Son of Khyber

CHAPTER TWENTY — EIGHT

Fallen Lharvion 22, 999 YK

To Thorn’s surprise, Drego led them back into the cathedral. He summoned a sphere of silver flame to light his path and walked through the nave. The cold fire cast pale light across the dead children spread around the hall. It was a strange and horrible sight, mitigated only by the beatific expressions on the faces of the fallen. Thorn hadn’t been able to save them, but at least they were free of Vorlintar.

Drego paused, closing his eyes. Thorn drew Steel. Surely no one could fault her for keeping a weapon ready in such a place.

I’m certain he’s using some form of divination, but I’m still sensing no mystical energies, Steel whispered. Whether it’s training or a tool, it’s a powerful abjuration. I wonder what else he’s hiding.

“Yes,” Drego said. “I thought so. Follow me.”

He made his way along the western wall, passing by chapels dedicated to individual Sovereigns. With the death of Vorlintar, the angel’s illusionary influence over the cathedral was fading. When the angel was alive, the hall had appeared to be pristine. Now Thorn could see the cracks in the walls and the shattered benches. The statues of the Sovereigns were still intact, and freed from Vorlintar’s influence, their expressions were those Thorn knew from her youth. Stern Aureon, loremaster and lawmaker. Gentle Arawai, source of nature’s bounty. Mischievous Olladra, fortune’s queen.

What made you think Daine wanted to you fight a dragon? Steel said.

Thorn rubbed her thumb against his hilt. What do you mean?

The Angel of Flame. When Daine used the name, you asked if you were going to fight a dragon. Why would you think such a thing?

Thorn brought the blade up to her mouth. “Sarmondelaryx,” she whispered. “What can you tell me about her?”

There was no response from Steel. Thorn was momentarily distracted as she navigated a narrow flight of spiral stairs down to the catacombs of the church. The ancient steeps were thin and steep, often slick with moss or half-crumbled away. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Thorn repeated her question. “What can you tell me?”

This time she’d spoken too loudly. Both Drego and Daine glanced back at her. “About our destination,” she continued. “This ‘Cardinal Point’.”

The crypts below the church were narrow and dark. Thorn had expected it to be cold, but instead, there was a definite warmth in the air.

“It’s where the walls between Syrania and Eberron are the weakest,” Drego said. “The mystical center of the city. It’s the energy of Syrania that sustains the flying buttresses and the other forms of levitation so common in Sharn; ultimately, that energy flows from the Azure Sky of Syrania.”

“Fascinating,” Thorn said. She tapped Steel.

It’s irrelevant to our mission.

Thorn tapped his hilt twice. Usually Steel loved a chance to play Morgrave scholar. “Tell me,” she whispered.

The Angel of Flame is one of the titles used by the dragon Sarmondelaryx, but it’s only mentioned in Bal Thurin’s treatises. She was generally known as the Red Wyrm, or more infamously as the Bane of Thrane.

She tapped the hilt a single time. When Galifar was still a young kingdom, the Bane of Thrane carried out a campaign of destruction across Thrane, razing village and castle alike. The young prince raised a host of heroes, and they met the dragon on Toran’s Field, near the Golden Forest. The army was laid low, the prince was slain, and the Golden Forest was henceforth known as the Burnt Wood.

But Sarmondelaryx…

She tapped the blade again.

Some say that it was her defeat of the prince that paved the way for the rise of the Silver Flame, Steel whispered, sounding vaguely annoyed. The people of the land were deeply loyal to the Sovereign Host and Dol Arrah at the time. Many scholars say that the devastation wrought by the Angel of Flame-along with her defeat of the man seen as the Sovereigns’ chosen champion-caused many to lose faith in the old gods. It’s only one factor, certainly, but an interesting possibility.

They’d continued to descend as Steel spoke. There was a pleasant warmth in the air, though Thorn noticed that Daine and Drego were sweating profusely.

