Son of Khyber

CHAPTER TWENTY — FIVE

Fallen Lharvion 21, 999 YK

Why did you question Drego Sarhain? Steel said. It was always difficult to read the emotions behind his psychic whispers, but there was a hint of frustration at being left in the dark. You were unconscious for a brief period of time, and I felt no magical emanations. All I heard was his voice as he tried to rouse you. Of course, my view was limited by the fact that I was left buried in the brains of one of your foes. What did you see?

Thorn tapped the dagger twice. As much as she wanted to talk things through, now was not the time. Daine and the others were waiting just ahead, and as she approached, she saw that they were standing over the corpses of another four feral humans. There were spatters of blood across Xu’sasar’s pale chitin armor, and Brom had a new patch of green scales across his forehead, but none of them was seriously hurt.

“Any troubles, Thorn?” A curious intensity lit Daine’s gaze as he studied her. Crazy as it was, she felt as if he’d been expecting the ambush.

Could this have been some sort of test? What does he know about me?

It seemed ridiculously paranoid. If Daine wanted her dead, he’d had ample opportunities to kill her himself.

But her death might not be his goal. She still had the deadly touch that might prove useful. Despite the words of dream-Drego, could she have an aberrant dragonmark after all?

At this stage, conjecture served little purpose. “No,” she told him. “We survived. They didn’t.”

Daine chuckled. “I suppose that’s what it always comes down to, yes? And I’m sure there’s worse yet to come. Let’s keep moving.”

“It’s not far,” Drego said. He closed his eyes, searching for whatever spiritual thread he was following. “There. Follow me.”

They’d reached the heart of Fallen. Buildings had shattered, and the walls of different buildings had fallen onto one another, creating an eerie patchwork labyrinth. It was hard to believe the structure could be stable, but the disaster had happened decades ago. Anything that would fall too easily likely already had. Rubble and refuse from the disaster choked the passage. While anything of value had been scavenged long ago, there were still remnants of the past. A wooden comb. The broken wagon of a wandering vendor, with fading paint proclaiming the best pies in Dura. Half of a child’s rattle, protruding from beneath a fallen flagstone. The air was unnaturally still. There were no vermin nor any signs of human habitation. Just the desolation left by the fall.

“It reminds me of the war,” Daine said. “Not the early days, when the streets were filled with those hoping to escape the coming conflict. But the end, during the siege.”

“Where did you fight?” It was difficult for Thorn to identify Daine’s accent, but if she’d had to guess, she’d have said he was Cyran.

“Here,” he replied. “Not your war. The struggle with the houses. It wasn’t a clash of armies as such. Deneith had its troops, but their task was containment, ensuring that we couldn’t escape. It was the others who did the killing. The siege engines of Cannith raining destruction from the sky, and the steel marauders prowling through the alleys. The swarms of predatory birds twisted by House Vadalis, sparrows with venomous spurs and a thirst for blood. Phiarlan assassins skulking through the shadows. Anyone who remained in the city was marked for death, aberrant or not. Those who did flee were cut down by the Deneith guard. This was where the war would end, and both sides knew it.”

It was still difficult for Thorn to believe Daine’s tale that he had fought in the War of the Mark. But she could hear the conviction in his voice, and the pain. She thought of the things she’d seen on the battlefield. Warforged titans scattering squads of soldiers. Sorcerers raining destruction down from airships. If he was correct and the Twelve planned to turn their weapons against the world, unlikely as it seemed, it was a horrifying thought.

She looked at Daine. “So how did you die?”

He paused, perched on the piece of rubble he’d been scaling. “I don’t recall the moment of my death. The houses were making their final move, driving deep within the city. We’d lost contact with the Dream-breaker, one of the mightiest among us. Halas called the leaders together-his lady, myself, Kalara of the Ten Terrors-to discuss our fate.”

Everyone had heard of Tarkanan and the Lady of Plague, but the others-the Dreambreaker, Kalara-were new to Thorn. “What was he like? Tarkanan?”

