Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [58]
“Little to fear,” Ash said, chuckling. Even as Dreck raised his hand in protest, Ash unleashed a torrent of flame against the door. A moment latter, his giggles turned to screams. Though it seemed to be simple brass, there was power bound within it. It sucked up the fire and then unleashed a column of blue light back against the gnome. Even from a distance, Thorn felt a chill. Ash was frozen solid. He toppled as his cry faded. His corpse struck the ground and shattered into steaming chunks.
“Stop!” Thorn cried, before Palmer or Dreck could react. She walked slowly toward the brass barrier, holding Steel before her.
Interesting, Steel said. I sense no magical emanations, yet the rippling alone suggests arcane energy.
“It’s reversing spell energy,” Thorn murmured, intrigued. “Even your divination is a magical act.”
I believe you’re right. Impressive.
It was more than just impressive. It was amazing. Ash’s fire turned back against him in the form of ice. Steel’s divination returned a false report. Even abjuration was a magical effect. If they tried to dispel the field, odds were good they’d just reinforce it. But there was no lock or handle on the door. Magic had to be involved.
Thorn lifted a ring of crystal-tipped keys from the fallen magewrights, and she tested these against the door. But there was no keyhole nor any sense of mystical resonance between key and gate. As she studied the barrier, she felt a tingle run through the stones in her spine, as if a charge of energy had flowed across her and instantly faded.
Alarm, Steel said. From elsewhere. Daine’s team must have run into trouble. We need to act quickly.
Thorn produced her probes and lockpicks, testing the seal on the door. Nightwater had no effect. Then she had a thought. She turned to Dreck.
“Can you perform a sealing infusion? Lock the door?”
The warforged’s face was a metal mask, lacking any expression. But his confusion was easy to see. “Certainly. But why?”
“Do it. Seal the door.”
Dreck stepped forward and set one palm against the door. He wove patterns in the air with his hand, leaving shimmering trails in the air. At last he gripped the glowing pattern and thrust it against the door.
The door slid open.
Reversing the energy, Steel whispered. So “close” becomes “open.” Clever.
“Clever enough,” Thorn said. “Brom, take point. Dreck, we need you to destroy the forge. Stay back with Palmer until we’re sure the room is clear. Koyna, with me.”
They had entered the heart of the forgehold. Where the earlier halls had reused old walls, here the architects had broken down the ancient structures and built anew. Walls and floor alike were built from a dark green stone. Linear patterns were carved into every surface and inlaid with different metals, creating a dizzying labyrinth of designs spread around them. Soon the hall opened into a vast circular chamber with a domed ceiling, large enough to serve as a sporting arena. A massive pillar dominated the center of the room, built from the same green stone. The lines from the floor ran up along this central column. But the post was also studded with dragonshards—a pulsing mosaic of golden Eberron shards, shedding a brilliant light across the room. Large coffins were spread in a ring around the central pillar.
It is a forge, Thorn thought. The warforged must emerge from the coffins when the work is complete.
But at the same time, the image of the shard-studded pillar sent a shiver through her. These dragonshards were embedded in the column, not whirling around it. But looking at the pillar and knowing she was there to destroy it, she couldn’t help but think of Far Passage.
“Dreck,” she said. “You know what to do. Palmer, Brom, stay with him. Koyna, stay on watch. Anything comes through that doorway, send it screaming out again.”
“Yes, Dreck,” said a new voice. A man’s voice, deep and stern. “You know what to do.”
Flames engulfed Dreck. He cried out as the fibrous cords that served as his muscles strained and snapped, and cracks and