Steel was continuing the history lesson. Though best known for her actions against Thrane, Sarmondelaryx mostly targeted individual heroes, slaying the greatest champion of an age and then disappearing for decades. Some stories say that she’d made deals with the Keeper, and that she devoured the souls of heroes as part of some gruesome pact. Her last recorded appearance was her battle with our friend Harryn Stormblade, and that was hundreds of years ago. Most likely she’s long dead… certainly no threat to Sharn or Breland. Much unlike our friend here.

Thorn sheathed Steel once more, remembering the illustrations of the hero Harryn Stormblade battling a fierce red dragon centuries before and the strange dreams she’d had of becoming a very similar dragon.

“Here we are,” Drego said, his voice pulling Thorn from her reverie.

There was a gap in the floor-a sharp drop that revealed a tunnel with smooth, curved walls of pure black stone.

“Volcanic,” Drego said, “but not natural. When Halas Tarkanan leveled the old city, he drew magma up from below. There’s tunnels like this scattered around the depths.”

“And this will take us to the point?” Thorn said. “That’s odd.”

“The Cardinal Point wasn’t made by human hands, or goblins,” Drego replied, peering down into the tunnel. “It lies beneath the city, but it’s a natural feature of the region. This is the quickest path. Though I should warn you, it’s going to get hot.”

“Here.” Daine held out his hand. Three small objects lay in his palm. “I took these from the Cannith vault. Set the plugs in your nostrils, and breathe through your nose. They should purify the volcanic gases and cool the air to a safe temperature. They’ll provide basic protection for the skin, but don’t try swimming in molten rock.”

Thorn took one of the plugs and fitted it against her nose. While the air wasn’t that warm to begin with, the instant the plug was in place, she felt a rush of cooler air against her skin. She tried breathing through her nose. The air was almost chilly and had a vaguely floral scent.

Daine produced the bag of holding. Rooting within, he pulled out an assortment of climbing tools: a knotted rope, pitons, hammers. “I understand you’re quite the climber,” he said to Thorn. “Perhaps you could manage the initial descent.”

Thorn nodded, taking one end of the rope and looping it around her waist. “Shalitar,” she said, invoking the same spell she’d used to scale Torran Spire. She felt a tingle as the magical energy spread across her hands and feet, giving her the spider’s gift to grasp the wall.

It was fortunate that she knew the spell. The lava tube was deep and wide, the walls exceptionally smooth. Thorn soon passed beyond the range of Drego’s silver light, but the darkness wasn’t complete. There was a faint light from the depths, a ruddy crimson glow. It was another hundred feet before she finally reached the cavern floor and secured the rope.

Daine had little trouble with the descent. Drego was less athletic than the other two, and he took longer to make his way down his rope. If not for the knots tied along the length of the rope, he surely would have slipped and fallen. Daine and Thorn waited at the cavern floor, watching the Thrane struggle with the rope.

“I’m glad you’ve chosen to take our side,” Daine told her. “I know it’s a difficult choice. This will be an ugly battle, unlike anything Breland has ever seen. But it’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m not choosing sides,” Thorn said. “If this fallen angel is anything like the last, I’m doing my nation a service. But I won’t be joining you when you leave Sharn. And when we meet again, we may not be on the same side.”

Daine glanced away, but Thorn saw a flicker of emotion pass across his face. Guilt? Doubt? Was there something he wasn’t telling her?

“Your loyalty to Breland is admirable,” he said, “though I find it somewhat surprising.”

Thorn scowled. Having just heard this speech from Drego, she didn’t care to hear it again. But her curiosity got the better of her. “And why is that?”

“Foolishness, I suppose. You remind me of someone I used to know, and I can’t imagine her being quite so loyal.” He turned to face her, the lines of his mark shifting along his face as he spoke. “You may not have an aberrant dragonmark, Thorn, but your mark lets you kill with a touch. Does it matter how you do it? You’ve more in common with us that with the beggar, the blacksmith, or the countess. They’ll fear you when they learn what you can do, just as they fear us. Can’t you see that?”

“Whether they fear me or not, they’re still my people,” Thorn said. “My father died defending this nation, and he believed it was a worthy sacrifice. You died before our nation came to be. I believe that Breland has kept the best aspects of old Galifar. I will not turn on the Brelish, and I cannot believe that they’ll turn on me.”

