The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [112]
Silence reigned as both combatants rose to their feet. The fiend spat a broken tooth from his mouth, and his blood steamed as it struck the floor. “Why are you doing this?” he said. “You know what I want. Leave me be, and together we will revel in the savage time that lies ahead.”
Thorn realized that he wasn’t speaking the common tongue of the Five Nations any more. She didn’t even know what his language was. But she knew what he was saying, and if she spoke without thinking, the words came to her.
“What are you talking about?” she said, and the words were like thunder echoing through the room. “Who do you think I am?”
It was only a moment of confusion, but it was enough for the fiend. He howled again, and a blinding flash of lightning seared the air. Thorn had no time to brace for the blast—but the blow never fell. Thorn’s blood burned in her veins, and she could feel the power of the fiend shatter against her. He raised a hand, and thick, thorny vines burst up from the floor, seeking to surround her and crush her. But they shriveled before they could touch her. It wasn’t merely fire that flowed through her blood; it was unbridled magic. And the spells of this demon were no match for this pure power.
“You cannot hurt me,” Thorn roared. She hoped he would accept her word; the lightning hadn’t touched her, but she ached from the impact with the floor. “Surrender, Drul Kantar. Or I will end this, and you with it.”
The beast hissed at her, and crackling blades of lightning rose from his fists. He leaped forward, blades flashing toward Thorn’s eyes. She couldn’t avoid the blow—he was too fast, and her body was huge and unfamiliar. She tried to raise her hand, but her wing rose up. The shock was excruciating, but she rode the pain, lashing back with her wing and flinging Drulkalatar to the floor.
“Fool!” Drulkalatar snarled. “At least I know what I am.” He rose to his feet, spitting hot blood. “I am the Voice of the Wild Heart. I am rising terror and lingering fear.”
He howled again, and a horde of beasts took shape around him, creatures seemingly called by his rage alone. Lupine trolls. Giants with the features of nightclaws, and nightclaws with the simian traits of the giants.
“I have prepared for this for two hundred years, and I will not wait again!” Drulkalatar cried. He raised his hands, lightning crackling around his claws as his troops rushed forward.
But Thorn was ready. She didn’t pause to think; words and actions came to her as one. “I know what I am,” she said, “I am the Angel of Flame. And your plans end here.” Fire flowed from her mouth, engulfing the oncoming horde. When the flames settled, Drulkalatar’s minions were ash, and the fiend himself was scorched, the flesh nearly flayed from his bones. Before he could cast another spell, Thorn pounced, her massive forepaws pinning him to the floor as a cat might trap a mouse.
“Why?” he said, staring up at her. “Why would you do this?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said. It was the truth. “But I will.”
“I cannot die,” he said. “You, of all creatures, should know that. I will return, Sarmondelaryx. And you will pay for this.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “And my name’s Thorn.”
Reaching down, she caught the crippled fiend between her jaws. She raised him up in the air, slowly crushing him. And then, as she felt his resistance fading, she unleashed her anger. Fire flowed through her teeth, and Drulkalatar was at the heart of it. His bones melted away, his body vaporized in the intense heat. But she could still feel the last trace of his presence … the essence of his evil. His spirit. And before he could slip away, she swallowed him. She felt a flash of pure hatred, surprise, and fear. And then he was gone.
The walls of the castle began to shake and fade. Thorn’s world dissolved into chaos once more. Nothing seemed solid. The walls and