What she saw was madness.
Once this chamber had been the great hall of a goblin king. The style was reminiscent of the Tarkanan sanctuary, simple and ascetic. Thick pillars supported the high roof, and the remnants of a few tattered banners hung from the walls, bearing the symbol of a skull and battle-axe. Streams of glowing lava snaked across the floor of the room, staying molten even with exposure to the air. And the flaming glyphs were scattered across the room, emblazoned on floor, wall, and pillars alike.
But these were the least of the wonders to be seen. The ceiling of the hall was high above her head, and floating debris filled the space between floor and roof. Some of it was simple stone, chunks of columns or walls that had shattered in Tarkanan’s quake. But there were charred bones drifting through the air, and enormous pieces of armor. No, not armor. An armored leg, larger than that of a troll, was floating past her, and she could see that it was solid-filled not with flesh and bone, but with metal and stone. Not warforged, but some sort of construct. Studying the bones, she spotted a few scorched corpses that still had scraps of identifiable uniforms, and she could see the edge of a gorgon seal.
The seal of House Cannith.
Cannith had been here before, and all evidence suggested that it had been a disaster. It might have been a coincidence that Daine had brought the Cannith weapon here. Or perhaps he was following in the house’s formidable footsteps.
Then she saw the throne. It had been hidden behind the drifting torso of a steel giant, and now it slowly came into view. The throne of the goblin king, torn from the floor and set loose in the air. And there in the great chair sat Vyrael, the Ashen Sword, Eighth among the Burning Host. Every feather on her wings was an individual flame, and her face was a mask of brass wreathed in fire. Her body was hidden beneath a robe darker than the blackest soot. A sword lay across her lap-a greatsword forged from dark, pitted iron. It was a brutal weapon, one that had seen many battles.
The fallen angel was a majestic and fearsome sight, but it seemed she was not omniscient. If she was aware of Torn, she gave no indication of it. She remained perfectly still, save for the flickering flames of her wings and her glorious mane. Thorn crept along the wall, slowly making her way behind the angel. The throne was a good ten feet off of the ground, but there was a lot of floating refuse in the air. As long as it would support her weight, she could use the debris as a springboard to reach her enemy.
Vyrael still seemed to be unaware of her presence. Under normal circumstances, it would be a simple task. A quick leap, surprise attack, slash her throat before she had time to raise her blade. But after fighting Vorlintar, Thorn wasn’t even sure these beings had internal organs. Daine had a weapon he’d planned on using, so for now, she’d wait.
It didn’t take long.
Thorn’s attention was locked on the angel, and she didn’t see the others enter. But she saw Vyrael’s reaction. The Ashen Sword spread her burning wings and rose into the air, hovering above her throne. Brilliant flames engulfed her blackened sword, and the train of her robe drifted like smoke. Her angry voice was as harsh as the beaten brass of her mask, and it echoed off the walls.
“Spawn of darkness! You are a fool to come before me. A thousand fiends have fallen to my blade, and I will not suffer your presence in this place. Prepare for battle!”
“You’ve never met a fiend like me before,” Daine said. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Vyrael dived toward him, and battle was joined.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Depths Lharvion 22, 999 YK
Vyrael swooped down on Daine, a blazing raptor with a flaming sword. The Son of Khyber didn’t flinch. He held the crystal orb he’d stolen from Cannith in one hand and his sword in the other. He flung the orb. It smashed into the angel’s mask and shattered, dissolving into a cloud of mist.
No, not mist.
Ice.
Frost coated the Ashen Sword, extinguishing her burning mane and wings. She fell from the air, careening off the arm of a shattered construct before falling to the floor. Steam poured off of her as she rose from the ground, fire battling the mystical ice. Though her flames were extinguished, she was still ready for battle, and she raised her blade to meet Daine’s assault.
But Daine wasn’t the first to strike. Thorn stepped up behind the angel and drove Steel into the back of her skull. Liquid fire flowed out of the wound, burning a path through the ice. If Vyrael were a woman, the blade would have sunk deep into her brain, but as Thorn feared, her foe lacked the weaknesses of mortals. Nonetheless, the blow caught Vyrael’s attention.
The angel spun, her long blade carving a deadly arc through the air. If not for the ice, she might have finished Thorn then and there. As it was, Thorn was able to raise her vambraces just in time to block the blow, and the blade rang off Thorn’s mithral bracers. While Vyrael had the proportions of a slender woman, her strength was inhuman. The blow sent Thorn staggering back, her arms numb from the impact.
She’d done her job, though. In facing Thorn, Vyrael had turned away from Daine. The Son of Khyber struck. He’d held back in the battle with the Keeper of Hopes, but now he wove a deadly web with his shining sword. His first stroke left a burning gash across the angel’s back.
Vyrael turned to face him, and it seemed impossible that Daine could match her. Her sword was longer, and her strength greater. But he had been one of the finest swordsmen in the War of the Mark, and it seemed that his skill remained. He evaded her powerful swings with apparent ease, and whenever the angel dropped her guard to make an attack, he was there, a quick thrust leaving a burning wound on her chest. And he wasn’t alone. Thorn stayed behind the angel, darting in and striking whenever there was an opening. And while Drego kept his distance, he hurled blasts of dark energy from his wand. Vyrael howled whenever one of these struck home.
Try as she might, the Ashen Sword seemed unable to counter them. She couldn’t match their combined talents. Yet at the same time, they seemed to be making little actual progress. For every blow they landed, a previous wound melted away.
And then she exploded.
“Fools!”
The word echoed across the hall as she spread her wings. The frost had finally melted, and a blast of fire rolled out from her wings, engulfing Daine and Torn. Torn felt only the faintest warmth as the flames licked around her, but she had to look away from the brilliant light, and she heard Daine cry out in pain.
“Fools!” the angel called again, rising into the air. “You think to match my might with your petty magics? I am of the Burning Host, forged from eternal fire to battle shadow and fiend. I am the guardian of this gate, and no little tiger shall challenge me.”
Her sword blazed again, and when she swung it toward the ground, a gout of flame flowed down at Drego. The Trane threw himself out of the path of the blast And onto one of the burning glyphs scattered across the floor. He screamed as the sigil exploded, disappearing in the burst of fire and smoke. Thorn was surprised by the shiver that gripped her heart, but there was no time to go to him.
“You can’t win this battle,” Daine said. His dragonmark was glowing, and there were familiar veins of shadow running along the crimson path of the mark. There was a new weight in the air-the echo of the despair she’d felt when fighting Vorlintar.
He’s drawing on his power, Torn realized.
“No!” Vyrael cried. Her flames increased in intensity, until it was nearly painful just to look at her. Thorn couldn’t feel the heat, but it was clear that the others could. Daine staggered back a few steps. But he continued speaking, and Thorn could feel the growing misery in the air.
“You are no guardian,” he cried. “You are a prisoner, forsaken by those above you, cast out of Shavarath and Syrania to sit beneath this miserable city. You are no eternal flame. You’re guttering candle, burning away your last moments.”
“No!” the angel roared, and another wave of fire exploded from her outstretched wings. “I am eternal! I am
