heavy burden, and they can touch the mind and body in many ways.” He glanced meaningfully at his arm, then back at her. “You have spoken of the agony you feel when you use your gift. I would know the nature of it. It is possible I can ease your pain and prevent it from spreading.”
Thorn hesitated. It was a reasonable request, but under the circumstances full cooperation would be more suspicious than this resistance. She met his gaze for a moment, then pulled off a glove.
“Lie on your back, sister,” he said when she was done undressing. “Let me look at you.”
Surely he would expect Thorn to be uncomfortable with the situation, so she didn’t worry too much about him sensing her unease. But it wasn’t any modesty that troubled her as the crippled halfling ran his fingers along her skin. This was the ultimate test, and if Fileon’s powers were as great as he claimed, her life depended on the answer. Everything she’d said so far had been a lie-but the mark around her eye was the greatest lie of all. Zane had promised her it would hold up to any examination. But he wasn’t the one in the condemned building with the deadly hand of the halfling tracing the pattern on her face.
“Intriguing,” he said. “I’ve never seen lines quite like this before. But that is the nature of our gifts, what sets us aside from the Twelve. No two marks are exactly alike. Now turn over and lie down on your stomach.”
This would be the second challenge. Thorn did as he asked and heard a sharp intake of breath as Fileon looked at her.
Two shards of crystal were embedded in Thorn’s back. A deep purple Khyber dragonshard emerged at the top of her spine, while a rosy Eberron dragonshard protruded from the base. Fileon ran his finger around each shard.
“Is there pain?”
“Yes,” she said. There was no reason to deny it. The rosy shard gave her less trouble, but the shard in her neck was a constant torment, a dull pain that had become a part of her life.
“Of course,” he said. There was something in his voice that troubled her. He sounded pleased, as if he’d been expecting to find the shards. “How did this occur?”
“A mission. We were sent into one of the dragon-shard repositories of House Tharashk. I’ve never seen so many jewels. But we underestimated the wards. It was Mayne who triggered them. And suddenly this whirlwind rose up-a living storm of dragon-shards. It shredded Mayne. I was already running when it hit me. Lharen saved me, got me out alive. They removed most of the shards. But these two… they say that they’ve bonded with the nerves. They’d cripple me if they were removed.”
The story was a lie, but not far from the truth-even if it was Lharen who’d died, and Mayne who’d saved her. The stones were an old injury, not some secret weapon. Fileon ran a finger around the lower shard, surely noticing the many small scars on her back. Finally he stepped down from the stool.
“Most interesting,” he said. “But I see no cause for concern. Get dressed.”
“So we’re done?”
“We’ve yet to begin, Sister Thorn.” He smiled, and it was as cold and sharp as any blade. “You must learn to control your gift, and quickly. The one I serve has need of you. But it is my task to make sure you are ready for the challenges that lie ahead. And I make no promise that you will survive that experience.”
“I’m used to long odds,” she said. “If you can free me from this curse, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“There is no freedom for us, sister.” The halfling rubbed his withered arm. “But follow me, and you will learn what power is. Come. Destiny awaits.”
CHAPTER THREE
Dragon Towers Lharvion 15, 999 YK
It seems the life of the aberrant isn’t all bad, Thorn thought. Sure, there’s the fear and prejudice. Possible madness and disfigurement. But for a bed like this, it just might be worth it.
She stretched, enjoying the sensation of silk against her skin. A flask of Zil brandy had helped to dull the throbbing pain of the shard in her neck. She could still feel the shard burning, but the drink put a comforting distance between her and the pain.
Fileon had brought her to the manor in the Dragon Towers district of Sharn. Thorn had spent the last week on the streets, living in alleys and living on scraps and salvage. A warm meal and strong drink were blessings, and it had been years since she’d slept in a bed to match this one. The private chamber was a pleasant surprise, but it confirmed the fears Zane had raised in her mission briefing. House Tarkanan was on the move.
The King’s Citadel of Breland had been monitoring the house since it first appeared and carved out a bloody niche in the underworld of Sharn. So far, it was just another criminal guild, and organized crime was a part of life, especially in the City of Towers. Now the Twelve claimed that the Tarkanans were involved in a plot that threatened dragonmarked houses and nations alike. True or not, the aberrant house were up to something. The Citadel had a rough idea of just how many members House Tarkanan had in Sharn, and if this data was remotely accurate, the house had moved its primary base of operations. Thorn expected she’d be sharing a room with half a dozen Tarkanan soldiers, but she’d barely seen that many in her brief tour of the manor.
Following dinner, Fileon had brought her to her quarters and instructed her to rest. “Tomorrow you will be tested,” he told her. “Muster what strength you possess.”
She’d tested the door and found it locked. Nothing she couldn’t handle, but there was no need to risk raising suspicions. She had to gain Fileon’s trust so he would lead her to the true heart of the house.
So rest it was. Lying back against down pillows, she let her thoughts drift. The shard in her neck continued to burn, a dull beacon of pain that faded as she fell asleep.
Thorn dreamed…
The guard never heard Thorn’s approach. She clapped her hand over his mouth and drew her blade across his throat. He struggled wildly, but his strength quickly faded as the blood poured from his neck, and within seconds he was still. Thorn dragged his body behind one of the many crates scattered around the room. She pulled a cleansing token from her cloak and dashed it to the ground; it evaporated in a silent,iridescent burst that wiped the blood from the floor. Thorn took the wand that had fallen from the guard’s hand and tucked it into her belt. No trace remained of the death.
Secure, she thought.
Let’s go, Mayne’s voice returned.
Two shadows slipped out from behind the crates and joined her. Mayne and Lharen, her partners. It was Lharen’s magic that linked their thoughts. Mayne was their muscle, when it was required. So far, this job had taken more finesse than force. Whatever Minister Adal was developing here, he’d sunk a great deal of resources into protecting it. The mystical wards were lethal and well hidden. And the guards were surely members of the elite Knights Arcane, armed with powerful wands in addition to their own skills with sword and spell. The least of them could fill a room with flame with just five words. When facing such enemies, stealth and speed were the only options. Thorn and her companions couldn’t give these enemies time to bring magic to bear.
The target’s just ahead. Mayne’s thoughts pressed into her mind, calm and steady. Just ahead, beyond a narrow corridor. Two guards in the chamber.
If the information is good, Thorn replied.
Mayne shrugged.
Thorn slid along the nearest crate, peering carefully around the edge. She could see the passage, and it was narrow indeed. Barely wide enough to walk through, let alone swing a sword. She fixed her eyes on a point at the very center of the entrance. Watch and wait.
As she’d expected, there was a faint ripple, something an untrained eye might dismiss as a trick of the imagination. Thorn knew better. She drew a lens from a belt pouch and stared through the glass at the empty space; then she rotated the lens, looking through the other side.
An alarm, she thought. And the hallway becomes a chokepoint for whatever they can bring to bear.
Can you silence it? Lharen’s thoughts were a comforting presence in Thorn’s mind.
Given time. But the focal point is inside the corridor. I’d be completely exposed, and with the amount of time it’s likely to take-I’m sure they’d see me.
