THE DRAGON'S RETURN

The Divine Envoy

A dead god leaves a cold stink that stays in your teeth for hours.

Thorn stood over the lifeless body on the golden throne, his breathing heavy and rough. Black smoke curled off his gray forearm as the silver mist from the spirit vanished into the high rafters.

"You killed the Emperor," the Grand Master whispered, his white beard trembling as he took three unsteady steps backward. "You actually killed the vessel."

Thorn turned around slowly, his stone fingers flexing with a dry, wooden click. "He was dead before I touched him. You just put a crown on his corpse."

"He was touched by the upper realm!" the Grand Master shouted, his face turning dark red. "You have cursed this entire city! The heavens will rain fire on us all!"

"Then you had better start running," Thorn said, his voice flat and empty.

Lyra floated down from the high ceiling, her silver ghost light flickering violently. "Thorn, look at your sleeve. The skin is not stopping!"

Thorn looked down at his left shoulder. Beneath his torn silk shirt, dark gray veins were spreading across his collarbone, thick and hard as oak roots. His chest relic beat once, heavy and dull, sending a wave of ice through his ribs.

"It will hold until we reach the gates," Thorn muttered under his breath.

"It will not hold if you keep fighting these fools!" Lyra hissed, her voice sharp with panic. "The spirit is gone, but the curse it left behind is still burning in your veins!"

A sudden, high-pitched screech cut through the ruined hall. The silver smoke that had fled from the Emperor's mouth suddenly rushed back down from the ceiling arches, twisting into a long, razor-sharp needle of white light.

"It did not leave!" the Grand Master yelled, a mad laugh bursting from his throat. "The divine soul remains! Kill him, holy light!"

The white light needle shot across the room like a falling star, heading straight for Thorn's chest.

Thorn did not have time to draw a blade. He raised his left arm, placing his stone shoulder and petrified biceps directly in the path of the strike.

The white light slammed into his gray skin with a loud, metallic crack. It did not pierce him, but a wave of searing, yellow heat erupted from the impact point, crawling over his skin like liquid fire.

Thorn gritted his teeth so hard a copper taste filled his mouth. He did not scream. He grabbed the white light needle with his right hand, ignoring the skin burning on his fingers, and shoved his chaos power straight into the beam.

"Unmake," Thorn growled through his teeth.

The white light shrieked like a dying bird, breaking into a shower of cold, gray sparks that scattered uselessly across the red carpet.

The Grand Master staggered back, dropping his staff as the last trace of divine light died out in the room. "No. That was a holy blessing. You cannot just break a blessing!"

"A blessing is just a leash," Thorn said, taking a step down from the high platform. "And I do not wear leashes."

The remaining guards in the hall looked at each other, their faces pale and wet with cold sweat. One by one, they dropped their short swords and backed away toward the side walls, refusal written in every line of their bodies.

"Get back here, you dogs!" the Grand Master screamed at his fleeing men. "Stand your ground and fight!"

"They are smarter than you," Thorn said, walking past the long wooden tables.

Thorn stopped three paces away from the Grand Master. He raised his left arm, showing the thick, stone-gray skin that now covered his hand, wrist, arm, and shoulder, stretching all the way to the edge of his throat.

"Where is the key to the eastern gate?" Thorn asked softly.

The Grand Master stared at Thorn's gray neck, his lips shaking. "I do not have the key. Captain Julian holds the eastern gate seals."

"Julian is lying on a dungeon floor," Thorn said.

"Then the gate is locked from the outside!" the old man wept, falling to his knees on the stained carpet. "The city vanguard has already sealed the iron bars! Nobody gets out!"

"I do not need a key to open a gate," Thorn said.

He reached out with his right hand, grabbed the Grand Master by his white collar, and dragged him toward the heavy brass doors at the end of the hall.

"What are you doing?" the old man cried out, flailing his arms uselessly. "Let me go!"

"You are going to tell the guards outside to clear the street," Thorn said, his voice cold and steady.

"They will not listen to me!" the Grand Master screamed. "They think the prince is inside slaughtering everyone!"

"They are right," Thorn said.

He reached the heavy brass doors and placed his stone-gray palm flat against the iron lock in the center. He did not waste time looking for a keyhole or a latch. He focused his mind on the strength of the iron bolts holding the doors shut.

"Unmake," Thorn thought.

A quiet black pulse rippled out from his gray palm. The massive iron lock, three inches thick, turned into a cloud of red rust and fine metallic dust. The heavy brass doors creaked open, swinging outward into the rainy night air.

Outside, three hundred imperial guards stood in tight formation across the courtyard, their iron spears raised and their torches flickering in the wind and rain.

"He is out!" a captain shouted from the front line. "Form the shield wall!"

Thorn stepped out into the rain, dragging the weeping Grand Master by his collar. He threw the old man onto the wet cobblestones at the foot of the marble steps.

"Listen to me!" the Grand Master shrieked at his own soldiers, pushing himself up on his hands. "The Emperor is dead! The array is broken! Fall back!"

The guards stared at their Grand Master in absolute shock, their spear tips wavering in the dark.

"Is that true?" the captain called out, his voice trembling over the sound of the falling rain. "Where is the Emperor?"

"He is ash," Thorn said, stepping down the stairs into the open light of the torches.

He pulled his sword with his right hand, the cold rain washing the dark blood off his blade. His left arm hung heavy and stiff at his side, completely turned to stone from the knuckles up to his collarbone, but his dark eyes were bright and dangerous.

"Clear the street," Thorn said, his voice echoing across the courtyard, "or I unmake the ground under your feet."

The captain looked at the red rust coating the broken brass doors, then looked at the dead silence of the palace behind Thorn. He lowered his short sword, taking two step back into the dark crowd of soldiers.

"Fall back," the captain ordered quietly. "Clear the road to the eastern gate."

The guards parted like water around a rock, lowering their spears and backing away into the shadows of the rain-soaked alleys.

"You let them live?" Lyra asked, floating near Thorn's ear as he stepped past the kneeling Grand Master.

"Killing them takes time," Thorn said, keeping his eyes on the dark eastern road ahead. "And time is the only thing I do not have."