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.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dragon Towers Lharvion 20, 999 YK Did 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.”
Thorn had to agree. “You want us to steal from a forgehold?”
House Cannith were the master artificers of Khorvaire, and it was their hands that had built the warforged and untold wonders besides. Infiltration was a specialty of hers, and she’d made her way into the arcane libraries of Aundair and the sacred crypts of Karrnath… but this was another matter entirely.
“Fear not, children of Khyber.” Dreck’s voice was calm. “Our leader would not send so few to face such a challenge. Our quarry is in Dragon Towers, well beyond the fortress walls of the Cannith enclave. Speed and force
