look like specific people?”
“I do not know, beloved. I served in Lord Merrix’s household, and he forged my form with his hands. I learned of the boy before I fled. I know that he was first of his kind, and that the sphere that held his soul was something Merrix acquired, not his creation. But it has been a year since I parted ways with my maker, and I know nothing of his recent work.”
The mere thought that Cannith could produce people brought bile to her throat. And yet… the love of a parent was a powerful thing. Perhaps the boy was unique, created solely to fill the gap in Ilena’s wounded heart. She needed more information.
“Enough.” If the drow Xu’sasar felt any remorse or sympathy for the dead, she didn’t show it. She pushed the bodies into the chasm in the center of the room, leaning over to make certain that they had disappeared into the depths. She turned back to the others. “Come,” she told Thorn.
Thorn glanced at Dreck. The warforged nodded. “I have my own duties to attend to, beloved. But our paths will cross again, and soon. Until then, remember the lessons taught to you by the Shaper of the Young, not his betrayal. Let your instincts be your guide. They will teach you all that you need to know about the powers of your blood.” He reached into a pouch and produced a small stone that glowed with the pale blue radiance of cold fire. He tossed it to her. “You will be walking through dark places. Take this, and trust your guide.”
Strange as he was, Dreck was the last familiar thing in this place, and Thorn felt a pang of sorrow to see him go. She still didn’t know why he called her “beloved,” but she’d grown used to it. “Watch yourself.”
“Come,” Xu’sasar repeated. The drow had slipped up behind Thorn, and her voice was a whisper in Thorn’s ear. “The world below awaits.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Undercity Lharvion 20, 999 YK
Do you seek battle?” They were the first words Xu’sasar had said since she’d led Thorn from the broken chamber. She didn’t break her stride even as she spoke. Thorn had to struggle to keep up with her, and a few times Thorn had nearly tripped on the loose stone and debris scattered through the abandoned halls. Xu’sasar had ordered Thorn to follow directly in her footsteps, and it was easy to see why; even while jogging, Thorn had spotted the rippling auras of a number of wards, and once she had nearly stepped on a tripwire.
“What?” Thorn asked.
“Your hand reaches for your blade. You slew Fileon. Do you wish to try my skills?”
“Not in the least,” Thorn said, and it was the truth. Thorn might not have seen the dark elf fight, but she’d seen enough to know that she wouldn’t want her as an enemy. Xu’sasar was lean and swift, moving through the rubble with the deadly grace of a scorpion. Thorn’s senses were sharp enough to sense the wind moving around an invisible man, yet Xu’sasar had slipped to her side unnoticed. “This is unfamiliar ground for me, and I feel better with a weapon in my hand.”
Xu’sasar stopped moving. She was standing on the remains of a collapsed pillar, and she spun in place to face Thorn, perfectly comfortable on the uneven surface. “Draw then, dreamer. But there is a saying among my people: ‘When you hold the weapon, you call the battle.’”
Xu’sasar still held the strange, bone throwing wheel in her left hand, and the light of the cold fire gleamed against her silver-white hair and her chitin armor. But it wasn’t the weapon that sent a shiver along Thorn’s nerves.
“Dreamer? What do you mean by that?”
“His word, not mine,” the dark elf said. She turned and leaped off of the pillar, resuming her jog through the dusty labyrinth. “It is the word he spoke, when he first saw your image.”
“Who?” Thorn asked. But it seemed that the dark elf had said all that she intended to.
He was surely the Son of Khyber, and Thorn’s dreams had certainly been troubled of late. She could still hear the laughter of the fierce woman in red. How would this aberrant warlord know any of this?
All disturbing questions. But now she finally had the opportunity to consult with Steel, and she wasn’t going to pass it up. She pulled the dagger from the sheath, feeling his presence settle into her mind.
It’s about time, he whispered. I’ll need a full debriefing once we are alone, but we must establish what we can as quickly as possible. You have identified the Son of Khyber.
Thorn tapped his hilt once with her thumb. Yes.
Good. And from what I could hear, the Cannith heir was some sort of construct. You are certain of this?
Tap.
Perhaps you were deceived. Even if such a thing were possible, it would surely require a creation forge, and the Treaty of Thronehold saw the forges shut down.
Thorn’s irritation grew, but there was no way to discuss the issue with Xu’sasar around. She tapped the dagger twice. She gestured at the dark elf and traced a cross on Steel’s hilt. Threat analysis.
Interesting. The drow is this Daine’s bodyguard? Those scars on her skin are consistent with the tribal customs of southern Xen’drik. She’s a long way from home.
He fell silent for a moment as he studied the mystical energies around Xu’sasar.
The locket she wears around her neck strengthens her flesh, giving it the resilience of leather, he said at last. But it is her weapon that concerns me. It’s a protean blade, capable of shifting form and function. It’s stronger and sharper than steel, capable of producing venom to coat the blade. I suspect there’s far more to it than that; I’ve never sensed such power in a single object, and it’s difficult for me to unravel the threads.
Thorn tapped the dagger and turned her attention to her surroundings. The style of architecture had changed. In their wild sprint, they had passed through sewers, catacombs, and buildings in the style of ancient Wroat, half- buried by the disaster that had destroyed the first human city to stand in this place. But this hall had no rubble on the ground nor cracks along the walls. It was austere and solid, carved into the bedrock deep beneath Sharn. She recognized the style from the Great Crag of Droaam. It was the work of the Dhakaani goblins, a citadel carved into the depths long before the first human set foot on Khorvaire.
“Are we close to home?”
Xu’sasar said nothing, but she clicked her tongue. Then Thorn saw the barricade. This too was goblin craft, a bunker of thick stone with merlin slits for archers. Thorn could hear people shifting behind the wall and caught a glimpse of a dark face watching her over the stock of a crossbow.
Careful, Steel told her. There’s a great deal of power in this place. There are wards to either side.
“Follow my footsteps,” Xu’sasar said at the same moment.
Thorn could feel the energy around her, and she spotted the marks carved faintly into the stone. Not a standard Kundarak glyph, but similar enough to those used by the House of Warding. Someone in the fortress ahead had been born into House Kundarak.
Xu’sasar led Thorn up to the barricade and around it. Half-a-dozen soldiers stood watch behind the wall, as motley an assortment as Thorn had seen in any mercenary crew. A massive half-orc in a battered breastplate towered over a gnome, a little man leaning on a crossbow taller than he was. A sour-looking dwarf wore a bandolier holding crystal-tipped rods and wands-the tools of an artificer. An archer wore the ragged uniform of an Aundairian commando, while the archer’s companion was clad in the armor of Breland’s elite infantry. All they shared was a sense of grim determination. Thorn had served in the Royal Guard before she’d been recruited into the King’s Citadel. She could recognize the recruit who would break in the first charge and the veteran who would hold the line with the last drop of his blood. These Tarkanans were a strange assortment, but they wouldn’t go down easily.
The hallway behind the barricade was open, but Thorn could see a portcullis ready to fall. The Tarkanans had chosen their sanctuary well. Narrow corridors. Wards and traps of unknown potency hidden across the hall. And a squad behind cover holding the gate. All in all, a strong position even without magic, and without a doubt the guards bore marks that made them dangerous opponents to an attacking force. It was exactly why she’d wanted to charm her way into the fortress. If she’d taken Steel’s earlier advice and had forced the location from Dreck, it would have been a challenging place to break on its own.
Fascinating, Steel whispered. It’s been well established that Sharn was built over Dhakaani ruins, but I’ve
