“Do what you need to do,” Daine said. He looked away, and Thorn finally had a good look at him. His dragonmark had spread, covering his entire neck and a wider portion of his face.
“What happened?”
“Vorlintar,” he said. “He’s bound within my mark. It’s difficult to hold such a powerful spirit. Fortunately for me, I had an experienced mentor.”
“Your mark’s spreading.”
“I know. It always does. I imagine the spirits I had bound were released when I died. When I returned to the flesh, my mark was the same size as when it first appeared. With each new spirit, it grows. I can feel it, writhing against me, struggling to be free.” As if to illustrate his point, the lines along his arm twisted and shifted. “But I held it before, and I can contain it now.”
Thorn said nothing, just watched the aberrant dragonmark as it crawled on his flesh. Drego called them back.
“I’ve done what I can,” he said. “But we should get her back to the haven.”
“No,” Daine said. “There is no haven in Sharn. Not anymore. My orders to our brethren were to evacuate as soon as we left. If Cannith hasn’t found it yet, they will soon.”
“So where are we going?” Drego asked. “Xu’sasar can’t fight.”
“And she will not be joining us,” Daine replied. “I will speak to her alone. As for us, we have one more angel to find.”
“What do you mean?” Drego said.
“I want you to take us to the Cardinal Point.”
“The Cardinal Point?” Drego said. “You mean…”
“Yes,” Daine said. His mark gleamed against his skin. “Tonight we face the Angel of Flame.”
CHAPTER TWENTY — SEVEN
Fallen Lharvion 22, 999 YK
I am the Angel of Flame. The words from her dream echoed in Thorn’s mind, and she found that her hand had tightened around Steel’s hilt. “We’re going to fight a dragon?”
If Daine meant her any harm, she could see no sign of it. He frowned, puzzled. “No. An angel, an embodiment of fire. I do not know its proper titles, only that it holds power over flame. Drego, perhaps you could enlighten us?”
The Thrane nodded, but Thorn could tell that he was surprised by the topic. As before, he wove a pattern with his fingers, creating a ward that shimmered in the air. “The guardian of the Cardinal Point is one of the Burning Host of Syrania, the vanguard that stands against the fiends of Shavarath. She is Vyrael, the Ashen Sword, Eighth among the Burning Host.” As before, the translucent sigil caught fire and burned away in the air. “Hers is the strength of smoke and flame. Less subtle by far than our fallen foe but easily as dangerous in battle. Why her?”
“Do you have another suggestion?” Daine asked. “I found tools in the Cannith vault that will help us survive the battle. And her defeat will give me the power that I need.”
Steel was buzzing in the back of Thorn’s mind, but she was already asking the question. “Power to do what exactly?”
“I told you before. I liberated a weapon from the Cannith forgehold, and now I intend to turn it against the houses. If I can absorb enough power into my mark, I can shut down all house operations in Sharn.”
Thorn nodded. “Yes. And that’s where we began. The forgehold was illegal and operated without Brelish sanction. Defeating this monster was a service to the people of Sharn. Shutting down legitimate businesses… That does nothing but hurt Breland.”
“It’s not about Breland!” Daine roared, his mark blazing with crimson light. “Why can’t you see that? The Five Nations are dying, and with each day the Twelve become more powerful. I have seen the horrors they can unleash. Forget your petty nationalism for one day and look to the fate of the world! The houses must be stopped!”
His fury was as powerful as it was unexpected. Thorn could see faint veins of darkness running along the lines of his mark, and she guessed that the strain of absorbing Vorlintar was still weighing upon him.
“This weapon is one more tool that they made without your knowledge-one more tool that they would use against your people. Let me turn it against them, and you will see the horrors they were prepared to unleash-and gain a weapon you can use against them, when the time comes. Tarkanan cannot win this war alone. We know that now. The Twelve turned the world against us. Now we will reveal them for what they truly are.”
His mental state is continuing to deteriorate, Steel said. Safer by far to take this weapon from him, whatever it may be. If it is as vital as he says, better to have the artificers of the Citadel study it.
Unless it can only be wielded by the Son of Khyber, Thorn thought. It all seemed incredible, but what if he was telling the truth? What if he had been preserved from Dolurrh, drawn through time to change the course of the future? Her encounters with Merrix and Sorghan mingled together with her disturbing dreams and Daine’s dark tale of the War of the Mark.
“Why now?” she asked.
“Because there may not be another time. Sharn is Syrania’s latrine, where the angels throw their refuse. Here we can prey upon these fallen spirits to get the power that I need. I don’t know where I could find another radiant idol, and I must leave Sharn within the day. Merrix couldn’t recognize you, but he knew this body. I cannot stay here, and I cannot return to Sharn again. I need to finish my work quickly and then regroup with the others to the north. You will have to decide if you wish to join us, or if your loyalty to your nation is more important than this struggle. But I cannot fight this battle without you.”
Steel’s voice was cold. It’s your decision, Lantern Thorn. Just remember the oaths you’ve sworn and the reason you were sent here.
Sent by the Twelve, Thorn thought. Not by Breland. They’d already made a lapdog of King Borenal. How much further would they go?
Steel could sense her hesitation. You’re a Dark Lantern of the King’s Citadel, charged to uncover threats to Breland. The decision is yours, but you will have to live with the consequences.
“Very well,” Thorn said, speaking to Daine and Steel at once. “Where do we find this burning angel?”
Daine had asked Thorn and Drego to wait outside the cathedral while he spoke to Xu’sasar. The two of them sat on chunks of rubble, looking at the debris. Ruined as it was, somehow it seemed less desolate. Perhaps the district would be rebuilt one day. Perhaps hope would return to Fallen.
“What do you think about all of this?” Thorn asked.
Drego shrugged. “I’m always ready to drive one of these celestial interlopers from our world. As for declaring war on the Twelve? That I don’t know about.”
“Do you think he’s right? Is this his destiny?”
Drego looked at her, and his silver-gray eyes gleamed. “I’d rather discuss our destiny. If he’s right, and this comes to a true war against the houses, I’d hope that you and I could be on the same side.”
“Why do you do that?” Thorn said.
“What?”
“This schoolyard flirtation. You’re a handsome man, but by now I think you know me well enough to know that it won’t influence me. So why bother?”
Drego put a hand over his heart, staring at her with a playfully soulful expression. “Can’t a man be a fool for love?”
“So they say,” Thorn said. “But you’re not nearly the fool you seem to be, are you?”
Drego looked at her, and there was a subtle change in his expression. She was used to seeing a hint of mockery and mischief in his eyes, whoever he was dealing with. Now there was something different in his gaze. Something closer to respect. “Perhaps there’s a side of me you haven’t seen.”
“Oh, I think I’ve seen it once before. When you almost destroyed my nation.”
Thorn expected Drego to look away, but he held her gaze. “You deserve more than Breland.”
