The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [34]
“I swore an oath to our nation,” Dal said. Thorn’s eyes were fixed on the wand, but Dal’s attention never wavered. “And I spent my years here. This is our nation. Look at it! I have seen it. It’s touched my heart. I know our land better than you, old man. And I will give our people what they need.”
“And what is that?” Thorn said. She shifted her grip on Steel, watching and waiting.
“I’m afraid you’ll never know,” Dal said. “This ends—”
Thorn was still holding the locket Drix had given her. She threw it straight up in the air. The motion was all that mattered. For an instant Cazalan Dal followed it with his eyes, and the point of his wand wavered slightly, drifting up and out of line—exactly where Thorn needed it to be. She threw Steel, his blackened blade nearly invisible in the shadows. It was a perfect throw, striking the wand directly. The impact knocked the wand from Dal’s hand, catching it in Steel’s quillons, and drawing it back as the blade flew back to her hand.
Thorn wasn’t waiting for the blade to return. She was already charging forward. “Go!” she cried, pointing at the storefront to her right. She didn’t have time to see if Cadrel and Drix understood. She caught Steel and threw herself fully into Cazalan Dal, summoning every ounce of strength she could find. The soldier staggered backward, trying to bring his weapon to bear, but Thorn was too close; he couldn’t get the angle. She kept the pressure up, pushing him back through the half-open door of the darkened shop. He tripped and fell over, striking the floor hard. Thorn dropped down and pressed her arm against his throat, silencing any cries. She studied his face as she whispered the words of a spell, feeling the familiar tingle spread across her skin as she stole his appearance. It lasted for only a few minutes, not long enough for deep infiltration, but it was the perfect thing to distract him.
It took only a moment. Thorn smashed Steel’s pommel into the man’s temple, ending his struggles. “Hold him,” she told Drix and Cadrel. Then she snatched the wand from the floor and leaped out the door.
Thorn had mastered only a few spells during her arcane training at the Citadel, but those tricks had saved her life on many occasions. Equally important, she’d learned how to activate the most common magical tools and weapons, such as the standard-issue offensive wand.
The first soldier was emerging from the mists when she unleashed the fireball. Thorn saw only his blade and his arm, more than enough to target the spell. She let her anger flow into the wand, envisioning the energy as a flame spilling out of her, expanding into white heat as it burst through the wand. The result was spectacular. A bolt of flame leaped from the rod, striking the soldier in the chest, and he disappeared from view as the bolt exploded outward in a mighty sheet of flame. If the man screamed, the sound was swallowed by the mists; when the flames died down later, he was nowhere to be seen.
It was too much to hope that the blast had caught all of the soldiers, and sure enough, two more emerged a moment later. An archer and a swordsman, both wielding weapons formed of solid shadow, scanned the street for any signs of the enemy.
“Quickly! Form on me!” Thorn called. The two ran up to her.
“What happened?” the swordsman said. He was bald, his head covered with sores and boils, and his eyes were as gray as Dal’s. “Where did they go?”
No one else had emerged from the mist. Let’s hope this is all of them, she thought. She pointed the wand at the ground and activated it again.
The world disappeared in flame. The light was blinding, but it lasted only an instant. When her vision cleared, she found herself standing