Son of Khyber

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Undercity Lharvion 21, 999 YK

Had I the appetite, I would feast on your flesh, little half-elf. But instead I will give you to the storm.”

The voice was as loud as thunder, and Thorn could feel the vibrations through the floor. Impressive as it was, it was nothing next to the speaker. Drulkalatar Atesh was a lord of the first age of Eberron, a giant with the head of a tiger and vast leathery wings painted in black and crimson. Lightning crackled around his hooked talons, and as he raised his arms, a howling wind whirled around him, pressing Thorn against the floor.

Memories rushed back to her. Droaam. The Stormblade mission. She’d tracked down the architect of disaster, only to find that he was a demon in disguise.

Drulkalatar raised his hands, and arcs of lightning surrounded Thorn, crackling around her. She dropped to her knees, howling in agony. Pain tore through every muscle, and she could feel bones breaking under the pressure. Her body was twisting, joints coming apart, blood burning in her veins. And then the pain was gone. Her blood still burned, but now this felt right. The fire was a source of power and comfort, the same energy she’d used to fight Fileon. She spread her wings and glared down at the little demon.

She’d become a dragon, with scales the color of fresh blood and long, black talons.

“Storm?” she snarled, and now it was her voice that shook the room. “I prefer fire.”

She could feel the fear of the tiger-headed fiend. But that surprise was mingled with familiarity. He knew her.

He spoke a name. Her name. But it slipped from her mind the moment that she heard it. “Begone from this place!”

She laughed at him, and her angry words took the form of fire, scorching his flesh and burning holes in his shielding wings. He called the winds to fight her, throwing her back with a hurricane blast. She stumbled but still lashed out with her tail, smashing him to the floor.

“Why are you doing this?” he cried when the tide of battle calmed for an instant. “You know what I want. Leave me be, and together we will revel in the savage time that lies ahead.”

She laughed, and they clashed again. He struck at her with bolts and blades of lightning, but the raw magic in her blood was so powerful that the blasts shattered without touching her. He summoned hosts of feral beasts to his aid and laughed as they swarmed toward her.

“I know what I am,” she told him. “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 fore-paws pinning him to the floor.

“Why?” he asked, staring up at her. “Why would you do this?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “But I will.”

“I cannot die,” he said. “You of all creatures should know that. I will return. And you will pay for this.” He spoke that name again, and as before, it slipped away from her ears.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “And my name’s Thorn.”

Reaching down, she caught the crippled demon 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 the flames. His bones melted away, his body vaporizing 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.

Thorn’s eyes snapped open. She was lying in her bunk. The crystal shard in her neck burned against her flesh, and for a moment she felt Drulkalatar’s presence at the heart of it, as if the demon lord were driving a red-hot dagger into her spine. She staggered off the bunk and made her way to the infirmary, clutching at her neck.

“Dreamlily,” she told the halfling minding the stores. The narcotic was one of the few things she’d found that could ease the pain of the shards when it reached this level. And she still felt Drulkalatar’s gaze weighing on her, the gleaming eyes of the predator.

The halfling hadn’t seen Thorn before and was readying his stock to tend to any Tarkanans who might be injured in the attack on the forgehold. Even before he opened his mouth, Thorn knew that he wasn’t going to help her. “What seems to be the probl-”

She gripped the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground. Her pain and anger must have triggered the mysterious power within her, for he felt all but weightless as he rose in her grip. “Dreamlily,” she snarled. She tossed him back against a pile of bandages, harder than she’d intended. “Now!”

The halfling rose to his feet and scampered over to a chest of drawers, producing a small clay vial from within. He tried to find his voice and to protest as he turned around, but Thorn’s fierce gaze silenced him, and he handed her the vial. She stood there, glaring at him, and he reluctantly gave her a second vial.

Thorn swallowed the acrid liquid as she strode from the room, and a chilling numbness spread across her nerves. The stone still burned, but the pain was a distant thing, something she’d heard about but forgotten. She made her way back to her bunk and collapsed on the plank. Around her, Tarkanans were beginning to stir, some arming and preparing for the morning meal. Thorn simply pulled Steel to her and lay on the bed, wrapping her arms around the dagger.

Not such a good night, then.

Thorn said nothing. The dreamlily held the physical pain at bay, and the memories of the dream began to fade. But painful pieces remained. The agony as the lightning took her, and the lingering sensation of Drulkalatar’s eyes watching her. She’d had the same dream at least once a month since she’d left Droaam, each time more vivid and painful than the last.

The mystery was almost as bad as the pain. The dream was as much as she could remember about the conclusion of her mission to the Great Crag-and like a dream, the memories were hazy and hard to focus. Her handlers at the Citadel said it was likely an effect of facing a powerful demon. Such creatures warped reality with their presence, and they could twist memories without even trying. What had truly happened that night? In the dream, she’d become a dragon. And it felt so real, so true. Her tail, her wings, the fire in her blood… it was as if these things had always been a part of her, something she had simply forgotten.

Floating in the cocoon of the dreamlily, she replayed the dream in her mind. It was fading again, slipping away. But there was one point she hadn’t seen before. The fire in her blood, the anger that seemed to give her remarkable bursts of strength, the power that she felt when she’d drained the life from Sorghan… she’d felt it in her dream. It was the burning power of the dragon’s blood.

But what did it mean?

And who was the Angel of Flame?

“On your feet, sister Thorn!” It was Brom, leaning on his massive arm. “The time for sleep is done. We will be working together this day, and there are many preparations to make.”

Thorn looked at him. The dreamlily highlighted his unusual features-the reptilian eye, his wildly mismatched hair and teeth, the patches of scales and chitin scattered across his skin. For a moment she was gripped by the thought that she was looking into a mirror reflecting her soul, that she’d suffered psychic injuries as terrible as Brom’s physical afflictions. She opened her mouth, trying to find the words to explain, but now the dreamlily caught her tongue. “I see myself in your teeth,” she told him.

Brom frowned, puzzled. “Shake off your dreams, little one. There’s a war to be fought.” He scooped her out of bed with his powerful arm and propped her up against the bunk. The pain of the shard was fading, and as usual, it was drawing the dreamlily haze away with it. The dose she’d taken should have kept her sedated for hours, but ever since Far Passage, she’d found that even the strongest narcotics could only affect her for a few minutes. At least they still helped with the pain. She worked through the fading fog, gathering her equipment and following Brom. But she could still hear the words from her dream echoing in her head. This time it wasn’t the demon’s threats that haunted her. It was her own voice.

I am the Angel of Flame.

What did it mean?