Son of Khyber: Thorn of Breland (9 page)

That went well
, Steel said.

Thorn ignored him. “Stop. I’m trying to save your life, you fool!”

Sorghan laughed. “Of course you are. And the one who warned me that a piece of aberrant scum with a stone in her neck would try to kill me … I suppose that was a trick of some sort?” He drew his rapier, and his frigid dagger steamed in the warm air.

“Nothing is what it seems,” she said. “I’m working for the Twelve.”

“Your own flesh proves you a liar,” he snarled. “No one of tainted blood could ever sit at Alder’s table.”

“I’m not an aberrant, you thrice-damned idiot! I’m working to infiltrate the Tark—”

Sorghan’s skills were as good as she’d heard. The dagger struck her before she’d even seen him move. The blade sunk into her chest, but she barely felt any pain. A terrible chill drowned all sensation. Her blood was freezing in her veins, and she could barely find the strength to draw breath.

“I care nothing for the schemes of weaklings,” Sorghan said. “It’s time we destroyed Tarkanan’s brood. Beginning with you.” He lunged, sword glittering in the light of the cold fire. He shouldn’t have gloated. The shock of the icy dagger’s blow had stunned Thorn, and if he’d struck immediately, Sorghan might have finished her. As it was, she had enough presence of mind to stagger backward, staying just out of his reach.

It was hard for Thorn to focus on anything except for the terrible chill, and she had no time to study the wound. At least the cold held any pain at bay.

Sorghan struck again, and this time there was no room to retreat. Instinct took over as Thorn stepped forward, knocking the blade out of line with an armored bracer and charging at Sorghan. Too close for him to bring his rapier to bear, she smashed him to the floor. There was no time for thought or regret. She lashed out with Steel, a blow that should have buried the blade in his throat.

But it didn’t.

It felt as if she’d struck a block of ice, as if the air had solidified before her blade. Sorghan was a warrior of House Deneith, heir to the Mark of Sentinel. And the powers of this mark defended the bearer from harm.

“Your blood is no match for mine!” Sorghan snarled as they wrestled on the floor. At the moment it was true. Thorn’s wound was sapping her strength. Her fingers were numb, her vision fading at the edges.
Sorghan spun her to the floor and pulled his icy dagger from her chest, raising the steaming blade for the killing blow.

And in that instant, she hated him. Not for his bigotry, his treacherous attack, or even the fact that he was about to kill her. There was no conscious thought, just pure, primal emotion. And that rage gave her the strength she needed to press her open hand against his chest. For a moment, she felt nothing but fury, then Sorghan collapsed on top of her, his dagger clattering across the floor.

Sorghan was dead weight, and he slumped to the side as Thorn pushed him away. It was then that she realized that both cold and pain were gone. Blood stained her vest along a gash where the dagger had struck her, but the flesh beneath was pure and unmarred.

It had happened again.

Thorn rose to her feet, expecting to feel weak and unsteady. Instead she felt stronger than ever. Filled with energy. Sorghan lay still, and a quick examination confirmed her suspicions. He was dead. His skin was pale and cold, his mouth twisted in a grimace of pain, but there wasn’t a mark on his body.

She picked up Steel. “What happened to him?”

He died. I should think that was obvious
.

Thorn nearly threw the dagger at the floor. “This isn’t a joke, Steel! What did you see?”

There was a burst of arcane energy at the moment you touched him, consistent with the use of a dragonmark or offensive spell. It would appear that you drew out his lifeforce and used it to heal yourself, as you did with Toli in Droaam
.

“But I didn’t cast a spell.”

If you say so
.

Thorn shook the dagger. “I didn’t mean to kill him!”

In doing so, you saved your own life. For the second time. A useful talent, in my opinion
.

That was a sobering thought. “But I don’t know how. Have I … am I an aberrant?”

Not unless you have a dragonmark. But there are other possibilities
.

“Such as?”

You could be a demon. Disguised in human form
.

“Oh, brilliant deduction. And I never noticed?”

In this scenario, I’d assume that you’ve been concealing your identity for some sort of sinister purpose. Though admittedly doing a poor job of it
.

Thorn took a deep breath, resisting the urge to fling Steel across the room. Fear and anger warred within her. The dragonshard at the base of her neck had come alive, burning against flesh and bone, and she seized on that familiar pain, using it to anchor her racing thoughts.

“I need to know what’s going on, Steel. I’ve been lucky so far. But damn it, this is my cover story. I’m supposed to be here because I can kill with my touch and I can’t control it. Well, guess what? I
can
kill with my touch, and I can’t control it. And I’ve got Sentinel Marshals trying to kill me. I’m really starting to think I’m on the wrong side of this one.”

You have no aberrant dragonmark—

She drove the dagger into the floor and released it.
“You don’t know that!
You don’t have any explanation for what’s going on. What if the mark is in the back of my throat? What if it just hasn’t appeared yet?”

Steel couldn’t answer when he wasn’t in her grip. The red disk on his pommel gleamed, almost like an eye.

“Damn it, Steel,” Thorn said. “I just keep thinking of Fileon’s stories. The Twelve sending him to his
death. We aren’t doing this job for Breland. And now this. Sorghan was ready to kill me just because I was an aberrant. And for all I know, I am. For all I know, I do need these people.” Her dream of Far Passage returned to her mind, the vision of Mayne falling at her touch. The anger was gone. All that was left was the pain of the shards and uncertainty. She reached out and picked up Steel. “If I can’t control this, how long before I do kill someone I care about?”

