Son of Khyber: Thorn of Breland (25 page)

“This is what comes of reaching for the sky,” Drego said. “Though it seems the Brelish have yet to learn that lesson. That blue and gold tower up there is a recent addition, isn’t it?”

He glanced back at Thorn as he spoke, but Brom answered before she could. “What’s your answer, brother?” he rumbled. “Would you keep your eyes on the ground?”

“If you seek the heavens, faith is a stronger ladder than stone,” Drego said.

“But a hard one to find,” Brom replied. “I was born in this place. It was rubble from the Fall that took my arm when I was a boy. If you wish, I could take you there and we could dig for the bone. I found no solace in flames or gods. They brought me nothing but pain. But at night I could always look up at the lights and imagine the day when I would climb the tower and take my place among the stars.”

“Yet if that glass tower had never been built, you’d still have your original arm,” Drego said.

“The fall brought madness and terror to the district,” Brom said. “But misery always had a home here. The towers are a source of hope. Proof that there is something better, if you have the strength to reach for it.”

“I don’t see much in the way of hope here,” Thorn said.

A pair of gleaming eyes watched them from a nest built from refuse and bloody cloth It was difficult to say if the eyes belonged to a gnome, a halfling, or a human child, but they held only savage fear.

Brom nodded. “Yes. It’s worse now than it was. And if that is the doing of this beast that lies below, I shall enjoy crushing the life from him.”

No one had an answer to that, and the quintet continued on in silence.

The attack came at the heart of the district.

Before the fall, the Glass Tower had been a vast structure. There were pieces of the tower larger than the house Thorn had grown up in. Drego had led them into a narrow tunnel formed from the collapsed walls of two buildings, and now he stopped. Closing his eyes, he raised a hand and let his fingers drift through the air, as if he were dragging them through the water of a stream.

“We’re close,” he said quietly.

Thorn didn’t have Drego’s gift for sensing spirits, but ambushes were another matter. Shifting gravel, flesh brushing stone, the faint sound of nervous breathing; there were people at the mouth of the tunnel behind them, preparing to act. Thorn tapped her hand, drawing the attention of the others and gesturing backwards. “We’ve got company,” she whispered.

Xu’sasar clicked her tongue. “Ahead as well,” she said quietly. “Four, spread to the sides.”

Daine considered this. “They’ll attack the first of us to emerge then try to pin the survivors in the
tunnel. Luckily we have a surprise of our own. Brom, take point. Draw their attention. Xu’sasar and I will follow.” He glanced at Drego. “I trust you can hold the tunnel?”

Drego smiled. “Certainly.”

“If I may …” Thorn produced two small, round stones from a pocket in her cloak. “These might help.”

Daine nodded and took one of the stones. “Good. Move out. Throw in fifteen.”

The group split up. Drego and Thorn turned around, moving back the way they’d come. Drego flexed his fingers, and silver fire flickered in the darkness. They could see the mouth of the tunnel, but there was still no sign of the enemies lying in wait.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Thorn hurled the stone at the mouth of the tunnel.

When the stone struck the ground, a mighty
boom
rolled down the passageway, echoed by the thunderclap caused by Daine’s stone at the other end of the tunnel. Even at a distance, the sound caused Drego to clutch at his head. Their unknown enemies were at the center of the blast, and the sound should leave them dazed and deafened, crippling their ability to coordinate with one another. Now came the question: would the strangers flee or press the attack?

The answer came soon enough. The strangers might not be able to hear, but they still howled in rage as they rushed into the tunnel. After the suspense of the ambush, the reality was a disappointment. Thorn was half-expecting angelic minions, beings wielding swords of flame or terrifying magic. Instead, the people charging them were men and women, humans and dwarves and a few halflings, with matted hair and
filthy skin, dressed in bloodstained rags and armed with chunks of rock and simple clubs. Far from being fearsome warriors, the attackers were sickly and emaciated. Thorn could see ribs beneath the skin of the man in the lead.

This ragged pack didn’t seem like much of a threat, but Drego wasn’t taking any chances. Twin rays of argent fire lit the tunnel. One struck the leader in the chest, and the smell of scorched flesh filled the air. The second bolt struck the woman at his side, catching her full in the face. It was a horrific sight, as skin and hair were burnt away by the blast. Even a strong man would have surely collapsed in shock, yet the strangers didn’t even pause in their charge.

Thorn leaped forward, interposing herself between the strangers and Drego. The scorched man lashed out at her with the chunk of stone. Thorn easily deflected the wild swing, slamming her armored forearm against his wrist, but she was surprised by his strength and speed. There was motion to her right, and she turned to parry the blow, only to find herself eye to eye with the maimed woman, whose hair formed a burning wreath around her ruined face.

For a moment, pure revulsion overcame all rational thought, and in that instant the woman struck. Her club was bare wood, a spar from a fallen roof, but she was just as strong as her companion. The club snapped against Thorn’s left arm, and the bone snapped with it. Thorn screamed. Once again, the crystal shards came to her aid. Ever since the stones had lodged in her back, they’d been a constant source of agony, and she’d had to learn to work around the pain. Now she pushed the torment away, driving it into her cry, letting her scream
become
the pain, flowing away from her.

