service. Tomorrow they might call for your death. Tell me you’re comfortable with these merchants buying your services. I’ve heard that you told Fileon that you wouldn’t kill for gold. Tell me, then: what is it you were about to do?”
Thorn said nothing. These were the same fears she’d already had. He might just as well have been reading her mind.
Daine smiled. “Tomorrow we will destroy a Cannith forgehold.”
“So you’ve said. I fail to see the benefit to Breland.”
“That’s because you’ve never heard of our target. We’re not going to attack the central enclave. The strike will target a facility hidden below Sharn: the personal holding of Merrix d’Cannith.”
Thorn frowned. “So it’s not a public facility. It’s still supplying industrial support to Brela-”
“Nothing done in this forgehold will ever be shared with Breland. This isn’t just a private workshop. Lord Merrix has a creation forge here in Sharn, in direct violation of the Treaty of Thronehold.”
Thorn wrapped her fingers around Steel’s hilt. The dagger’s presence flowed into her mind, and she could feel his surprise. The creation forges were the greatest inventions of House Cannith. They were the engines that produced the warforged, living soldiers of metal and wood. During the Last War, Cannith had produced tens of thousands of warforged, selling them to every nation. When the struggle came to an end, the Treaty of hronehold included the provision that all creation forges would be destroyed-an effort to limit Cannith’s power and prevent an arms race. If Merrix had a working creation forge, he was challenging the direct orders of the sovereigns of Khorvaire. And if he had a creation forge, he could have a warforged army of his own.
What is his proof? Steel asked.
“How would you know about this?” Thorn asked.
“You’ve seen the boy,” Daine told her. “That… thing in the shape of a child. Tell me that doesn’t concern you, that you don’t see the danger it represents.”
Thorn said nothing, but the image of the corpse flashed through her mind, the body with the socket in its chest.
“Dreck learned of the boy, knew that he’d been made in a secret forge, but he couldn’t find its location. But the boy knew the place of his birth.” Daine turned up his left palm, and the glowing dragonmark crawled across his skin. “I have power to bind souls within my mark. I can still hear their voices, and with effort I can draw on their memories. Merrix’s son had a semblance of a soul trapped within its shell. I saw the forge itself through that boy’s eyes, and it’s his memories that will lead us to it.”
As before, the lines of the mark began to pull free of Daine’s skin, rising up from his palm. As it did, the stone at the base of her spine grew even colder, and Daine himself winced. He clenched his fist, pressing the mark against his flesh, and the chill in the stone passed.
“Fight at my side tomorrow,” Daine said. “Give me the chance to prove what I have told you. My people are no threat to Breland. It is the ambition of the dragonmarked houses that threatens us all. They are no longer afraid of Galifar. They are using you. And unless something is done, it is only a matter of time before the balance of power fully slips into their grasp.”
Thorn considered it. “And Merrix can hardly complain about the loss of a forge he’s not supposed to possess.”
Daine nodded. “Nor can he seek vengeance against your Breland for an action taken by the criminals of House Tarkanan. Perhaps your king cannot risk angering the Twelve. But let us do what must be done.” He held out his gloved right hand. “I need you for this, Thorn. I need your skills. Will you help me do what must be done?”
I suppose-
Steel’s voice was cut off as Thorn released the dagger and took Daine’s hand. “I will.”
He smiled, his dragonmarked eye gleaming in the torchlight. “I thank you for your trust. Tomorrow you will see that it is a battle worth fighting. For the moment, I suggest you rest. We’ve got a challenging day ahead.” He glanced toward the door. “I think it’s best that you avoid Xu’sasar for the next few hours.”
Thorn nodded and turned to go. She took hold of Steel as she retraced her path through the hallway.
A hidden creation forge, Steel mused. I hate to admit it, but he’s right. We’ve always known Merrix was an ambitious man. If he’s hiding such a thing from Boranel, who knows what else he’s been doing? Being able to gather intelligence and destroy the forge while blaming it on the Tarkanans… it’s an invaluable opportunity.
Thorn knew that tone. “But…?”
We still don’t know that it’s true. And even if it is, he admits to stealing the soul of that child, artificial though it may be. If you believe his claims, he stole his own body from a descendent of his. Be careful. It may be that his goals serve Breland. But how long will that last?
“I don’t know,” Thorn said. “All I know for certain is that I could use a good night’s sleep.”
Very well then, Steel whispered. I trust you’ll have pleasant dreams.
The dagger never laughed, but Thorn could feel his mirth as she released him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Undercity Lharvion 21, 999 YK
Had I the appetite, I would feast on your flesh, little half-elf. But instead I will give you to the storm.”
The voice was as loud as thunder, and Thorn could feel the vibrations through the floor. Impressive as it was, it was nothing next to the speaker. Drulkalatar Atesh was a lord of the first age of Eberron, a giant with the head of a tiger and vast leathery wings painted in black and crimson. Lightning crackled around his hooked talons, and as he raised his arms, a howling wind whirled around him, pressing Thorn against the floor.
Memories rushed back to her. Droaam. The Stormblade mission. She’d tracked down the architect of disaster, only to find that he was a demon in disguise.
Drulkalatar raised his hands, and arcs of lightning surrounded Thorn, crackling around her. She dropped to her knees, howling in agony. Pain tore through every muscle, and she could feel bones breaking under the pressure. Her body was twisting, joints coming apart, blood burning in her veins. And then the pain was gone. Her blood still burned, but now this felt right. The fire was a source of power and comfort, the same energy she’d used to fight Fileon. She spread her wings and glared down at the little demon.
She’d become a dragon, with scales the color of fresh blood and long, black talons.
“Storm?” she snarled, and now it was her voice that shook the room. “I prefer fire.”
She could feel the fear of the tiger-headed fiend. But that surprise was mingled with familiarity. He knew her.
He spoke a name. Her name. But it slipped from her mind the moment that she heard it. “Begone from this place!”
She laughed at him, and her angry words took the form of fire, scorching his flesh and burning holes in his shielding wings. He called the winds to fight her, throwing her back with a hurricane blast. She stumbled but still lashed out with her tail, smashing him to the floor.
“Why are you doing this?” he cried when the tide of battle calmed for an instant. “You know what I want. Leave me be, and together we will revel in the savage time that lies ahead.”
She laughed, and they clashed again. He struck at her with bolts and blades of lightning, but the raw magic in her blood was so powerful that the blasts shattered without touching her. He summoned hosts of feral beasts to his aid and laughed as they swarmed toward her.
“I know what I am,” she told him. “I am the Angel of Flame. And your plans end here.”
Fire flowed from her mouth, engulfing the oncoming horde. When the flames settled, Drulkalatar’s minions were ash, and the fiend himself was scorched, the flesh nearly flayed from his bones. Before he could cast another spell, Thorn pounced, her massive fore-paws pinning him to the floor.
“Why?” he asked, staring up at her. “Why would you do this?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “But I will.”
“I cannot die,” he said. “You of all creatures should know that. I will return. And you will pay for this.” He spoke that name again, and as before, it slipped away from her ears.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “And my name’s Thorn.”
