The Legend of Asahiel: Book 03 - The Divine Talisman by Eldon Thompson Page B

him, causing muscles to clench and his stomach to heave. But he would not stop now. Each memory became his own. Every sight, every sensation, every raw emotion Torin had known. A crippling onslaught of love and hate, joy and sorrow, triumph and failure. A lifetime of hopes realized and dreams dashed, all in one fell swoop. The knowledge and experiences of another, made his own.
    In some small, distant way, he realized they were destroying him.
    And he reveled in it.
    All too soon, it ended. At full fury, he made short work of his prey. As his assault waned, a void closed round, in which nothing remained but indigestible fragments.
    And the ecstasy, of course—ultimate, indescribable. All that the young mortal had ever been or aimed to become, shredded and consumed with bestial efficiency, devoured and assimilated into his own awareness. Had he known—truly known—the savage pleasure this would bring him, he never would have hesitated to complete his transformation.
    Nor was it fully finished. The hollow ache he might otherwise have felt was assuaged in that he still had the fragments. He had understood from others that it would be so. For some reason, there were invariably a few memories that escaped an Illychar’s initial onslaught, a few treasured images and emotions held most dear by their original host. Rarely did these more closely guarded visions prove to bear any practical significance; their value was often of a private, sentimental nature. Whatever the source of their resistance, even these wasted away and were devoured in time. All that Torin had managed to hide would eventually be his—a future conquest to be regarded with savory anticipation.
    When he opened his eyes again to the natural world, he did so with the entirety of Torin’s faculties, mental and physical, at his disposal. His feasting had made him master of this coil and the enslaved, former essence that churned inside. He lacked only one thing more: the name by which his deeds in this realm would become known.
    Haze leaned near. “So then, tell me what you know.”
    Images whirled through his head, summoned as if they had belonged to him all along. The most recent were of Cianellen, Allion, Marisha. He understood now why Torin had truly collapsed in those tunnels, and knew that Allion was alive, raised in his stead. He felt a smile form upon his lips, for the recollection of the king’s sacrifice—of which no one else knew—amused him.
    The expression seemed to anger Haze. “Your time grows short, Nameless One.”
    Already, his new life hung by a string. With Kael-Magus gone, Vorric Haze clearly meant to assume the mantle of leadership among them—and as wielder of the Sword, was in the best position to do so. Though it chafed himto admit it, he had to appease his brother before he could ever hope to satisfy himself. That was going to prove difficult, knowing that he lacked the answers Haze sought.
    “The Sword’s power is…mercurial,” he replied. He had to be direct enough that Haze did not kill him on the spot, yet evasive enough to imply hidden worth. His brother would expect nothing less.
    “Go on.”
    “It is not sentient, yet it seems to sense your goal, and will amplify your ability to achieve it.”
    “What of its inner fires? How do I summon them?”
    He chuckled derisively. “Had Torin known the answer to that, do you believe he would have fallen?”
    The lines in Haze’s forehead deepened. “Perhaps the next Illysp to inhabit this coil will respond better,” he said, and drew back as if to stab forward and drive the Sword home.
    “He did, however, witness the eruption of those fires more than once. Perhaps you can solve a riddle he could not.”
    Haze spared him, but continued to scowl. “Speak quickly.”
    “It defends itself,” he claimed, peering beyond the surface of the gleaming blade to stare at the crimson fires swirling hypnotically within, “at all costs.”
    “From magical assaults, yes. And the wielder