would gladly have done so. But like it or not, Sabira and Leoned had been inextricably linked, first by their partnership and then by his death, which had vaulted her to her position as both a Marshal and a dwarven folk hero. Tilde would never be free of the other woman until one of them was dead-preferably Sabira.
But she’d be the one who got there first, waiting to greet her red-haired nemesis in Dolurrh if she didn’t focus on the task at hand, especially now that they were finally getting close to their goal. In addition to the narrow time frame, the Prophecy fragment had also spoken of a treasure bound by eight locks that could only be opened by “a daughter of Stone and Sentinel”-a phrase which Breven had been certain applied to her, the last remaining scion of the ir’Thul line, known of old as the House of Stone. His interpretation ignored the fact that her mother had given up the Deneith name when she married into the ir’Thul family, so Tilde was not technically a member of the House. And while that fact hadn’t stopped Ned from serving in both the Blademarks and the Defenders Guild, it had meant Tilde’s own studies had been relegated to the Arcane Congress at Arcanix. The wizards in the Tower of the Twelve would accept only members of the dragonmarked Houses as their students and teachers, and Breven had not seen fit to intercede on her behalf as he had on Ned’s. He’d said it was because he needed her eyes and ears in Arcanix, but in all her years there, both as a student and later on staff, he’d only ever asked her for information once.
She didn’t regret her time there though. In an odd way, she supposed she should be grateful to Breven, because if she’d gone to the Twelve, she never would have met Idris. A beautiful young elf too clever for his own good, Tilde had fallen in love with him immediately. He’d quickly become her favorite student, and if some whispered his affection had more to do with his desire to graduate at the top of his class than his desire for her, his tender words and gentle touch had made them easy to ignore.
But then he’d decided he needed to prove himself, the night before she was set to administer the Maze of Shadowy Terror test to him as part of his final exams. There, he’d fallen prey to one of the magical creatures inside, and by the time she’d found him, it had been far too late. She held him in her arms as he died, and then resigned her post the same night.
And had promptly been chided by Breven for it, the first and only time he’d ever taken any interest in her teaching career.
Still, she was Deneith, in blood if not in name, and she served the House with honor, regardless of whether that service was condemned, rewarded, or acknowledged at all.
Which was another mental path that would only end in thorns. She shook herself again, causing Shieldwing to click at her in annoyance. She didn’t need to dwell on the injustices of the past; if she succeeded in bringing this artifact-whatever it was-back to Karrnath, Breven would have no choice but to recognize her as the woman whose actions had raised Deneith to preeminence.
Both Brannan and Xujil had assured her that the treasure in question was in fact a powerful magical device from the Age of Giants that would give its wielder control over the depths of Khyber itself, though neither of them had been very clear on what that actually meant. Xujil’s people could not use the artifact themselves-their own magical power came from a force they called the Umbra-but they wanted it removed from their enemy’s arsenal beneath the city of the Spinner, whom they also called simply “the She.” A service Baron Breven was more than happy to provide, since he desired to harness that power for the gain and glory of Deneith. They were already the greatest of the dragonmarked Houses on Eberron (or so Breven liked to claim), and the fact that the Prophecy called out their mark specifically was only proof that they were meant to be the greatest below it, as well. All Brannan cared about, of course, was his finder’s fee.
But none of them would get what they wanted if Tilde’s group wasn’t able to deliver the artifact to the surface, and the worshipers of the Spinner weren’t likely to just hand such a prize over to them, no matter how politely they asked. So they were sneaking in through a series of tunnels Xujil’s people had discovered in their long war against the Spinner, but which they had never been able to utilize to any great effect themselves because the passages were simply too narrow to accommodate an invasion force. But while no invading army could use the close, labyrinthine tunnels to infiltrate the city, a single spy-or, say, a small party bent on thievery-might just be able to manage it without getting caught.
Tilde had been checking periodically for magical signatures as they traveled through the depths, using both Shieldwing and her arcane abilities to look for traps, hidden passages, and creatures lying in wait, while Harun did the same with his more mundane skills. She had to assume the drow was doing likewise, since he’d helped them avoid more than one unpleasant encounter as he’d led them downward into the dark. But now, with the end of their quest so near, the sorceress drew on her innate power to enhance her awareness, not trusting to intermittent castings. So she wasn’t surprised when the small cavern they’d just entered proved to have no exit.
“Secret door?” Harun asked as he felt the blank stone in front of them with one hand; the other was still wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword.
Tilde shook her head.
“No-it’s just what it looks like, a wall of rock. But what we want is on the other side. I can feel it.”
The power emanating from beyond the stone must be incredible, indeed. Tilde felt like she’d stepped too near a bonfire, and the heat would burn her even if the flames did not. No wonder Breven wanted whatever was on the other side of that wall. It wouldn’t just make Deneith the mightiest House-it would make it the only House.
“One of the eight locks?” the Blademark asked.
Tilde glanced at him sharply.
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But if so, it’s one I’ll have no problem unlocking.”
So saying, she reached into a pouch on her belt and withdrew a small handful of seeds. She spoke a word, drew in a deep breath, threw the seeds into the air in front of her face and blew out again as hard as she could. Propelled both by her breath and her magic, the tiny missiles slammed into the rock wall, burrowing deep into the stone until they disappeared from sight, leaving the gray surface smooth and whole.
Nothing happened for long heartbeats, and she felt Harun shift impatiently beside her. Then an opening appeared in the stone, large enough for a gnoll to walk through unimpeded.
Tilde gestured to Xujil, who had stood by watching curiously as she worked.
“Lead on.”
The Umbragen hesitated for a moment, then inclined his head and stepped into the blackness. Tilde followed, Shieldwing alert on her shoulder, and Harun took up the rear.
The passage continued for about ten feet, then opened up into another cavern, this one alight with the glow of unfamiliar runes carved into the walls at regular intervals. Tilde counted them swiftly, unsurprised to see that there were eight of the purplish sigils, one on each wall.
Though the runes pulsed with a power of their own, it was nothing compared to that coming from a stone outcropping in the center of the room. On its unhewn surface rested a circular chest with no visible seam separating lid from base.
As soon as Tilde stepped into the room, Shieldwing catapulted from his perch on her shoulder with a high- pitched screech, careening about the chamber in crazed circles, slamming into ceiling and walls indiscriminately. Though Tilde couldn’t hear it herself, it was clear she had triggered some sort of alarm when she entered the room.
She pivoted on one foot, grabbing Harun as he entered the chamber and pulling him bodily from the passageway she’d created. As the sole of his boot cleared the tunnel, she dismissed her spell and the wall closed off behind them, leaving them trapped in the chamber with no visible means of escape.
“How much time?” the Blademark asked, his eyes scanning the chamber as he tried to assess from where and in what form the Spinner’s guards would come.
“Enough,” Tilde answered tightly. She’d prepared for such a contingency; she hadn’t expected to just be able to walk out of the city’s bowels with one of its most potent relics. In fact, she didn’t intend to walk out of the city at all-as soon as she had the artifact in hand, she’d be plane-shifting back to Brannan’s camp, and then from there to Stormreach, where a House Orien courier waited to take her and the device the rest of the way back to Karrnath.
She just had to get her hands on it first.
As she moved forward, intent on her purpose, Xujil cried out a warning.
“ ’Ware the floor!”
Tilde paused, foot in midair, and looked down. Old stains, black in the runelight, told the tale of those who’d come before and triggered a trap. Her blood would have joined theirs, had Xujil not been watching. She stepped back and nodded her thanks to the drow, inwardly cursing her own inattention. She’d been too focused on the prize,