Steel was in her right hand, and Thorn focused her thoughts on the dagger. The feel of the hilt in her hand. The reflexive motion of the thrust, as much a part of her as a yawn or a laugh. She was still screaming as Steel’s point pierced the woman’s throat. Thorn jerked the blade to the side, slashing through flesh.

But the stranger would not fall.

Blood poured down her chest, and her face was a scorched ruin, but she remained on her feet. Before Thorn could back away, the woman grabbed her broken arm. The pain was excruciating, and Thorn almost dropped Steel. Marshalling her strength, Thorn slashed at the woman’s arm. She felt Steel slice through muscle, and her opponent released her.

Unfortunately, the burned woman wasn’t alone. Thorn sensed the motion behind her just in time, and the stone that would have crushed her skull merely struck her in the back. Nonetheless, the raw force of the blow knocked Thorn to her knees, and she could feel blood flowing down her back. Her one solace was the fact that the scorched woman had fallen along with her. Blood was bubbling at the woman’s throat, and it seemed that she was finally succumbing to her injuries. But there was no time to savor this victory.

Thorn rolled to the side, gritting her teeth against the pain when her broken arm struck the floor. The raging man’s rock smashed against the floor, and before he could draw back for another blow, Thorn drew her blade across his legs, severing the rigid tendons. He might be impervious to pain, but his fury couldn’t help him stand on crippled legs, and he collapsed beside her. He pushed himself up on one arm, twisting around, and for the first time, Thorn had a really good look at his face. What she saw surprised her. It wasn’t the savage fury she’d expected; instead,
there was a terrible hunger in his eyes, a desperate sorrow. He drew back the stone, preparing to hurl it at Thorn’s face, but she was faster. Steel pierced his wrist, and the bloodstained rock fell from his hand and clattered against the floor. The man, teeth bared, lunged at Thorn as Steel returned to her hand. Her thrust caught him under the chin and drove Steel up through his skull. He shuddered and finally lay still.

The third man should have finished her.

He was a dwarf, with insects crawling in his matted beard and the same lost look in his eyes. His club was a shard of Cannith hardened glass, tough as stone, already raised over his head. Steel was trapped in the corpse of Thorn’s last foe, and her own injuries had sapped her speed. She didn’t have the time to parry or the strength to roll away.

But the blow never fell. The dwarf stood over Thorn, an instant away from the finishing blow … frozen.

“Well,
do
something.”

Through the haze of pain, it took Thorn a moment to recognize the voice. Drego. His words were enough to break Thorn from her stupor. She reached out. Her hand locked onto the dwarf’s leg. This time, the rage came more easily, even for this stranger. The pure, visceral hatred flowed through her, washing away her pain. Fire coursed through her veins, but this was a comforting, cleansing heat. The feral dwarf fell to the ground as the sensation faded, and Thorn pushed herself up, using both her arms. She was weak, exhausted … but her broken arm and shattered ribs were whole again. Just like in the battle with Sorghan, and with Toli in Droaam. She’d torn away her enemy’s lifeforce and used it to preserve her own life.

“I’m impressed, beloved.” Drego’s voice seemed to come from all around her, a whisper flowing around
her head. “How much of you remains, beneath this ghost?”

Ghost? Thorn tried to form the words, but she had no strength left. She fell to the ground, and exhaustion drew her down into darkness.

Fallen

A
chill gripped the air, and the stone felt cold against Thorn’s cheek. It took a moment for her to get her bearings. There was no pain. Whatever injuries she had suffered had been healed. But she was stretched out on the hard floor, and Steel wasn’t in her hand.

She opened her eyes—

And saw the skull. It towered over her. Each of the curved teeth lining its vicious maw was longer than her forearm. She could have crawled inside one of the vast eyesockets. Bone, teeth, and the curving horns atop the skull were all as black as basalt. Disoriented as she was, it took Thorn a moment to recognize it for what it was: the skull of a dragon. She stared at it, puzzled.

As consciousness returned, Thorn realized that she’d been moved. She wasn’t in the passage in Fallen. She was lying on the floor of a vast cavern. Or was it a cavern at all? Now she could see that it wasn’t stone beneath her. It was glass or crystal, dark purple in color. As if the entire chamber had been
carved from a massive Khyber dragonshard. Even as this information clicked into place, she realized something else. She was naked.

A voice echoed through the room. Drego. “So this is where you keep them. It’s touching.”

Thorn’s first thought was to cover herself, but she pushed it from her mind. She’d been a soldier before she became a spy, and on the battlefield, privacy was a luxury. It was anger that drew her to her feet. “Where are you?” she snarled.

“Here.” Now the source of the sound was easier to track. He was standing just behind the enormous dragon skull. “Just admiring your collection.”

She stalked around the skull, armored in her fury. What she found was enough to break her angry resolve. Drego had his back to her. The wall before him was covered with niches, scores of alcoves of various sizes. Each alcove held a skull, and for a moment it seemed that the sightless sockets were all glaring at Thorn. The bones came from creatures of many races. The polished, slender skull of an elf sat alongside the remnants of a human skull that had been split apart by a blade. A narrow silver crown sat atop the shattered remains. Drego was examining what appeared to be the skull of a massive tiger, though there were certain elements of jaw and skull that seemed more human than bestial.

“He’s certainly seen better days,” Drego said, resting a hand on the skull of the great beast. He glanced back at Thorn and smiled. “You, on the other hand, look lovelier than ever.”