There’s strong magic all around you, Steel said. Enchantment and illusion, the world itself is being tainted by this angel’s thoughts.
“Lovely,” Thorn murmured. “Don’t trust your eyes,” she warned the others. “I don’t know how extensive his powers are, but things may not be what they appear.”
She studied the air within the open doors and cast a pinch of powdered silver forward, but there was no indication of any sort of ward. Unless they’re hidden by his illusions, she thought.
“I think it’s safe,” she said at last.
Daine drew his sword, and it gleamed with a pale light. “Brom, take the lead. Thorn, Drego, follow on my mark. Anything that moves should be considered an enemy. We need to press forward as quickly as we can.”
Brom grinned, looking forward to the battle ahead. He strode up to the door, raised his mighty fist-and then paused. He set his hand back on the ground again and sat there, staring at the gate in front of him.
“Brom!” Daine said. “The door!”
The dwarf shifted his weight slightly, started to raise his hand, and again he stopped.
“What is it?” Thorn asked.
“I… I don’t know how to open it,” he said. His voice was quavering, filled with doubt.
“Just push it.”
“But… what if I can’t? What if I’m not strong enough?” He continued to mutter to himself, seeming not to hear their words.
Psionic attack, Steel told her.
“Oh, that’s news,” Thorn said.
Drego was talking to Brom, whispering words of encouragement. Thorn had other ideas. Stepping forward, she chose a tender spot and poked the dwarf with Steel. He fell forward with a yelp, staggering into the door with his considerable bulk, and the gates opened wide. Brom looked back at her, puzzled, but it seemed the pain had broken the enchantment.
“Move!” Daine said.
Shaking his head slightly, Brom turned back and charged. Thorn and Drego were next through the door. What lay beyond was so at odds with the rest of Fallen that Thorn knew it couldn’t be real. There was no rubble or dust in the great hall. Candles gleamed on pillars and pedestals-and in the hands of the parishioners. For the hall was filled, in a seeming mockery of a service. Scores of people were inside, staring at the altar. They might have slipped through the crack in the door, small as they were, but she wasn’t looking at a congregation of halflings.
They were children.
Some were clearly denizens of Fallen, filthy urchins dressed in torn rags. But others must have come from higher districts, somehow drawn down into this hellish place. Whatever force had brought them here held them paralyzed, and there was no reaction as Brom moved among them. Thorn prayed that this was just another illusion, but the answer seemed all too clear. Drego said that Vorlintar fed on innocence, and here was his unfortunate flock.
“Xu!” Daine hissed behind her.
Glancing back, Thorn saw that the dark elf had produced her bone glaive, and that Daine had caught the haft of the weapon as she was readying a swing.
“We do not fight this army?” Xu’sasar seemed truly puzzled by this revelation. “They may be passive now, but surely they will rise to defend their master.”
Thorn tried to push that thought from her mind. The sight of the assembled children was bad enough. The thought of having to cut her way through a clawing mob was a true nightmare.
“Only if necessary,” Daine said.
The dark elf blew out her breath, and her weapon retracted, shifting back into the throwing wheel. “It reflects poorly on the soul when one is killed by children,” she said.
“Silence,” Drego snapped. “He’s here. Focus. Prepare.”
“You cannot prepare for what lies ahead.” The voice filled the hallway, deep and resonant. It was accompanied by the sound of chimes, faint music ringing through the air. “None of you will leave this place. Some few of you may be lucky enough to die. The rest will join my choir.”
Surely some illusion must have hidden him from them earlier. For where there had once been empty space, there now stood an angel. He spread his mighty wings, and the chains hanging from each feather rattled and chimed. The great doors of the hallway slammed shut. Every candle extinguished. And the laughter of the Keeper of Hopes echoed in the darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY — SIX
Fallen Lharvion 22, 999 YK
Thorn’s vision shifted to compensate for the darkness. The first thing she saw were the angel’s wings- outspread and glorious, with long feathers as dark as a moonless night. The source of the chimes became clear, for there were chains attached to every feather. Strange weights were bound to the ends of the chains-weights of many shapes and sizes, engraved with symbols Thorn didn’t recognize. Their purpose was clear: for all his glory, Vorlintar could not rise from the ground.
The raven wings drew Thorn’s attention, but the figure between them was nebulous and enigmatic. Her first impression was of a wraithlike being, cloaked in shadow, with long arms and hungry, grasping hands. No… it was her father, as he had been on the day that he left them for the last time. Or a whirling mass of dragonshards surrounding a great pillar. The sight was overwhelming and disorienting. She turned her eyes away, and not a moment too soon. Confused as she was, Thorn hadn’t even noticed the angel’s approach. Now, guided by the rattling of the chains, she realized he was almost upon her. She rolled to the side, and while she couldn’t see the angel’s hand, she felt a chill as it passed close to her skin.
Thorn’s companions moved. She heard the whir of Xu’sasar’s bone wheel and a ringing crash as it struck the wings of the chained angel. If Vorlintar felt any pain, he gave no sign of it. But that was just the prelude. Brom ran across the hall, smashing into the Keeper of Hopes with enough force to dent steel and shatter stone. Yet the angel was unmoved by the blow. He caught Brom by the neck and lifted the dwarf into the air. A horrible sound filled the air, a despairing wail torn from Brom’s throat as he flailed in the angel’s grasp.
Thorn moved behind Vorlintar. Steel was in her hand. One thrust could bury the blade in the angel’s spine. But how did she know he even had a spine? How could she hope to succeed when both Brom and Xu’sasar had failed so completely? Brom’s strangled cry was already dying, and she knew there was no way to save him. Her only hope was to flee, to try to save her own life.
No!
These weren’t her thoughts. There was always a way. There was always hope.
She wrestled with her doubts, struggling with the terrible malaise and fear-and then the despair broke.
Thorn struck with the speed of a viper, burying Steel in the back of the angel’s neck. His scream echoed throughout the cathedral, an unearthly howl of pain. There was no time to savor her triumph. Vorlintar lashed back with his wings. The sheer force flung Thorn back, and the impact of a chain against her forehead made the world go white. She rolled with the blow, twisting to land on her feet. A thought called Steel back to her. He flew from the wounded angel and into her hand. Streams of shadow and dark wisps of smoke poured from the injury.
Brom lay crumpled on the ground, and Xu’sasar was standing frozen, likely paralyzed by the same doubts Thorn had struggled with. Drego and Daine stepped into the fray. Drego raised his hands, and argent flames illuminated the room. “I know you, Vorlintar.” His voice was clear and strong. “Fifth among the Fallen, bound in this place for coveting that which you were born to inspire. My light will strip away your power and constrain you to the fate that awaits you.”
Drego thrust his hands forward, and bolts of silver light flowed across the room. Yet Vorlintar laughed, raising his hands and blocking the flames with shields of shadow.
“What mockery is this?” the angel said. “Your hopes are hidden from me, but I shall pry them from your soul.”
Drego’s magic couldn’t reach the Keeper of Hopes, but the onslaught was holding Vorlintar’s attention, and
