Yet it was sufficient. The gargoyle stumbled back, falling down against the roof. Without sparing a moment for thought, Thorn raised the myrnaxe and brought the spear end down against its chest, striking the spot where a human would keep his heart. Instinct and training guided her hands, but what happened next was enough to jolt her from her trance. She’d expected resistance. She’d seen how Steel bounced off its hide. Instead, she felt nothing at all as the spear slid through the gargoyle. Her hands were touching its chest, and she realized that she’d pierced the roof of the building.
The surprise came with a cost. The wound would have surely driven a human into the ground, but the gargoyle was more resilient. The roof vanished in a flash of pain as the gargoyle smashed the back of one stony hand across Thorn’s face.
Thorn staggered back across the roof, struggling to keep her balance. If not for the spider charm, she would have fallen. She called Steel into her hand, preparing for the gargoyle’s leap. But it never came. The creature was thrashing against the roof, flailing with its arms and legs. It was impaled by Thorn’s spear and, try as it might it, could not pull free. Shingles flew, and the beast carved deep gouges into the stone, but it could not stand. Mercifully, it was silent.
Thorn circled the pinned gargoyle. “I might not know how to kill you,” she whispered. “But I’m sure I can figure something out.”
Dispatching the gargoyle proved to be a simple if gruesome task. The greater challenge was prying the myrnaxe free of the corpse. The spear had sunk deep into the stone, and whatever strength had allowed her to strike the blow had faded.
“Be swift!” Fileon hissed behind her. As Thorn had anticipated, the halfling had been able to pull himself up on his own. Thorn held her tongue, devoting all her energy and attention to the axe. At last it slid free, and she drew it back into her glove.
“You waste our time,” Fileon whispered, but he nonetheless extended his good hand and helped Thorn down to the ledge.
“Sorry. I thought it might be a good idea to save your life. I’m sure you’d do the same in my place.”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t.” Fileon was still holding Thorn’s hand, and as he spoke, Thorn saw his dragonmark gleaming on his withered arm.
Before she could react, she felt a terrible numbness spread throughout her body-and then she felt nothing at all.
Fileon pulled his hand free, and there was something like sorrow in his eyes as he looked up at her. “I truly wish there was another way, sister. I had hoped you’d be crippled by the Deneith blade, but I should have known better than to trust in one of them. It seems I am my only ally-along with the gargoyle that killed you. It seems the Son of Khyber will have to alter his plans.”
Don’t be a fool, Thorn thought. Try as she might, she couldn’t move a muscle. She could only stare into Fileon’s eyes and hope he would see reason. She saw no hatred in his gaze. If anything, there was true sorrow.
Shaking his head, he pushed her off the ledge.
CHAPTER NINE
Dragon Towers Lharvion 20, 999 YK
Focus!
The world was a blur, the wall of Torran Spire slipping past and the Dagger River approaching below. Thorn could hear the gale around her and her heart pounding within her chest, but she couldn’t feel anything. She was completely disconnected from her body.
Ledge!
The window ledge protruded from the wall, and Thorn reached out for it-or tried to. Her arms wouldn’t move. Her shoulder struck the ledge, sending her spinning to the side, but she felt nothing-gravity, wind… nothing.
Questions burned in the back of her mind. Why would Fileon do this? Have I been exposed?
But there was no time to analyze the situation. Unless she could do something, her remaining lifespan would be measured in moments. No time for reason. But she found a spark of rage and latched onto it. Anger at Fileon. But there was far more than that. She was still furious at Sorghan, the murderous bigot who’d nearly killed her. Still angry at the Twelve for setting this thrice-damned mission in motion. And there was still the burning pain of uncertainty-the mystery of Sorghan’s death, the question of her own aberrant powers. And in that moment of fury, the stone at the base of her neck came alive, cutting through the numbness and burning against the bone. For once, she welcomed the pain, seizing hold of it and letting it serve as a conduit for her anger. The magic of Fileon’s dragonmark shattered in the face of this rage, and suddenly Thorn could feel everything-the wind, the blood rushing through her veins, the torn skin where her shoulder had struck the ledge. She was in control once more.
But she was still falling.
While it had seemed an eternity, it had only taken seconds for Thorn to break the power of the dragonmark. She was falling past the foundation of Dragon Towers, past one of the so-called flying buttresses, magical supports that kept the towers from collapsing. Stretching out, Thorn managed to set her palms against the stone. A moment’s thought reactivated the spider charm-and suddenly her hands were anchored to the stone. Thorn swung her legs against the wall, bracing for the impact as best she could, but the pain was staggering.
Yet it worked. Her shoulders throbbed, but nothing seemed to be broken or dislocated. She’d survived the fall.
Now it was time for revenge.
Relying on the spider charm, Thorn ran up along the buttress. Torran Spire was far ahead of her, but with magic on her side, she quickly closed the distance. She drew Steel as she leaped the gap between the buttress and the foundation of the spire.
Nicely done, Steel whispered. With his voice as cold and calm as always, it was difficult to tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic.
“I thought I was the traitor,” she said, panting and striding up the wall. “I didn’t expect to be betrayed quite so quickly.”
I’m sure your friends at the Twelve have much to say on the subject of aberrant stability.
“What friends? If Sorghan’s any measure, I don’t think I’ll be turning my back on anyone with a dragonmark any time soon.”
What do you intend to do now?
“I don’t know yet.” She’d reached the window to Torran Spire, and none too soon. The spider charm only lasted for a few minutes, and she’d nearly exhausted the enchantment.
Thorn slipped through the casement. While Fileon had a lead on her, Thorn had one advantage. She knew the path Fileon was taking, and the halfling would have to tread carefully. He’d need to be alert for any wards or traps that could bar the way. Following in his footsteps, Thorn could move with greater speed.
It was clear that Lady Ilena had yet to settle in her new property. The window opened onto a landing in the servants’ quarters. An open door showed a glimpse of a linen closet, with a mere two sheets tucked inside. The walls were bare, the floors devoid of any carpet. The Tarkanan estate was better appointed than this, and one of the leading lights of House Cannith would surely flaunt her wealth. Even the walls were bare white, waiting for the lady of the house to make her wishes known. The last time Thorn had seen a Cannith lord’s home, illusions had been woven into the walls; the lord could shift the shade with but a thought. If Ilena had any such intentions, she had yet to implement them.
More’s the pity, Thorn thought. No carpet to muffle footsteps, bare white walls-hardly ideal for a stealthy approach. Can’t be helped.
She made her way along the corridor, listening for sounds of Fileon or anyone else who might be around. She heard nothing, but as she approached a corner, she caught a familiar scent in the air. Blood.
Sliding up to the corner, she extended Steel out around the edge, tracing a cross on his hilt.
Two bodies, he reported. No motion. Both dead. Blood on the floor. No sign of Fileon or any other threat.
