Son of Khyber

CHAPTER THIRTY — ONE

The Depths Lharvion 22, 999 YK

It was a perfect blow. Thorn had killed enough men to know that. But she’d never fought the Son of Khyber. Daine jerked, and Drego collapsed to the ground as the crackling tendrils released him. For a moment, Daine’s good eye focused on Thorn, and she saw that same look of sorrow.

He fell into her arms. At least, his body did. Daine’s flesh became dead weight against her, but as he collapsed, his dragonmark remained, a mass of pulsing crimson lines in the rough shape of a man. Ignoring Thorn, it reached out for the crumpled form of Drego, wrapping new tendrils around the stunned demon. Thorn lashed out with Steel, but the blade passed through the glowing dragonmark with no effect at all.

You’ll know, he’d said. You’ll know what you have to do.

And in that moment, she did.

She reached out, thrusting her hand into the middle of the glowing dragonmark. She remembered Toli falling at her touch. Sorghan d’Deneith. And she remembered the dragon in her dream, swallowing Drulkalatar.

And she pulled at Daine’s soul.

It was a bitter struggle. The thing she was fighting was more than just Daine. She could feel Vyrael’s burning rage and the despair of the fallen Vorlintar. And now that she’d proven herself a threat, the composite being had turned its hatred against her. Thorn could feel the power of the unbound mark tugging at her, seeking to consume her spirit. She’d managed to channel this power, but she still didn’t fully understand it.

But there was someone who did.

She thought of her dreams, of the gown in the crystal room, the great dragonskull, the dark reflection she’d seen in Far Passage. She felt the pain of the Khyber shard in her neck, and she embraced it, pulled it to her.

Time slowed to a crawl. Then the thoughts flowed through her mind.

What have we here? It was a strange sensation, feeling another force think with her mind. It seemed as if they were her own thoughts, but they were filled with cruel joy. Daine, Daine. I always knew I’d have you some day. And a pair of angels as well.

The balance had changed. The voice within Thorn took charge of the struggle, twisting the dragonmark wraith’s power against it, cooling and crushing it with its own rage. And the instant its resolve broke, the force within Thorn pulled against it. Thorn felt a terrible sense of disorientation, and the shard in her neck burned.

The ghostly dragonmark was gone. Yet the force in her head remained. Now it struggled with her, seeking to push her into the stone.

You’ve had your time, Nyrielle. Now it’s my turn.

It was a horrible sensation, as if all of her thoughts and memories were being compressed into a ball and crushed.

Don’t fight, girl. You can’t possibly match me.

For a moment, she couldn’t even remember who she was. But there were things she could never forget, and she drew those out.

The face of her father when he returned from the wars.

The last time she’d seen her mother.

Lharen’s soft words in a darkened room.

And as she drew on these memories, she felt power growing within her. She forged her emotions into a vise, and she wrapped it around the alien presence in her mind. Slowly-too slowly-she forced it back into the prison of the shard.

And then it was over.

Daine’s corpse lay on the floor, the dragonmark gone from his flesh. The tiger-headed fiend she’d known as Drego was also stretched out across the ground, slowly stirring. Thorn placed one knee on Drego’s chest, and Steel against his throat.

His eyes opened. His features blurred, and now it was the handsome Thrane who lay beneath her.

“That won’t accomplish anything,” he told her, gesturing toward Steel with his eyes. “I can’t die. If you kill me, I’ll just be reborn.”

“Drulkalatar said the same thing,” she replied, running her free hand along the soft skin of his cheek.

He paled.

“Who are you?” Thorn asked. “What is this all about?”

He chuckled softly. “So you still don’t remember. You still think you’re Thorn.”

“I am Thorn.”

“You’re Sarmondelaryx. The Angel of Flame. The Devourer of Souls. Condemned by the Conclave of Argonnessen-and yet, they need you, if the Prophecy is to fall as they wish it.”

“And what does that make you?” she said.

“One of the true children of Khyber, born in the first age of this world. Not the mightiest of my kind, certainly. But cleverer than many with more power. I served the ancient Lords of Dust in the war against your kind-the war over the Prophecy, the struggle to shape the future. Then I met you. Or, I suppose, I met her.”

“And I suppose you fell in love?”

“I don’t expect you to understand. You’re just a child now. But you could be her again. Embrace the dragon within you. Embrace your power. Let us be together again and mock dragon and tiger alike.”

What he was saying was horrifying, and yet she knew it was true. The dreams, her senses, the way the fire wouldn’t touch her…

All gifts of Sarmondelaryx.

“No,” she said. “I am who I am.”

“For now.” Drego grinned, the same playful grin she’d seen so many times. “But every time you draw on her power, she grows stronger. It’s only a matter of time.”

“So I won’t use her powers.”

“You’re being used,” Drego told her. “How did you happen to be in the right place to fight Drulkalatar, and why were you able to transform in that battle? You’re a puppet, and you don’t even know who’s pulling the strings. Release Sarmondelaryx. At least she’s the mistress of her own fate.”

Thorn pressed the blade against his neck. “You’re lying. Why should I believe anything you say?”

Drego laughed again. “I admit, my nature as a spirit of deception does rather work against me here. But ask yourself: How did this all happen? What are they using you for? How far does it go?”

Thorn said nothing. Could he be telling the truth? Was there a conspiracy within the Dark Lanterns, or did it go even higher than that?

“Come with me,” Drego said. “Keep your identity for as long as you can. I’m patient. But there are things I can show you, things you can’t begin to imagine. I do love you, flawed as you are. Let me show you a new world.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, staring into his silver-gray eyes as she shoved the dagger into his throat. She watched as the mischievous twinkle faded, then she pulled Steel out and stood. “Maybe next time.”

She wiped off the blade and sheathed it, then walked over to the eldritch machine Daine had been building. It was easy enough to disassemble. She put the pieces in the bag of holding, and after thinking about it, slid Daine’s body into the sack. Then she drew Steel again.

Do you want to discuss this? he whispered.

“Discuss what?”

Drego’s story. This claim that you’re a dragon.

“I’m Thorn,” she said. “And I’ve got a job to do. The Citadel needs to learn about Lord Merrix’s little side projects and to decide how to handle the Tarkanans. And I need a shot of dreamlily and a few stiff drinks. And a new pair of boots.”

After all this, you’re going to go looking for dreamlily?

“Now more than ever.” The shard in her neck was burning again, and the vision of the chamber of skulls filled her mind. She thought about Daine and the angels and the cruel voice that would be waiting in her dreams. “I will find out what’s been done to me. And if there’s a conspiracy among the Lanterns, I’ll uncover it. But until then, I swore an oath to protect Breland, and that’s what I’m going to do. But tonight… tonight I’m going to raise a glass to the Son of Khyber. He may have gone astray at the end, but I believe that he was a good man at the start, and he deserves to be properly laid to rest. And I hope the Citadel will take his warnings seriously.”

You’re advocating war with the Twelve?

“No. But perhaps… perhaps if we watch the houses more closely, if we warn the other nations of our concerns, we can avoid the horrors he was so afraid of. Perhaps there’s a better way to achieve his destiny.”

Thorn threw the sack over her shoulder and made her way toward the tunnel. She thought about Daine, and as she did, the burning in the shard faded. In its place, she felt a sense of peace.

Perhaps my dreams won’t be so bad after all, she thought.