Thrall - Christie Golden [91]
The children are dead. Korialstrasz is dead. I am dead in all ways but one, and that will soon happen. There is no hope. There is nothing. Nothing matters.
“I have not forgotten it, either,” Thrall said. “But others do not know, or believe, that it does not matter, and stubbornly persist in continuing. Such as the blue dragons. They have chosen their new Aspect: Kalecgos. And they have a new foe: a chromatic dragon named Chromatus.”
The faintest flicker of surprise had crossed her face at the mention of Kalecgos, but her eyes dulled again at the name of Chromatus.
“For each victory, a defeat,” she murmured.
“I fell during that battle,” Thrall said bluntly. “Quite literally. I tumbled off Kalec’s back and landed in the snow. I nearly gave in to death and despair. But something happened. Something that made me want to move my frozen limbs, claw my way out of the snow—and survive a surprise attack by an old, old enemy.”
She didn’t move. She appeared to be ignoring him completely. But at least she had not roused to anger and attempted to kill him, as she had last time. And that meant that she just might be listening.
Ancestors, I pray I am doing the right thing. I act with my heart, and that is the best I can do.
He extended a hand. She turned her head slightly at the movement and gazed at it dully. He moved it toward her, indicating she should take it. She slowly turned her head back to staring at the horizon.
Gently, Thrall reached down and took her hand himself. Her fingers were limp and unresponsive. He folded his strong green hand about them carefully.
“I had a vision,” he said, keeping his voice soft, almost as if he were trying not to startle a shy forest animal. “Two, actually. It is… such a gift to be granted one such. To be blessed with two, especially one entrusted to share with another… was an honor unlooked for.”
The words were spoken with true modesty. Even though he knew his powers were growing, his connections to the elements deepening, he was still humbled by the grace that was being bestowed upon him. “One was for me. And this one… was for me to share with you.”
He closed his eyes.
The egg was hatching.
It was a dispassionate environment in which to witness a birth, a makeshift laboratory set up under a huge tent. Outside, the storm raged as the little whelp struggled against its confining shell.
It had many to watch its arrival. One appeared to be a human, wrapped in a hooded cloak that concealed his face. The others wore robes that marked them instantly as members of the Twilight’s Hammer cult. They all looked on gleefully, their gazes locked on the emerging infant.
Standing beside the human, a slender chain trailing from his hand to her throat, was an attractive human female with blue-black hair. Unlike the others, she watched with a stricken expression on her face, one hand on her abdomen, the other curled tightly into a fist.
“Kirygosa!”
The name was whispered sharply by Alexstrasza. Her voice intruded, but only to Thrall’s ears. The vision unfolded exactly as it had the first time. He felt a pang at the name. So—this was what had truly happened to Arygos’s sister, who had been thought lost. Lost indeed, but not dead, not yet. Her face told him everything he needed to know.
The tiny being heaved and shoved, and a piece of the egg fell away. Its mouth opened as it gasped for breath.
It was hideous.
It was blue and black and purple, with grotesque splotches here and there of bronze, red, and green. One of its forelegs ended in a stump. It only had one eye, mottle-hued and bruised-looking, with which to regard its audience.
Kirygosa let out a single harsh sob, then turned away.
“No, no, my dear, do not avert your eyes. Behold what we have made of your plain blue child,” gloated the human. He extended a gloved hand and gathered the chromatic whelp into his palm. The thing lay limply, tiny chest heaving. One of its