shook the room. “I prefer fire.”
She could feel the fear of the tiger-headed fiend. But that surprise was mingled with familiarity. He knew her.
He spoke a name. Her name. But it slipped from her mind the moment that she heard it. “Begone from this place!”
She laughed at him, and her angry words took the form of fire, scorching his flesh and burning holes in his shielding wings. He called the winds to fight her, throwing her back with a hurricane blast. She stumbled but still lashed out with her tail, smashing him to the floor.
“Why are you doing this?” he cried when the tide of battle calmed for an instant. “You know what I want. Leave me be, and together we will revel in the savage time that lies ahead.”
She laughed, and they clashed again. He struck at her with bolts and blades of lightning, but the raw magic in her blood was so powerful that the blasts shattered without touching her. He summoned hosts of feral beasts to his aid and laughed as they swarmed toward her.
“I know what I am,” she told him. “I am the