The pull on Gaven’s mind was tangible, as though the tentacles had touched him, wrapped around him, and drawn him in. He staggered forward, unwilling, but unable to resist. He felt he could not balance on his feet unless he kept stepping forward. He tried to lean back, against the pull, but sensed immediately that he would fall backward unless he lurched forward again. He stumbled and felt something bang against his arm, sending a tingle of warm energy through his skin.
The Heart of Khyber. He stretched out a hand and grabbed it, then lost his balance and fell to the ground. The Soul Reaver stepped closer on its spindly legs, and Gaven raised a hand to ward it off-the hand that held the Heart of Khyber.
The Soul Reaver recoiled, and Gaven felt the pressure on his mind ease. He scrambled to his feet, keeping the nightshard between himself and the monstrous abomination, and hefted the spear in his other hand. A sick, burbling hiss came from the Soul Reaver’s mouth as it crouched, wary of Gaven’s next move.
“Does this frighten you?” Gaven said, thrusting the nightshard forward. “Or is it the spear, foreordained for your doom?”
I am your doom. Pain assaulted every nerve in Gaven’s body, an unbearable agony worse than any trauma of body or soul he had ever experienced. His body urged him to flee, to get as far as he could from the source of the pain, to never draw near it again. He turned to run, but the Heart of Khyber held him like an anchor. He would have dropped it in order to flee, but his hand seemed unwilling to release it. It was cool in his palm, an oasis from the pain, and he tried to draw on that coolness to assuage the agony. A soothing chill like water spread out from his hand, and in a moment the pain was gone.
I will destroy you, the Soul Reaver said, and my hordes will spread over the surface world like a plague. Nothing will stop them!
A vision accompanied its words, startlingly real, much like the visions that had haunted Gaven’s dreams in Dreadhold and even his waking since his escape. He saw an unending stream of horrible monstrosities pouring out of the chasm far above him, unleashing devastation far worse than anything the world had experienced in the Last War. It was a vision of the world overcome with madness and horror.
Doubt began to gnaw at the roots of Gaven’s mind. How could one man hold back such a tide of devastation? To do so would require greater power than even he wielded-would it not require the power of a god?
Gaven roared, and thunder shook the earth around him. Sheets of lightning shot out from the tunnel walls to engulf the Soul Reaver, lifting it off the ground and holding it in the air as wave after wave of storming fury poured into its sickly flesh. Still howling, Gaven charged forward, leveling his spear at the Soul Reaver’s chest.
The Eye of Siberys bound to a branch of ash…
…among the bones of Khyber…
The Storm Dragon drives a spear into the Soul Reaver’s heart.
My hand on the spear, Gaven thought as he plunged it into a body that was shadow given twisting form.
CHAPTER 51
One sharp kick from Rienne’s foot sent Senya sprawling facedown on the ground. The elf groaned, but she did not move again. Darraun had overheard only snippets of the banter between the two women as they fought, but it was enough to make him curious what had happened in Vathirond. He wished he’d been there to see it.
Haldren stirred, so Darraun slammed his mace into the sorcerer’s skull rather harder than was probably necessary, sending a trail of blood arcing from the sorcerer’s mouth. Darraun had been itching to do that almost since he first laid eyes on Haldren in Dreadhold, and he took great pleasure in watching the old man slump into unconsciousness. The artificer put his hands on his knees and paused to catch his breath-and to think hard about what he had to do next.
At that moment, the earth shook violently, nearly knocking him off his feet. Rienne kept her balance easily enough, but fear clouded her face. “Gaven!” she breathed, and she turned to stare back at the Crystal Spire, still piercing the sky with its unearthly light.
“Go!” Darraun said, reading her thoughts on her face. So transparent. “I’ll take care of these two.”
Rienne hesitated only a moment before bolting to Haldren’s horse and throwing herself onto its back. It didn’t seem to mind at all, and eagerly ran out of the valley, heading back into the heart of the storm.
“So what am I going to do with you two?” Darraun said to the bodies at his feet. He put his hands on his hips and stared down at them, then began looking around the nearby field of battle. “Let’s see what we have to work with.”
Writhing shadows gripped the Eye of Siberys and sucked it into darkness, yanking the spear from Gaven’s hand. The Soul Reaver’s blank white eyes opened wide. Gaven stumbled backward and stared up in disbelief at the creature transforming before him.
Dusky gray flesh became translucent, hard as crystal, with smoky veins of darkness twisting beneath the skin. A core of molten shadow churned around the Eye of Siberys in its chest, where the spear had torn cloth away and penetrated the skin, as if it were dissolving the dragonshard or absorbing its power. Finally the eyes-pale white orbs that bulged in their bony sockets-began to glow with rich golden light, as if the Eye of Siberys had traveled through the Soul Reaver’s body and lodged itself in its eye sockets.
As it changed, the Soul Reaver stretched out its clawed hands as if beckoning some distant ally, and in response the earth shook. Great cracks appeared in the walls of the tunnel, and rocks cascaded along the floor. Gaven threw his arms over his head, and for a moment he was back in Dreadhold, cowering in delirious fear as Vaskar smashed the roof over his cell. A great rumbling roar echoed throughout the caverns, answered by a gibbering cry issuing from a thousand inhuman throats. The legions of the Soul Reaver were ready, Gaven knew-no vision had ever been clearer in his mind.
The Soul Reaver’s next attack was clearly meant to dismiss Gaven just as it had dismissed Vaskar-a psychic blast that overwhelmed his senses and his thoughts and every nerve that could register pain in his body. Gaven howled in fury and pain, joining his voice to the weird ululation of the monstrous hordes, but he did not break as Vaskar had. He struggled to his feet, standing in the Soul Reaver’s path, interposing himself between that monstrous thing of living shadow and the Crystal Spire behind him. He yanked his greatsword free of its sheath and held it before him with both shaking hands.
Idiot mammal. The Soul Reaver’s thoughts scraped across Gaven’s mind. You have fulfilled your purpose. Now die.
Another psychic blast ripped through Gaven’s mind, sending his sword clattering to the ground as he brought his fists to his temples and howled. But it passed, and Gaven still stood. He stooped to retrieve his sword as the Soul Reaver stepped closer.
Do you know why I am called the Soul Reaver, mammal?
“The greatest of the daelkyr’s brood,” Gaven whispered, “the Soul Reaver feasts on the minds and flesh of a thousand lives before his prison breaks.”
And you shall be a thousand and one. Another blast tore at Gaven’s mind, and the Soul Reaver drew closer still, extending all four tentacles toward Gaven’s pain-wracked skull.
“The Bronze Serpent calls him forth,” Gaven screamed, pouring his agony into his voice, “but the Storm Dragon is his doom!” He slashed his sword at the tentacles, but the blade clanged against them as if they were solid stone rather than writhing flesh.
So you thought. And you thought to drive your spear into my heart. But your Prophecy didn’t help you, did it? Perhaps you are not the Storm Dragon after all.
One tentacle made contact with Gaven’s scalp and attached itself like a leech, and he felt his will begin to ebb. Of course he was not the Storm Dragon, he realized. How could he stand against this monster? In trying to destroy the Soul Reaver, he had only made the abomination more powerful. He tried to bat the tentacle away with one hand, but it held fast. The Soul Reaver was close, so close that its constant psychic grumbling had grown to a roar in Gaven’s mind. He could see the ash haft of the spear he’d made dangling from the creature’s chest. It smelled faintly of ozone and charred flesh, which made him smile weakly.