I suppose you’re lucky that your only friend is a dagger
. His mental voice was softer than usual.
I apologize for questioning your judgement, Lantern Thorn. I hope that you have earned the Tarkanan’s trust with your actions. Sorghan’s death is unfortunate, but I can testify to your attempt to protect him. I sympathize with your concerns, but I urge you to set them aside and proceed with the mission
.

“Well, I’m glad I have your approval. I’d hate to replace you.” Thorn picked up Sorghan’s fallen blade and tucked it into her belt. “Now, unless you’ve got something useful to contribute, I’ve got a murder scene to clean, a brooch to claim. And I suppose I might as well wake up the rat.”

That’s right
, Steel whispered.
I guess I’m not your only friend after all
.

“So it seems.” Thorn studied Sorghan, considering how best to deal with the corpse. His words echoed in her thoughts: The one who warned me …

“And it seems I have new enemies, as well.”

Dragon Towers

D
id you tell him I was coming?” Thorn asked. “Why would I do such a thing?”

If the crippled halfling was concerned, he gave no sign of it. He turned the brooch about in his hand. Thorn and Steel had examined the pin earlier. It bore the symbol of an eye surrounded by rays of the sun, an archaic symbol of House Deneith. The brooch was old and deeply worn, but according to Steel, it held no magical power. Beneath the table, Zae played with the little rat. Despite her curiosity, there were no signs that the girl had uncovered Thorn’s ruse.

“I don’t know,” Thorn said. “But he was ready for me. Who else could have warned him?”

“A Medani seer, perhaps? The House of Detection has strong ties with the marshals.”

It was possible. There were oracles among the Medani who could catch glimpses of the future, and it was reasonable to assume that they would help their dragonmarked cousins—though likely for a steep price. But Fileon’s attitude still troubled her. He’s too damned calm.

“I consider this a blessing,” Fileon said, as if reading her thoughts. “I would not have thought you could survive such treachery, yet here you stand. And he, dead at your touch. Fear and unexpected danger can often bring out the full power of a mark. So it seems with you.”

Except that I don’t actually have a dragonmark, Thorn thought. She still didn’t know what to believe. She’d studied her skin following her talk with Steel, using the mirror to examine every inch of flesh, even peering in her mouth and doing her best to study her scalp. She’d found nothing, not even a scar from Sorghan’s blade. The only things she could find were the false dragonmark across her eye and the two stones along her spine.

“So you’re not worried?”

“No. This matter will be settled soon enough. And it shows that you are ready for tonight.” “More tests?”

“No more tests. And yet no rest, beloved.” Dreck’s mismatched eyes gleamed as he strode into the room. “The night holds bloody challenges for us all. There is work to be done that requires the cover of darkness. Tonight you fight by my side. And should you survive, tomorrow I will take you below.”

“Below?”

“To our true stronghold in this city. To meet the Son of Khyber. He will show you where your destiny lies.”

Thorn drew her two daggers. Fileon had no objection to her keeping Sorghan’s blade, and the air around the chill steel steamed as she spun it in the air. “So what’s the job?”

“Follow.” Dreck took the Deneith brooch from Fileon and gestured toward the hall. “You both have
parts to play in this piece, but there is another actor on this stage.”

Dreck led Fileon and Thorn into the dining hall, where a strange figure waited.

“Brother Brom has come up from the depths to assist us in this task,” Dreck said. “Mighty One, you already know the Shaper of the Young. This is Thorn, the newest blade to emerge from his forge.”

Brom was a dwarf. At least in part. At a glance, it seemed as though the right arm of an ogre had been grafted onto his shoulder. The palm of the huge limb rested on the floor, and Thorn guessed that the dwarf’s arm must weigh nearly as much as the rest of his body. That wasn’t the only oddity. Brom’s wild hair and beard were a swirl of colors, fiery red blended with black and gold. His left eye was a reptilian yellow, with a brushing of scales around the socket, and when he smiled, he revealed an assortment of teeth that seemed to have been chosen at random—the tiny teeth of a child or halfling set alongside sharklike incisors. He grinned and made an elaborate bow, stretching his long arm before him. “Enchanted, my lady.”

Fascinating
, Steel said.
It’s established fact that aberrant dragonmarks may cause physical disfigurement, but I’ve never seen anything like this before
.

“I dislike being kept in the dark, Brother Dreck.” Fileon’s eyes gleamed. “I have done my work and done it well. I would know what our Son of Khyber has planned for my student.”

“See with your own eyes, Shaper,” Dreck said, his voice soft and musical. “You will serve at her side this evening.”

Fileon blinked. “What?”

“The Son of Khyber knows of your talents, Shaper. You guide the young to mastery of their gifts, but your skills have not been forgotten. You have tested beloved Thorn these past few days. Now you will lead her in our struggle.”

Brom slapped the floor with his massive hand, and Thorn felt the impact across the room. “Let us to work!” he cried, carried away with his own enthusiasm. “I did not come here to talk. I came for blood and battle. What task awaits?”

Dreck’s face was a mask of steel, and he could not smile. But Thorn could hear the joy in his lilting voice. “Tonight we strike a blow against the House of Making. The Son of Khyber seeks a great treasure of the house, and we shall bring it to him before the break of dawn.”

“Cannith!” Fileon clenched his good fist, and his dragonmark burned with crimson light. “You might as well ask us to pierce the vaults of the Kundarak bank.”