Son of Khyber: Thorn of Breland Read Online Free Page B

blow, but enough to cause him to choke on his spell.
    He reached up with his good hand, but Thorn was on him. She drove her elbow into his chest, felt ribs crack, then slammed the heel of her hand against his nose. He fell to his knees, but Thorn couldn’t afford to give him a moment’s respite. Another blow sent him tumbling to the floor. She pulled her dagger free from his maimed hand and made a certain end of him.
    An awful cry came from behind her, along with the foul stench of burning flesh and hair. Thorn turned in time to see the second guard collapse, struggling to put out the flames that had engulfed his head.
    Lharen stepped out of the tunnel, flexing his fingers. “Arcanix be damned. When it comes to the mystic arts, no one beats a Brelish mage.”
    “Really?” Mayne said. “So I suppose you could build
that?”
    There was no question as to what Mayne was talking about. They had come in search of the arcane core, and now it lay before them. It was a massive pillar of twisted metal, pipes of mithral, silver, and adamantine coiled around the darkwood core like steel serpents twisting around the trunk of a tree. Glowing runes covered the exposed wood, and Thorn could feel the magical energies shift in the room as the sigils pulsed and flickered.
    “Sovereigns and Six …” Thorn murmured.
    It wasn’t the size of the pillar that brought on the curse, nor the sensation of power tingling against her skin. It was the glittering wall surrounding the column, a tornado formed from shards of glass.
    “What is it?”
    “Dragonshards,” Lharen breathed. “The balance is amazing. Khyber, Siberys, Eberron—thousands, each one linked directly to the power of the core.”
    “Lovely,” Thorn said. “Can we destroy it?”
    Lharen shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting this. Stand back.” He raised his hands and whispered in an ancient tongue. Light and heat filled the air, a brilliant burst of eldritch power that flowed from Lharen and played across the stones … with no effect at all. Lharen maintained the mystic barrage for ten seconds before he had to stop, gasping for breath. “It’s as I feared. The shards will absorb any energy I throw at them. The ritual I’ve prepared can’t penetrate it.”
    “There’s got to be something we can do,” Mayne said.
    Lharen stared into the tower of glittering stones then sighed. “There is. Mayne, I’ll need your shield. And your cloak. Is it still charged?”
    “A few moments left, no more,” Mayne said, unpinning the cloak and pulling off the bracer that held his mystic shield. “What do you have in mind?”
    “The shards protect the core. So I’m going to have to get through the shards.”
    “Don’t be a fool,” Thorn said, grabbing Lharen’s arm. “You’ll be torn apart.”
    “Mayne’s cloak will provide me with a few moments of protection, and the shield will help.” Lharen grimaced. “I don’t expect to walk away from this. But I’ve beaten the odds before. Perhaps I’ll do it again—if not, I’ll finally pay my debt to the Keeper.”
    “There’s got to be another way.”
    Lharen pulled free from Thorn’s grip. “There’s no time for this, Nyrielle! Reinforcements will be here soon. It’s the job. Breland has to come first.”
    Thorn still wasn’t convinced. “If I came alongside you, if I held the shield …”
    “Then we’d both die. There’s no time for this. We need to act now.”
    Thorn bit back her words. He was right. They were agents of the King’s Citadel; they’d all sworn to lay down their lives in the service of Breland. But walking into a wall of razors … she took his hand again, gently this time. “This will not be forgotten,” she said.
    “I doubt you’ll get the bards singing of it, unless you want to start the war anew,” Lharen said. He was right, of course; none of their work could ever be known beyond the Citadel. Still, he smiled as he held her hand. “You remember. You survive this. That will be