“The greatest man I ever met. Even when we were enemies, I admired him. If people had listened to him sooner, if he could have built his army back before the purge began, he might even have won the war-or at least have created a sanctuary for the aberrants that the others could not touch. As it was, I think he always knew how the struggle would end, but he was determined to give our people hope and to make the houses pay for the blood they spilled.”

“Halas Tarkanan,” Thorn mused. “The Earthshaker.”

Daine nodded. “That was one of his names, yes. He was the first Son of Khyber. Sivis propaganda said he was the Devourer himself, and it was an easy lie to tell, for his mark gave him power over the destructive forces of nature. But his mind was his greatest weapon. If he’d been unmarked, he might have unified the Five Kingdoms centuries before Galifar. And the world would be a different place today.”

“So what happened when he called you together?”

“He knew the end was hours away. He’d always known this time would come. But now, sensing their victory, the houses had fully committed their forces, bringing everything into the city.” He looked away, studying the rubble around them. “Aberrant dragonmarks… they’re tied to our blood, to our life. Sometimes this causes tragedy, madness, or infirmity. But it can also be a source of power. You can learn to channel your lifeforce into your mark, amplifying its power at the cost of personal suffering. Halas was a master of this art. When our defeat drew near, he proposed to bring the battle to an end, to combine our forces and bring the city itself down on top of them. His mark would shatter the walls and bury them in stone, while the Lady would call the vermin from the depths to devour them, and Kalara would drive any who survived to madness. They would pay for this power with their lives, but at this point, it was a small price to pay.”

“And you?”

“My mark is ill-suited to striking down armies, and I’d never learned to channel my life into it. I couldn’t help. So, Halas asked me to take the few children that were still with us and to try to escape. And I did try. I remember facing a Cannith construct, a soulless beast whose life I could not steal. Two of the children were dead, and I had only my sword. I remember the ground shaking when I charged the beast, and then… then it fades. A forest… a pool of calm water… I see these images, but I don’t remember how they fit together. And then I was trapped in the dragon’s dreams, waiting for over a thousand years.”

“Plucked out of time to do someone else’s dirty work,” Drego said. “Sounds like dragons to me.”

Daine raised an eyebrow. “And what do you know of dragons, my friend?”

Drego raised his hands disarmingly. “Oh, nothing, really. Just all of this business about the Prophecy… it seems like they’re just using you to get what they want.”

“No,” Daine said. “This is my cause. My destiny. I do not know who arranged it or why. But this is the battle I was born to fight. I’ve simply been brought forward to a point where we have the chance to win.”

“I hope so,” Drego said. “I truly do. But I’m from Thrane, and in my land, dragons are symbols of greed.”

They continued on in silence.

While Thorn tried to fight it, it was hard not to feel a sense of despair when faced with the devastation around her and the echoes of Daine’s story. Her thoughts kept drifting back to her own lonely childhood, the feeling of loss whenever her father returned to the war, the unanswered question of why her mother had abandoned her children. Those thoughts were troubling enough, but now they mingled with the horrors around her. She imagined herself as a child, crawling through the wreckage of the fall and looking for her family-searching, already knowing what she would find.

“Stop.”

At first, Thorn didn’t even recognize Drego’s voice. The vision had been so strong that she’d forgotten her quest and companions. As she returned to her senses, she could see that she hadn’t been the only one. Brom’s human eye was full of tears, and even Xu’sasar had drifted away from the group to pull at the remnants of a dress buried in the debris. Daine had a distant look in his eyes, as if he were looking into the past.

“We draw close to our quarry,” Drego said. “By his mere presence, he seeks to pull your hopes away. You must stay focused and resist these visions. Let him sink his claws into your soul, and you will soon be no better than those unfortunate creatures we killed at the tunnel.”

Daine nodded. “Yes. Remember that even in this place, we stand together, and we will succeed. Hold onto your hope, for that will be the most important weapon in the battle that lies ahead.”

Thorn cleared the cobwebs from her mind. Behind her, Brom wiped the tears from his eye then loudly blew his nose.

“And here we are,” Drego said.

