Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [79]
“Plucked out of time to do someone else’s dirty work,” Drego said. “Sounds like dragons to me.”
Daine raised an eyebrow. “And what do you know of dragons, my friend?”
Drego raised his hands disarmingly. “Oh, nothing, really. Just all of this business about the Prophecy … it seems like they’re just using you to get what they want.”
“No,” Daine said. “This is my cause. My destiny. I do not know who arranged it or why. But this is the battle I was born to fight. I’ve simply been brought forward to a point where we have the chance to win.”
“I hope so,” Drego said. “I truly do. But I’m from Thrane, and in my land, dragons are symbols of greed.”
They continued on in silence.
While Thorn tried to fight it, it was hard not to feel a sense of despair when faced with the devastation around her and the echoes of Daine’s story. Her thoughts kept drifting back to her own lonely childhood, the feeling of loss whenever her father returned to the war, the unanswered question of why her mother had abandoned her children. Those thoughts were troubling enough, but now they mingled with the horrors around her. She imagined herself as a child, crawling through the wreckage of the fall and looking for her family—searching, already knowing what she would find.
“Stop.”
At first, Thorn didn’t even recognize Drego’s voice. The vision had been so strong that she’d forgotten her quest and companions. As she returned to her senses, she could see that she hadn’t been the only one. Brom’s human eye was full of tears, and even Xu’sasar had drifted away from the group to pull at the remnants of a dress buried in the debris. Daine had a distant look in his eyes, as if he were looking into the past.
“We draw close to our quarry,” Drego said. “By his mere presence, he seeks to pull your hopes away. You must stay focused and resist these visions. Let him sink his claws into your soul, and you will soon be no better than those unfortunate creatures we killed at the tunnel.”
Daine nodded. “Yes. Remember that even in this place, we stand together, and we will succeed. Hold onto your hope, for that will be the most important weapon in the battle that lies ahead.”
Thorn cleared the cobwebs from her mind. Behind her, Brom wiped the tears from his eye then loudly blew his nose.
“And here we are,” Drego said.
There was a door ahead of them. The building had once been a cathedral of the Sovereign Host, and there were images of the Nine carved around the great archway. Considering the devastation all around them, this structure seemed remarkably well preserved. But there was something wrong. The faces of the nine Sovereigns were filled with fear and despair, and their hands were raised as if trying to ward off whatever might emerge from within. The double doors were black oak, bound with bands of silver—a clear sign something was wrong, as scavengers should surely have stripped this precious metal. The doors were slightly ajar—perhaps enough for a halfling to slip through.
“Stay back,” Thorn said. She drew Steel and approached the archway.
There’s strong magic all around you, Steel said. Enchantment and illusion, the world itself is being tainted by this angel’s thoughts.
“Lovely,” Thorn murmured. “Don’t trust your eyes,” she warned the others. “I don’t know how extensive his powers are, but things may not be what they appear.”
She studied the air within the open doors and cast a pinch of powdered silver forward, but there was no indication of any sort of ward. Unless they’re hidden by his illusions, she thought.
“I think it’s safe,” she said at last.
Daine drew