envisioning the energy as a flame spilling out of her, expanding into white heat as it burst through the wand. The result was spectacular. A bolt of flame leaped from the rod, striking the soldier in the chest, and he disappeared from view as the bolt exploded outward in a mighty sheet offlame. If the man screamed, the sound was swallowed by the mists; when the flames died down later, he was nowhere to be seen.
It was too much to hope that the blast had caught all of the soldiers, and sure enough, two more emerged a moment later. An archer and a swordsman, both wielding weapons formed of solid shadow, scanned the street for any signs of the enemy.
“Quickly! Form on me!” Thorn called. The two ran up to her.
“What happened?” the swordsman said. He was bald, his head covered with sores and boils, and his eyes were as gray as Dal’s. “Where did they go?”
No one else had emerged from the mist. Let’s hope this is all of them, she thought. She pointed the wand at the ground and activated it again.
The world disappeared in flame. The light was blinding, but it lasted only an instant. When her vision cleared, she found herself standing at the center of a circle of scorched stone. The soldiers were on the ground around her, twisted and still. Once again, she was untouched, she’d barely even felt the heat. Turning away, she ran back into the shop.
Drix took a step back when she walked into the store, and she let the glamour fall.
“Wake him up,” she said. “We need to find out where their camp is, how many more there are. Sovereigns and Six, were they expecting us?”
“I’m afraid you won’t get those answers from Cazalan Dal.” Cadrel was kneeling next to the fallen soldier. “He’s dead.”
“Impossible,” Thorn said. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”
Cadrel looked up at her, a strange expression on his face. “Perhaps you don’t know your own strength. You fractured his skull with that final blow.”
She noticed the blood spreading across the floor. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t even noticed the surge of draconic strength, for all that she’d banked on her immunity to fire to save her life when she set off the wand. “There’s no time to waste. Cadrel, search the body. Drix, do you know where we are?”
“Yes,” he said. “The Street of Crowns. We need to get to the eastern gate.”
“Then lead the way. Quicker is better.”
“Nothing,” Cadrel reported, standing up. “Nothing at all. No coins in his pouch. No traveling papers. Nothing whatsoever.”
“Strange,” Thorn said. “It probably means they have a base nearby … and that means we’d better leave before they come looking.”
Drix had already stepped outside. When Thorn and Cadrel followed, they found him rummaging around on the ground. Standing up, he turned and tossed something to Thorn, a tarnished, silver disk that glittered in the light of the ever-burning torch. It was the battered locket, the chain snapped off, the rim of the lid bent and jammed. If there had ever been a picture inside, it had been burned away.
“You never know when it might be needed again,” he said. Then he started jogging down the street. “Come on, then!”
“There’s something strange about that boy,” Cadrel said.
“I can’t argue that,” Thorn said. “But I just might like it.”
She ran after him, Cadrel close on her heels.
C HAPTER E IGHT
The Mournland
B
arrakas 23, 999
YK
T hey’re your people,” Thorn said. “Surely you’ve got some idea. They were
waiting
for us.”
It was difficult to keep track of time. The sky was hidden by the glowing, gray mist; it might have been midnight, but it might have been noon. They’d run for as long as they could stand it, trying to get away from the empty city and to escape possible pursuit. The land around them was withered and gray. They followed the old trade road, which proved to be a gloomy path. Seaside was a port town, and most of the traffic came by
It was too much to hope that the blast had caught all of the soldiers, and sure enough, two more emerged a moment later. An archer and a swordsman, both wielding weapons formed of solid shadow, scanned the street for any signs of the enemy.
“Quickly! Form on me!” Thorn called. The two ran up to her.
“What happened?” the swordsman said. He was bald, his head covered with sores and boils, and his eyes were as gray as Dal’s. “Where did they go?”
No one else had emerged from the mist. Let’s hope this is all of them, she thought. She pointed the wand at the ground and activated it again.
The world disappeared in flame. The light was blinding, but it lasted only an instant. When her vision cleared, she found herself standing at the center of a circle of scorched stone. The soldiers were on the ground around her, twisted and still. Once again, she was untouched, she’d barely even felt the heat. Turning away, she ran back into the shop.
Drix took a step back when she walked into the store, and she let the glamour fall.
“Wake him up,” she said. “We need to find out where their camp is, how many more there are. Sovereigns and Six, were they expecting us?”
“I’m afraid you won’t get those answers from Cazalan Dal.” Cadrel was kneeling next to the fallen soldier. “He’s dead.”
“Impossible,” Thorn said. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”
Cadrel looked up at her, a strange expression on his face. “Perhaps you don’t know your own strength. You fractured his skull with that final blow.”
She noticed the blood spreading across the floor. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t even noticed the surge of draconic strength, for all that she’d banked on her immunity to fire to save her life when she set off the wand. “There’s no time to waste. Cadrel, search the body. Drix, do you know where we are?”
“Yes,” he said. “The Street of Crowns. We need to get to the eastern gate.”
“Then lead the way. Quicker is better.”
“Nothing,” Cadrel reported, standing up. “Nothing at all. No coins in his pouch. No traveling papers. Nothing whatsoever.”
“Strange,” Thorn said. “It probably means they have a base nearby … and that means we’d better leave before they come looking.”
Drix had already stepped outside. When Thorn and Cadrel followed, they found him rummaging around on the ground. Standing up, he turned and tossed something to Thorn, a tarnished, silver disk that glittered in the light of the ever-burning torch. It was the battered locket, the chain snapped off, the rim of the lid bent and jammed. If there had ever been a picture inside, it had been burned away.
“You never know when it might be needed again,” he said. Then he started jogging down the street. “Come on, then!”
“There’s something strange about that boy,” Cadrel said.
“I can’t argue that,” Thorn said. “But I just might like it.”
She ran after him, Cadrel close on her heels.
C HAPTER E IGHT
The Mournland
B
arrakas 23, 999
YK
T hey’re your people,” Thorn said. “Surely you’ve got some idea. They were
waiting
for us.”
It was difficult to keep track of time. The sky was hidden by the glowing, gray mist; it might have been midnight, but it might have been noon. They’d run for as long as they could stand it, trying to get away from the empty city and to escape possible pursuit. The land around them was withered and gray. They followed the old trade road, which proved to be a gloomy path. Seaside was a port town, and most of the traffic came by
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