The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [111]
Familiarity.
Thorn had never seen this creature before. She knew that, just as she knew she wouldn’t be alive if she had. And yet, its shape, its voice, the light in its eyes, even the sense of fear … she’d seen it before. And there were voices, words in the back of her mind, whispers she couldn’t quite hear.
She had no time to search her memory. As she’d stood frozen in fear and confusion, Drulkalatar had finished posturing.
“Had I the appetite, I would feast on your flesh, little half-elf.” The chamber shook with the sound of his voice. “Instead, I will give you to the storm.”
As he raised his hands, time slowed to a crawl. Thorn could see the lightning flashing down toward her, brighter and stronger than anything he’d flung at Harryn. She knew the bolt would incinerate her, leaving burnt flesh and charred bones. She wanted to flee, but she was moving even more slowly than the lightning. She had no escape, just the delayed horror of watching …
Waiting …
When the bolt finally struck, it was almost a relief. Almost. The pain was beyond anything she’d ever felt. It tore through her, and she could feel her muscles snapping, her joints coming apart.
Then her mind exploded.
It lasted less than a second, but to Thorn it seemed a lifetime. When the smoke cleared, nothing remained of the Brelish spy.
In her place stood a dragon.
“Storm?” she said, and her breath was sulfur and heat. “I prefer fire.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The Crag’s Shadow
Droaam
Eyre 20, 999 YK
When the lightning struck her, Thorn gave in to madness. For a moment, everything fell away from her, and when it returned, every sensation was wrong. Her blood was on fire, searing heat spread throughout her veins, but there was no pain. The blaze within her was a comfort, warming her soul. She rose up and spread her wings, and only then did she realized that she had them. Her wings … her neck … her tail … what had become of her?
Two constants stood amidst the chaos. A needle of pain—the sharp agony of the stone set into the base of her skull. And the warm glow from the crystal at the base of her spine. Together they served as spiritual poles, as anchors for her thoughts. Clinging to these points made it easier to let go of the rest. It was akin to her sharpened senses; part of her already understood it, and Thorn only needed to surrender conscious thought to these instincts. This didn’t feel new. It was as if she’d always had wings … and she’d somehow forgotten.
Storm? I prefer fire.
She only realized that she was speaking as the thought passed through her head; she wasn’t sure where it came from. But it snapped her back into the moment. Drulkalatar. The fiend still stood before her, but now he was looking up at her; mighty he might be, but she towered over him. She could feel his emotions, fear and surprise pouring from him. And he was speaking again.
“Sarmondelaryx!” he shouted. “Begone from this place!”
Anger flowed through her. Confused as she was, her memories were quickly returning. This beast was threatening her nation and possibly the entire world. He had taken pleasure in striking down her friend, and he dared to threaten her. She opened her mouth, intending to hurl an angry word at him—
—and the room filled with fire. It was more than ordinary flame; it was Thorn’s fury given elemental force. She heard Drulkalatar scream. When the fire faded, she saw why. The fiend had folded his wings across his body, creating a shield to protect himself … and Thorn’s flames had seared through skin and flesh, leaving charred gaps in his wings.
“Not so perfect anymore,” she said.
Drulkalatar howled, and the winds took up his cry. The gale struck Thorn with the force of a hurricane, knocking her from her feet and slamming her to the floor. She felt a stone bier shatter beneath her, shards grinding against her armored skin. Thorn the woman would have tried to rise to her feet, struggling against the