Khyber shards could absorb and disrupt patterns of magical energy. But if she slipped out of the pattern, she’d trigger the explosion.
There was a thunderous clang as a metal object struck the ground next to her-the head of an iron defender, torn free from the body. The sound was a shock, but it didn’t break her focus. One final pass…
She felt a tingle along her skin, the energies of the ward dissipating harmlessly.
“Done?” Blood stained Dreck’s robes, along with the alchemical fluids found inside the defenders. But there were no tears in the robe itself, no signs of serious injury other than the bitten forearm. He held his long knife in his good hand.
“It’s safe to pass.”
Dreck looked over his shoulder. “Mighty Brom, your strength must serve once more.”
Brom was a ghastly sight. His chain mail was in tatters, and armor and clothes alike were caked with blood. One of his cheeks had been torn free from the bone, and it looked as if there was a deep gouge in his neck where a defender had caught him by the throat. It was difficult to see how he could still stand, let alone fight. Yet somehow he remained on his feet, leaning heavily on his oversized arm. He made his way to the door, and a strange huffing sound came from the gap in his throat.
He’s laughing, Thorn realized.
Brom raised his arm and slammed it into the door. One blow was all it took. Darkwood splintered as the door fell off its frame, falling into the room beyond. Brom charged into the room, with Dreck and Thorn close on his heels.
It was dark in the windowless chamber, and Thorn’s sight shifted into darkvision to compensate. Compared to the barren halls and chambers of the rest of the manor, this room was positively cluttered. The soft fur of a giant steelbone bear, a vast and expensive carpet, covered the floor. A four-poster bed sat against the far wall, and this was the source of the dim light in the room. An illusion had been bound into the canopy over the bed, an image of the night sky complete with stars, moons, and the golden Ring of Siberys. Glancing around the room, Thorn saw a miniature castle, a perfect model complete with tiny soldiers walking the walls. There was a pile of books, a map of Khorvaire pinned to the wall, a warforged about the size of a halfling-a warforged that was now darting toward her, with gleaming blades extending from its wrists. It was quick, but not swift enough to close the distance before Thorn could react. She kicked it squarely in the face, and the little warforged staggered back. Before it could regain its balance, Brom’s massive fist came crashing down. Quick as it might be, the warforged wasn’t as durable as iron defenders, and the one blow was enough to crack joints and leave it twitching on the floor; Brom continued to pound until it fell still.
“So what are we looking for?” Thorn asked.
“I would have thought that was obvious,” Dreck replied. “We have come for the greatest treasure of Ilena and Merrix d’Cannith.”
He gestured at the bed, and Brom pulled the comforter from the frame with a mighty tug. A child was hidden beneath the blanket, a boy of perhaps eight years of age, curled into a ball and staring with wide eyes.
“And now we have found him,” Dreck said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dragon Towers Lharvion 20, 999 YK
You’ve used your mark to stun before,” Dreck said, looking down at the quivering boy. “Do so now. Incapacitate the child for travel.”
Thorn hesitated. This was the turning point in her mission. If she complied, Dreck would take her to the Son of Khyber. And she’d done far worse in the service of her nation. But still, this was a child-and the son of one of the most powerful men in House Cannith. All of her arguments with Steel danced through her mind. Lord Merrix would surely want her to protect his son at all costs, to abandon the mission and kill Dreck and Brom. But she wasn’t ready to give up yet. There were too many unanswered questions in her mind, and she wanted answers.
Dreck saw her reluctance but misjudged the reason. “Do you know how many aberrant children the houses have slaughtered over the centuries? Never mind the War of the Mark. To this day, there are enclaves where those born of two bloods are smothered in the cradle.”
Even as he spoke, Thorn heard Sorghan’s voice again: It’s time we destroyed Tarkanan’s brood. Beginning with you.
The boy was too frightened to speak. He pulled his arms and legs tight against his chest, staring at the bloody Brom.
I serve Breland, Thorn told herself. Not Cannith. I must see where this leads.
She knelt down next to the bed and took hold of the child’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, then she activated the false mark. This time there were no distractions, and she ground her teeth against the pain. The boy screamed as the agony coursed through him, and he finally collapsed against the bed.
“Take comfort, beloved. You have done well this day.” Dreck tossed her a coil of silk rope. “Now bind his limbs and still his tongue.”
Once she was done, Brom slid the boy into the enchanted sack, handing the bag to Thorn afterwards. It still looked empty, but there was surprising weight to it. Thorn had to throw it over her shoulder to support it.
“Move quickly,” Dreck said. “We must keep this treasure of Cannith hidden, but there is limited air within the sack. We must get below before he smothers. Beloved, you will travel with me. Mighty Brom will find his own way. We cannot afford to be conspicuous right now.”
Thorn nodded. “You’ll be all right?” she asked Brom.
The dwarf grinned. “It’s all in a day for me.”
It was easy to see why Dreck wanted them apart. No one would forget Brom. Aside from his massive arm, his armor was torn, and he was covered with blood and oil. But there was more. Thorn had seen the dwarf take terrible injuries. His cheek was torn, his throat slashed, and his stomach had been opened up. Now all of that had healed. Or had it? Russet scales covered Brom’s cheek-the scaly skin of a kobold, not the skin of a dwarf. Thorn could see a band of warty, green flesh across his neck-troll’s skin? He’d survived injuries that should have been mortal, but clearly there were lasting consequences.
“Now,” Dreck said, striding toward the door, “we must be below ground before the turning of the bells. Move as if all of the devils of Shavarath were at your heels. Because if Lady Ilena learns what we have done here before we reach the Son of Khyber, they surely will be.”
Dreck abandoned his own bloody robes as soon as they were safely away from Torran Spire. He led her to an old lift, a floating platform used to bring cargo up from the industrial district that lay far below. As she followed the warforged onto the platform, she saw the word CONDEMNED etched into the surface in a number of languages.
“It serves our purpose,” Dreck said, in answer to her questioning gaze.
Kneeling, he traced a pattern on the floor with a finger. The lift shuddered and began to drop, falling and stopping with an uneven pattern that did little to reassure Thorn. Dreck had little interest in conversation, so Thorn finally took hold of Steel’s hilt.
Silent protocol, Steel said.
Thorn tapped the hilt once. Yes.
Confirm: You have kidnapped the son of a baron of House Cannith-one of the most influential men in Sharn. And you intend to surrender the child to the Tarkanans.
One tap.
A dangerous decision. Do you believe the child is in danger?
Thorn tapped the hilt twice, but then thought better of it and moved her thumb in a circle. I don’t know. Why did the Tarkanans want the child? If it was just a retaliatory murder, they would likely have killed him in the manor. Ransom seemed the more likely answer, and ransom would give her time to save the child once her mission was done. But it seemed that they were taking the child directly to this Son of Khyber, the leader she’d been sent to find. This seemed like a bold move, unless they truly had a foolproof way to avoid Tharashk trackers and Phiarlan
