Slipping around the corner, Thorn took in the scene: a boy in his late teens and a woman who might have been twice his age, both dressed in Cannith livery. A silver tray lay on the floor. A flagon of tribex milk was on its side, spilled milk mingling with blood. While she felt a touch of remorse for the slaughtered, there was little time for sympathy. Instead, Thorn’s eyes were drawn to the clues, reconstructing the battle from the injuries and the way in which the victims had fallen. Fileon had struck swiftly and with no hesitation. The boy never had a chance to defend himself, and Fileon had turned to the matron within seconds. No sign that the halfling had used his dragonmark, but he’d known exactly where to strike to cripple his foes before they could sound the alarm.
Born into House Jorasco, trained by the Citadel, she thought. A master surgeon, using those same skills as an assassin. She’d known his touch was deadly, but she’d never guessed that he would have such skill with a blade.
It was clear that Fileon was following the path Dreck had laid out for them, a route that led her through the servants’ quarters and down to the rear entrance. Soon she came to a set of enormous double doors, darkwood inlaid with brass. One door was slightly ajar, and Thorn spotted a drop of what seemed to be water on the handle-water charged with the essence of Mabar, no doubt, left behind when Fileon had bypassed whatever ward had been set upon the door.
Wasteful, Thorn thought to herself. It’s not as though he has barrels of nightwater in the wine cellar.
All else aside, it would take time to disarm a Cannith seal. And given that he’d stopped to kill the servants, Fileon had to be close.
Thorn slipped through the doorway, both daggers held ready.
Fileon struck in absolute silence, moving with deadly speed. Whether he’d heard Thorn’s approach or whether it was pure chance, the halfling was standing just within the doorway, and his blade was leveled at Thorn’s kidney. Keen senses and pure instinct saved Thorn. Before she even saw Fileon, Thorn felt the motion to her side and swung her mithral vambrace to meet the blow. Enchanted steel struck the bracer, but the mithral held.
“You?” Fileon hissed. Clearly he’d thought his victim would be another servant or a guard. His eyes were wild, and the crimson lines of his dragonmark burned like flames.
That moment of shock was all she needed. Fileon was fast, but not fast enough. Thorn swept his blade from his hand and planted a powerful kick directly in his chest. It was a solid blow, driving the breath from his lungs and sending him tumbling to the ground.
“Stay down!” Thorn flung Steel, and the blackened blade grazed the halfling’s neck before flashing back to her hand. “That’s your only warning. Why did you try to kill me?”
Fileon stared up at her but made no attempt to stand. “You have my sympathies, sister.” There was a hint of actual sorrow in his voice, though it was overshadowed by pain. For all his speed and skill, the halfling was still an old man, and Thorn’s kick might well have shattered a rib. “But this is not the time for revelations.”
“It’s exactly the time for revelations,” she said, crossing the room in three steps.
Fileon reached for her, the dragonmark blazing on his withered arm, but Thorn was prepared for the attack. She grabbed his wrist and activated her false dragonmark.
The tattoo flared around her eye, pain tearing through her nerves. But between the blazing stone in her neck and the agony she’d endured stopping her fall, Thorn barely noticed it. Not so Fileon, who felt Thorn’s pain increased by a factor of ten. The little man shook in Thorn’s grip, but she released him before he passed out.
“Why did you try to kill me?” she asked. She took a step back, making sure she was out of his reach.
“You have learned your lessons well, sister.” The halfling was shaking, gasping for air, yet he still managed to laugh. “I regret my actions.”
“You’ll regret them even more if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
Fileon leaned back against the wall. “The Son of Khyber. He wants you below. Has need of your skills.”
Thorn frowned. “Why would you betray your leader?” Even as she asked the question, she realized the answer.
“He is not my leader,” Fileon said. “Thora Tavin raised me from the darkness. It was her courage and her cunning that kept me alive in Darguun, her vision that built this house. This Son of Khyber, he changes everything. Sends Tavin away to build forces in other cities. Raises hopes and fears with his words. We were stable. Successful. Now he prepares us for war.”
“War? What do you mean?”
“We’ve always known the struggle would come, sister. A time when the Twelve would move against us. He would strike the first blow, and in so doing, he would bring the war upon us.”
It sounds as though the Twelve were right to be concerned, Steel said. You know your orders, Lantern Thorn. Evaluate the situation, and if this Son of Khyber proves a threat, eliminate him. The time for evaluation is done. Extract his location from this one. Kill the others. Complete your mission.
“That’s one way of looking at it,” she said. A time when the Twelve would move against us… meaning me.
Her anger stirred again. The thought of a merchant prince using the Citadel as a tool…
She was no paid assassin. She’d joined the Citadel to serve Breland, and she still didn’t see a threat to the crown. “Tell me more about this war.”
Fileon sagged against the wall. His strength was clearly fading, and now Thorn could see bloody spittle on his lips.
I hit him too hard, she thought. Whatever skills he might possess, he was still an old man and a cripple. She felt a pang of guilt, and she knelt down next to him. “Fileon,” she said. “Let me help you-”
Old he might be, and crippled-but he moved like a viper, his hand wrapping around her wrist as light flowed from his dragonmark. A wave of vertigo swept over Thorn, that terrible numbness she’d felt on the ledge. But this time Thorn refused to surrender to it. Her anger swelled within her, and the fire from the shard in her neck spread throughout her veins, the pain drowning out the aberrant chill. Fileon’s eyes were wild, and the lines of his mark blindingly bright. She could feel his power growing stronger, but she would not submit. Every nerve was on fire And then it was over.
Fileon released her, and he fell to the ground. The light faded from his dragonmark, its lines pure black. The smell of seared flesh filled the air, and Thorn could see the burns surrounding the mark. His tongue lolled from his mouth with his last breath.
He bit his tongue, Thorn realized. The bloody spit… it wasn’t from internal injuries. He was just trying to get me close. Part of her felt a fool for falling prey to the trick, but she also found herself feeling some sympathy for the little man. He probably learned that trick serving the Citadel. There was a time when he fought for Breland-it was the Twelve that forced him into the shadows, that tore his loyalty away.
This time it was no trick. Fileon was dead.
Your mission is clear. Steel’s voice pulled her back from her reverie. The others will not be expecting betrayal. Kill one of them. Interrogate the other. Learn the location of the Son of Khyber and eliminate him.
“I’m sick of this argument.” Thorn was still angry, and it was all too easy to turn this against Steel. “My mission is to evaluate the threat. I still don’t know a thing about it. I don’t know who the Son of Khyber is. I don’t know where he is, what he’s capable of, or what the consequences of his death would be. You’re the historian. You tell me how many times an assassination meant to end a war has ended up starting one.”
There was no response, so she continued.
“I’m still not convinced there is a threat to Breland. You’re very concerned with the needs of the Twelve, Steel. But right now I’d like to hear what this Son of Khyber has to say for himself.”
This is madness, Steel told her. You’ve nearly been killed three times.
“Not by the Son of Khyber. Besides, what do you expect?” She touched her eye. “Everyone knows we aberrants go mad.”
You’re not one of them.
Perhaps, she thought. She could still see Sorghan’s face as he died. And although the details were fading, the dream of Mayne dying at her touch still haunted her. “It’s not your decision to make, Steel.”
I cannot approve of this. You are threatening one of Breland’s strategic allies. If this goes wrong, I’ll have no choice but to report your actions to Zane-
“Then do it,” she said, sheathing the blade. The shard in her neck burned in answer to her growing anger. “But stop trying to tell me what to do.”
Taking a deep breath, she hefted the halfling across her shoulders. Fileon weighed little more than a child. It
