Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [54]
Floating in the cocoon of the dreamlily, she replayed the dream in her mind. It was fading again, slipping away. But there was one point she hadn’t seen before. The fire in her blood, the anger that seemed to give her remarkable bursts of strength, the power that she felt when she’d drained the life from Sorghan … she’d felt it in her dream. It was the burning power of the dragon’s blood.
But what did it mean?
And who was the Angel of Flame?
“On your feet, sister Thorn!” It was Brom, leaning on his massive arm. “The time for sleep is done. We will be working together this day, and there are many preparations to make.”
Thorn looked at him. The dreamlily highlighted his unusual features—the reptilian eye, his wildly mismatched hair and teeth, the patches of scales and chitin scattered across his skin. For a moment she was gripped by the thought that she was looking into a mirror reflecting her soul, that she’d suffered psychic injuries as terrible as Brom’s physical afflictions. She opened her mouth, trying to find the words to explain, but now the dreamlily caught her tongue. “I see myself in your teeth,” she told him.
Brom frowned, puzzled. “Shake off your dreams, little one. There’s a war to be fought.” He scooped her out of bed with his powerful arm and propped her up against the bunk. The pain of the shard was fading, and as usual, it was drawing the dreamlily haze away with it. The dose she’d taken should have kept her sedated for hours, but ever since Far Passage, she’d found that even the strongest narcotics could only affect her for a few minutes. At least they still helped with the pain. She worked through the fading fog, gathering her equipment and following Brom. But she could still hear the words from her dream echoing in her head. This time it wasn’t the demon’s threats that haunted her. It was her own voice.
I am the Angel of Flame.
What did it mean?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ashblack
Lharvion 21, 999 YK
I thought I was done with sewers,” Thorn muttered. The Cannith forgehold was hidden deep below the foundry district of Ashblack, and the Tarkanan force had spent the better part of an hour trudging through muck and grime. It was fortunate for Thorn that she had a nose clip in her basic kit. Some of the others were still wincing from the stench. But even without the odor, she was still covered with mold and excrement. The glamorous life of the Dark Lantern, she thought.
It was hard to imagine Merrix d’Cannith coming through the sewers, and according to Daine, he didn’t. There was another way to reach the forgehold, but it was infested with wards and guards, and if they were pursued, the Cannith forces would know the lay of the land. Once he knew where the forgehold was, Daine had been able to plot a different route—less scenic, certainly, but safer for what they had in mind. If Daine was right, the gate to the forgehold lay just ahead of them. It was time to set the plan in motion.
Thorn and Xu’sasar took the lead, relying on darkvision as they crept forward through the light-less tunnels. This ability still bothered Thorn. Useful as it was, it was one more power that she couldn’t account for—senses sharper than even her elven mother had possessed. But now was not the time for doubts or questions.
She spotted a series of runes carved into the floor ahead, and she raised her hand. Xu’sasar froze as Thorn examined the sigils. They were painted black, barely visible against the dark stone, but there was no mistaking the purpose or power of these warding runes. Concentrating on them, Thorn could feel the energy surging, waiting to be unleashed.
“Aaren,” she whispered. For a moment, the runes were outlined in violet flames, and then the fires faded. A part of Thorn was surprised. For all his confidence and charisma, she still couldn’t entirely believe the story of the Son of Khyber. Yet he claimed to have plucked this password from the memories of the Cannith heir, and it had indeed shut down a ward she’d have been hard-pressed