There was a door ahead of them. The building had once been a cathedral of the Sovereign Host, and there were images of the Nine carved around the great archway. Considering the devastation all around them, this structure seemed remarkably well preserved. But there was something wrong. The faces of the nine Sovereigns were filled with fear and despair, and their hands were raised as if trying to ward off whatever might emerge from within. The double doors were black oak, bound with bands of silver-a clear sign something was wrong, as scavengers should surely have stripped this precious metal. The doors were slightly ajar-perhaps enough for a halfling to slip through.

“Stay back,” Thorn said. She drew Steel and approached the archway.

There’s strong magic all around you, Steel said. Enchantment and illusion, the world itself is being tainted by this angel’s thoughts.

“Lovely,” Thorn murmured. “Don’t trust your eyes,” she warned the others. “I don’t know how extensive his powers are, but things may not be what they appear.”

She studied the air within the open doors and cast a pinch of powdered silver forward, but there was no indication of any sort of ward. Unless they’re hidden by his illusions, she thought.

“I think it’s safe,” she said at last.

Daine drew his sword, and it gleamed with a pale light. “Brom, take the lead. Thorn, Drego, follow on my mark. Anything that moves should be considered an enemy. We need to press forward as quickly as we can.”

Brom grinned, looking forward to the battle ahead. He strode up to the door, raised his mighty fist-and then paused. He set his hand back on the ground again and sat there, staring at the gate in front of him.

“Brom!” Daine said. “The door!”

The dwarf shifted his weight slightly, started to raise his hand, and again he stopped.

“What is it?” Thorn asked.

“I… I don’t know how to open it,” he said. His voice was quavering, filled with doubt.

“Just push it.”

“But… what if I can’t? What if I’m not strong enough?” He continued to mutter to himself, seeming not to hear their words.

Psionic attack, Steel told her.

“Oh, that’s news,” Thorn said.

Drego was talking to Brom, whispering words of encouragement. Thorn had other ideas. Stepping forward, she chose a tender spot and poked the dwarf with Steel. He fell forward with a yelp, staggering into the door with his considerable bulk, and the gates opened wide. Brom looked back at her, puzzled, but it seemed the pain had broken the enchantment.

“Move!” Daine said.

Shaking his head slightly, Brom turned back and charged. Thorn and Drego were next through the door. What lay beyond was so at odds with the rest of Fallen that Thorn knew it couldn’t be real. There was no rubble or dust in the great hall. Candles gleamed on pillars and pedestals-and in the hands of the parishioners. For the hall was filled, in a seeming mockery of a service. Scores of people were inside, staring at the altar. They might have slipped through the crack in the door, small as they were, but she wasn’t looking at a congregation of halflings.

They were children.

Some were clearly denizens of Fallen, filthy urchins dressed in torn rags. But others must have come from higher districts, somehow drawn down into this hellish place. Whatever force had brought them here held them paralyzed, and there was no reaction as Brom moved among them. Thorn prayed that this was just another illusion, but the answer seemed all too clear. Drego said that Vorlintar fed on innocence, and here was his unfortunate flock.

“Xu!” Daine hissed behind her.

Glancing back, Thorn saw that the dark elf had produced her bone glaive, and that Daine had caught the haft of the weapon as she was readying a swing.

“We do not fight this army?” Xu’sasar seemed truly puzzled by this revelation. “They may be passive now, but surely they will rise to defend their master.”

Thorn tried to push that thought from her mind. The sight of the assembled children was bad enough. The thought of having to cut her way through a clawing mob was a true nightmare.

“Only if necessary,” Daine said.

The dark elf blew out her breath, and her weapon retracted, shifting back into the throwing wheel. “It reflects poorly on the soul when one is killed by children,” she said.

“Silence,” Drego snapped. “He’s here. Focus. Prepare.”

“You cannot prepare for what lies ahead.” The voice filled the hallway, deep and resonant. It was accompanied by the sound of chimes, faint music ringing through the air. “None of you will leave this place. Some few of you may be lucky enough to die. The rest will join my choir.”

Surely some illusion must have hidden him from them earlier. For where there had once been empty space, there now stood an angel. He spread his mighty wings, and the chains hanging from each feather rattled and chimed. The great doors of the hallway slammed shut. Every candle extinguished. And the laughter of the Keeper of Hopes echoed in the darkness.