raised it over her head, but it was deadly steel as the point struck home between Drego’s eyes. She raised her arms and roared at the sky, and the shard at the base of her spine was burning, throbbing as if it were the point of a spear. Pain, anger, and alien joy merged together in a terrifying cacophony, overwhelming all sensation.
Then a hand gripped her shoulder. At the touch, the world around her faded away and fell into utter darkness. The howls in her mind fell silent. There was no sword, no battlefield; she was lying on the ground with a blanket over her face.
“Nyri?” It was Beren ir’Wynarn, the Brelish ambassador. “Are you well, child?”
Thorn reached up and pulled the blanket from her face. Lord Beren was kneeling over her, with Toli right behind him. The light of the moons had given way to dawning sun, and Jharl was preparing breakfast by the campfire. All that remained of the nightmare vision was the piercing pain in her lower back; it felt as if the crystal shard were digging into her spine.
Thorn sat up and laid a hand across Beren’s arm. “I’m fine, my lord. Just a bad dream.”
“Perhaps the rabbit from last night disagreed with you,” Beren said. “I hope not, though. It appears we have the same for breakfast. I supposed I should be grateful that these gnolls are determined to keep me alive, but the quality of that life leaves something to be desired.”
Thorn couldn’t muster the energy to laugh at the old man’s joke, but she managed a smile. “I think I have some Talentan spices in my bag. I do need to take care of my ambassador, after all. Give me a moment to gather my thoughts and I’ll see what I can find.”
“Bless you, child.” Beren beamed. He stood and helped Thorn to her feet. “Olladra smiled when she brought our paths together.”
“Yes, I’m sure she did,” Thorn replied. Even as she bowed her head to acknowledge the Sovereigns’ favor, the words of the dream echoed in her mind.
I am greater than any of your gods. Now we will see what path your people take when this pillar is broken
.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Drego Sarhain staring at her from across the camp.
C HAPTER T WELVE
The Jul Kartaal Droaam
Eyre 18, 998 YK
I t is always a question of blood,” the elf said, running a whetstone along the edge of his gleaming scimitar. “Our blood is a thing to be treasured, our bond to the powers of the past. To abandon such a gift to go worship a bonfire … I can see why you won’t speak. There are no words to defend such an action.”
The speaker was Saer Vordalyn, a warrior from the kingdom of Valenar. After the attack at Korlaak Pass, the gnolls had reassigned passengers to the remaining carriages. And so Breland and Thane had been blessed with Vordalyn’s company for the last five days, a gift that had made the journey an exceptionally trying time.
The elves of Valenar thrived on conflict in all forms and believed that by fighting, they honored their fallen ancestors. They’d come to Khorvaire as mercenaries during the Last War, only to turn on their Cyran paymasters and lay claim to that kingdom. In the years that followed, they’d sold their services to all sides. While few generals trusted them, the Valenar were, without question, deadly soldiers.
Vordalyn was certainly interested in fighting, whether with steel or words. He’d spent the last five days probinghis traveling companions, searching for any sign of weakness or any subject that proved uncomfortable. Minister Luala was his target of choice; she was an elf living among humans, and she had set aside the traditions of her ancestors to follow the Silver Flame. Vordalyn seemed determined to provoke her into breaking her vow of silence, but so far his barbs had shattered against her serenity. The minister simply smiled at his jibes, which in turn pushed the warrior to try harder. This blunt opening was surely just the beginning of a more elaborate and insulting scheme.
Vordalyn
Then a hand gripped her shoulder. At the touch, the world around her faded away and fell into utter darkness. The howls in her mind fell silent. There was no sword, no battlefield; she was lying on the ground with a blanket over her face.
“Nyri?” It was Beren ir’Wynarn, the Brelish ambassador. “Are you well, child?”
Thorn reached up and pulled the blanket from her face. Lord Beren was kneeling over her, with Toli right behind him. The light of the moons had given way to dawning sun, and Jharl was preparing breakfast by the campfire. All that remained of the nightmare vision was the piercing pain in her lower back; it felt as if the crystal shard were digging into her spine.
Thorn sat up and laid a hand across Beren’s arm. “I’m fine, my lord. Just a bad dream.”
“Perhaps the rabbit from last night disagreed with you,” Beren said. “I hope not, though. It appears we have the same for breakfast. I supposed I should be grateful that these gnolls are determined to keep me alive, but the quality of that life leaves something to be desired.”
Thorn couldn’t muster the energy to laugh at the old man’s joke, but she managed a smile. “I think I have some Talentan spices in my bag. I do need to take care of my ambassador, after all. Give me a moment to gather my thoughts and I’ll see what I can find.”
“Bless you, child.” Beren beamed. He stood and helped Thorn to her feet. “Olladra smiled when she brought our paths together.”
“Yes, I’m sure she did,” Thorn replied. Even as she bowed her head to acknowledge the Sovereigns’ favor, the words of the dream echoed in her mind.
I am greater than any of your gods. Now we will see what path your people take when this pillar is broken
.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Drego Sarhain staring at her from across the camp.
C HAPTER T WELVE
The Jul Kartaal Droaam
Eyre 18, 998 YK
I t is always a question of blood,” the elf said, running a whetstone along the edge of his gleaming scimitar. “Our blood is a thing to be treasured, our bond to the powers of the past. To abandon such a gift to go worship a bonfire … I can see why you won’t speak. There are no words to defend such an action.”
The speaker was Saer Vordalyn, a warrior from the kingdom of Valenar. After the attack at Korlaak Pass, the gnolls had reassigned passengers to the remaining carriages. And so Breland and Thane had been blessed with Vordalyn’s company for the last five days, a gift that had made the journey an exceptionally trying time.
The elves of Valenar thrived on conflict in all forms and believed that by fighting, they honored their fallen ancestors. They’d come to Khorvaire as mercenaries during the Last War, only to turn on their Cyran paymasters and lay claim to that kingdom. In the years that followed, they’d sold their services to all sides. While few generals trusted them, the Valenar were, without question, deadly soldiers.
Vordalyn was certainly interested in fighting, whether with steel or words. He’d spent the last five days probinghis traveling companions, searching for any sign of weakness or any subject that proved uncomfortable. Minister Luala was his target of choice; she was an elf living among humans, and she had set aside the traditions of her ancestors to follow the Silver Flame. Vordalyn seemed determined to provoke her into breaking her vow of silence, but so far his barbs had shattered against her serenity. The minister simply smiled at his jibes, which in turn pushed the warrior to try harder. This blunt opening was surely just the beginning of a more elaborate and insulting scheme.
Vordalyn
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