Thornton
At first it didn’t even register. Thornton just stood there feeling his jaw slacken as he looked at Dailus, safe and imprisoned behind the iron bars of his cage.
Then the words hit him like violent waves breaking on the shore: one after another, after another—forceful and unrelenting.
“. . . dead.”
(Crash!)
“Your father is dead.”
(Crash!)
Nausea crept up in Thornton’s stomach as he felt his knees weaken.
“No,” he whispered. “You’re lying.” He didn’t believe the words even as they escaped, but it felt good to say them out loud. He looked up at the half-eye and felt renewed rage build in his chest. “You’re lying!” he shouted.
He grabbed at the metal bars that separated Dailus from freedom and shook them desperately. “You’re lying!” he screamed again.
The half-eye was silent. He broke eye contact and stared at the floor, looking as useless as Thornton’s own attempts to shake the iron bars.
Useless, that is, until he felt the bars began to bend.
“Thornton,” Yasha said with sudden alarm in her voice. “Stop.”
Small bits of rock worked themselves loose from the ceiling, falling to the ground in an earthy cascade of dust. The prison around them seemed to groan as if it, too, were feeling the pain of Olson’s death. The bars creaked and twisted in place.
“Thornton,” Yasha repeated.
But Thornton couldn’t hear her. He wouldn’t hear her, wouldn’t hear any of it; he was cut off and numb, cocooned in a shell of his own fury, and unable to feel anything else. The bitterness and rage that surrounded him had blossomed from deep inside, cutting off the rest of the world as it rose. He felt a burning in his body, as though his blood had caught fire.
“Thornton!” Yasha screamed. The panic in her voice had changed to fear. “Stop! You’re going to kill us!”
The words reached his ears, but Thornton’s focus was elsewhere. Deep in his mind, he reached for his anger and grabbed hold.
The fact that Dailus had been the one to tell him of his father’s death—the man who could be held most responsible for it—made Thornton shake with anger.
Dailus.
Traitor.
The one who had stolen the Hammer was now heaping news of his father’s death onto him like a shovelful of hot coals. The concept didn’t even seem real. His father, larger than life, should never have been taken from this world without having a say in it.
Thornton reached out and embraced his anger as he felt his blood burn hotter and hotter. The world around him had almost ceased to be, but a strong, firm hand on his shoulder suddenly brought him back.
Thornton.
He gasped like a swimmer coming to the surface after being held below the waves.
Thornton!
It was the voice of Kethras, rough and deep, yet . . . soothing.
Thornton slumped to the ground. The prison ceased its trembling, and the iron bars were quiet again.
Then came the almost-inaudible whisper of Dailus the half-eye.
“You had to learn eventually.” The words were quiet, not forceful.
In his haze, Thornton felt Yasha’s hands under his armpits as she tried to help him to his feet. “I think you’ve said enough. Let’s get him out of here and get him some rest.”
Thornton felt a second pair of hands on him, and he suddenly found himself standing again. His head was swimming and his thoughts were cloudy; but as he staggered to the stairs that led up to the throne room, helped along by his friends, he heard Dailus speak once again.
“You can bring him back,” he said. “And the Three can help.”
Dailus
The Ellenian prison cell was dark when it came to him again.
Dailus, the voice said. It burned behind his eyes like a red-hot spear being pressed into his flesh. Have you done what I asked?
Dailus shivered despite the sensation of heat that enveloped him. “I did. I told them what you said.” He grabbed the sides of his head and doubled over. “Ah!” A sudden, intense rush of pain leapt through him.
Good. The rasping voice was coming from all over, echoing inside Dailus, but Dailus knew he was the only one who could hear it. If you do what I say, you will live.
“No,” Dailus gasped. “I don’t want to. Just . . . Just let me die.”
Searing laughter tumbled through the recesses of Dailus’s mind. Only when you’ve outgrown your usefulness to me. Until then, you are mine to do with as I please. Dailus felt another shot of pain flood his mind, and he cried out again. It felt as if someone were pounding a sculptor’s chisel into the back of his skull. “I remember! Stop! Please!” he begged. “I’m yours to command.”
The words dripped out of him like spittle. “Just . . . stop.”
He would say anything to make the pain stop. Do anything. He would take the Hammer again if he had to.
He would take a life. Anything, anything to make it stop.
He felt the burning embers die down and knew that he was alone again. Shivering, he felt the pain-wrought tears course down his cheeks as he wished for death. This had all been too much for him to handle, and he wasn’t sure just how much further he could go.
But, for now, he had to find some way to awaken the Three—or at least make sure that Thornton did.