Daine held her gaze for a moment, and it seemed as if he were trying to look through her, to see something beneath the skin. Then he shook his head. “I hope you’re right. I have no desire to make an enemy of you or Breland. But I was brought back to fight the Twelve, and I must follow my destiny.”

Drego had finally reached the ground, and Daine turned away again.

“Let’s go,” he told Drego. “And quickly, before this wretched heat burns my feet away.”

The floor seemed cool enough to Thorn, but she said nothing as Drego led them down the lava tube. It was as wide as a great hallway, and while the heat didn’t trouble her, there was considerable soot and steam in the tunnel; she took care to breathe through her nose, but the steam was still soaking her clothes and beading against her skin. They descended deeper and deeper, until Thorn was certain that they had dropped below the level of the Cannith forgehold or Tarkanan fortress.

And then they came to the lake.

The sloping passage opened into a wide chamber. Thorn couldn’t see the far wall, but it was the floor that drew her eyes. Steam rose from the cracked black stone, and between the cracks came the fierce glow of molten rock.

Drego stared at the lava hissing around the cracks in the floor and breathed deeply through his nose. “It seems we have the Traveler’s own luck today.”

Thorn moved to his side. “This wasn’t in the plan?”

“Not at all,” Drego replied. “We’re almost there. There’s a tunnel to the southwest that will take us directly to the Cardinal Point.”

“A tunnel to the southwest… on the other side of the lake of fire,” Daine said.

“Indeed.” Drego sighed. “That’s the problem with plotting a course through an unstable volcanic region. It’s, well, unstable.”

“There’s no time to go back,” Daine said. “By now… there’s no safe haven for us here. We need to finish our work, and quickly.”

Drego shrugged. “Tell that to the pit of fire.”

Thorn had been studying the molten lake. “How solid is that crust? Could we walk across it?”

Drego shook his head. “The crust might not crack immediately, but it would never support all of our weight. It hardly matters, though. The heat is more than our shields could take. Even if you didn’t end up in the molten lava, you’d still sear the flesh from your bones.”

“It couldn’t support all three of us…” Thorn said. “But just one of us might have a chance.”

“You’re not listening,” Drego said. “The heat-”

Thorn raised a hand, and Drego fell silent. Her thoughts were racing. “Daine. You have the bag of holding?”

He nodded, but he wasn’t smiling. “It’s not a safe form of transport. There’s a limited supply of oxygen and no means to open the bag from within.”

“Which means I’d better move quickly.”

“Wait,” Drego said. “You want us to climb inside the bag and then run across the firepit while carrying us?”

Thorn grinned. “Exactly.”

“I’d always heard Brelish were mad, but-”

“She’s right.” Daine threw the bag to Thorn. Once again, there was something in his eyes-an emotion she couldn’t quite read. “I believe in you. You’ll make it across. Just keep moving. Don’t stop for any reason.”

Thorn nodded and glanced at Drego. He sighed. “Well, at least as I’m suffocating I can tell myself ‘it could be worse-you could be burning to death.’”

“I’m glad I have your confidence,” Thorn said. She spread the mouth of the magical sack as wide as it would go. “Climb inside.”

Daine disappeared into the bag without a moment’s hesitation. Drego paused. “Whatever you do, just keep moving. Don’t stop for any reason. Just keep moving forward.” To her surprise, he actually smiled. “See you on the other side.”

Moments later, she threw the sack over her shoulder and readied for the run. Even with both of the men inside it, the bag only weighed about twenty pounds… but the thought of that extra weight on her back didn’t help her confidence. She studied the cracked surface ahead, searching out the most solid-looking path, and breathed deeply through her nose.

And she ran.

The stone shifted as soon as she set her weight upon it, cracks spreading from the point of impact. But Drego was right-as the crust collapsed, Thorn was already moving forward. It was a sickening, disorienting experience, with the rock splitting and sliding below her, shattering stone revealing the molten lava below.

She could see the passage now, another tube on the far wall, coming close with every step.

Almost there…

Then the stone split beneath her feet. She struggled to find footing, something to push against, but it was too late; her legs were already sliding into the lava below.