Thrall - Christie Golden [76]
Blinding white light shot both upward and downward, a lance that pierced the heavens beyond where the eye could follow and also struck deep into the earth. She recognized it as a surge needle, a tool composed of arcane energy, a tool of rich, flooding power. Once, Malygos had used such needles to draw arcane magic from the ley lines of Azeroth and transfer it to the Nexus.
Now that process was being reversed. This surge needle was drawing power from the Nexus.
And caught by that needle between heavens and earth was Chromatus.
The spike of almost inconceivable magical energy was now boring into the enormous, mottled, lifeless body of the monstrosity. Kirygosa shivered as she watched, wrapping her arms around herself, dimly aware of the needle marks and scars on her pale flesh. She knew sickly that she was part of the reason the ghastly display before her was occurring. They had used her for their experiments. But they had kept her alive for two reasons: her bloodline and her gender.
“You are lucky, my dear,” said the Twilight Father beside her. “Fortunate among dragons are you to witness this … and to have helped contribute.”
“It looks as if my brother contributed more,” Kiry said, angry that her voice sounded raw and broken. “So this is how the Twilight’s Hammer rewards service and fidelity. Arygos betrayed his whole flight—indeed, an entire race—to your cause, and you killed him!”
“I killed him because he failed, not because he served,” the Twilight Father said mildly. “And yes, this is how the Twilight’s Hammer rewards failure.”
“Deathwing did not seem altogether pleased with the sort of progress you were making,” Kirygosa snapped recklessly. “You might be next after my poor deluded broth—”
He jerked on the chain. Her words turned into an agonized whimper as the chain burned her throat. “I would choose my words with more care, little one.”
She had her breath back now, and for a despairing moment the death he threatened her with seemed sweeter than continuing to exist solely to be used as a tool to harm her own flight. She opened her mouth for a scathing retort when a wild, giddy roar from an excited crowd of cultists below made the words die in her throat.
Chromatus was moving.
It was subtle, hard to see, but one claw was opening and closing. The rest of him lay still as death. And then the mighty tail twitched, ever so slightly. A head—the black one—jerked.
The Twilight Father rushed to the side of the circular floor. “He lives! He lives!”
He made fists of his gloved hands and raised them in the air. The crowds below increased their cheering.
The surge needle pulsed, its energy drilling into the now-animated corpse. With each moment that passed, it seemed to Kirygosa that the monster grew stronger. His other limbs began to twitch. One by one, each hideous head lifted. Like the tentacles of a great sea creature, they dipped and moved, gazed about, opened their jaws. Ten eyes were opened now, and their color displayed a uniformity the rest of him lacked. Every pair of eyes gleamed a brilliant, glowing purple. Alive, moving, speaking he might be, but Chromatus was hideously not whole. In some places, bones were visible. Scales had fallen off, showing skin that was healthy and skin that was decayed. Each of the heads seemed to have something amiss with it: a missing ear, an oozing eye …
“Chromatus!” cried the Twilight Father. “To me, my son whom I have birthed. Look to me!”
A red ear twitched. Green nostrils flared. The bronze head moved slowly on its neck. One by one, awkward, unused, each head followed, until all five of them regarded the Twilight Father.
“Our … father,” the bronze head said in a stately voice, though the words seemed to come awkwardly at first. The purple eyes of the blue head narrowed, then that gaze fell upon Kirygosa. Dark laughter rumbled through the blue head. When it spoke, its voice was oddly mellifluous, though the words came hesitantly.
“Fear not, little blue. Your brother lives—within me. We feel our kinship.” The other heads turned, mildly