Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [77]
She looked at Drego. There was none of the smirking bravado she was used to. He seemed truly concerned. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just … passed out for a moment.”
“You’re sure you’re not hurt? You screamed, and I thought … your arm …”
“It’s nothing,” she said. She raised her left hand and flexed her fingers. “See?”
She rose to her feet. The three people she’d fought were sprawled out just as she remembered, along with a fourth feral man whose burns spoke of Drego’s handiwork. “What were these things?”
“Victims of the Keeper of Hopes,” Drego said. “Left with one single solitary hope: that if they spill enough blood in their master’s name, he will lift his hand from them. They feel no pain, sorrow, or remorse. It’s amazing what a man is capable of, when he’s fully committed to the cause. And killing was all that these poor souls had left to cling to.”
“So this is the touch of an angel.” Thorn pulled Steel free from the corpse. “Very well. I had my doubts before, but if you and Daine can destroy this thing, I’ll be at your side.”
“We’d better find the others,” Drego said. “This way.”
Thorn grabbed his arm before he moved away. “Drego.”
“Yes?”
“When I was unconscious … what did you do?”
Drego looked puzzled for a moment then rolled his eyes. “Please. You were only down for a few moments, and I’m not one to take advantage of a friend.”
So it was a dream. “We’re friends, then?”
“Was that ever in doubt?” Drego asked. He winked. “I may be the only friend you truly have.”
He sprinted down the hall before she could respond.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Fallen
Lharvion 21, 999 YK
Why did you question Drego Sarhain? Steel said. It was always difficult to read the emotions behind his psychic whispers, but there was a hint of frustration at being left in the dark. You were unconscious for a brief period of time, and I felt no magical emanations. All I heard was his voice as he tried to rouse you. Of course, my view was limited by the fact that I was left buried in the brains of one of your foes. What did you see?
Thorn tapped the dagger twice. As much as she wanted to talk things through, now was not the time. Daine and the others were waiting just ahead, and as she approached, she saw that they were standing over the corpses of another four feral humans. There were spatters of blood across Xu’sasar’s pale chitin armor, and Brom had a new patch of green scales across his forehead, but none of them was seriously hurt.
“Any troubles, Thorn?” A curious intensity lit Daine’s gaze as he studied her. Crazy as it was, she felt as if he’d been expecting the ambush.
Could this have been some sort of test? What does he know about me?
It seemed ridiculously paranoid. If Daine wanted her dead, he’d had ample opportunities to kill her himself.
But her death might not be his goal. She still had the deadly touch that might prove useful. Despite the words of dream-Drego, could she have an aberrant dragonmark after all?
At this stage, conjecture served little purpose. “No,” she told him. “We survived. They didn’t.”
Daine chuckled. “I suppose that’s what it always comes down to, yes? And I’m sure there’s worse yet to come. Let’s keep moving.”
“It’s not far,” Drego said. He closed his eyes, searching for whatever spiritual thread he was following. “There. Follow me.”
They’d reached the heart of Fallen. Buildings had shattered, and the walls of different buildings had fallen onto one another, creating an eerie patchwork labyrinth. It was hard to believe the structure could be stable, but the disaster had happened decades ago. Anything that would fall too easily likely already had. Rubble and refuse from the disaster choked the passage. While anything of value had been scavenged long ago, there were still remnants of the past. A wooden comb. The broken wagon of a wandering vendor, with fading paint proclaiming the best pies in Dura. Half of a child’s rattle, protruding from beneath a fallen flagstone. The air was unnaturally still. There were no vermin nor any signs