did, the halflings studied her fallen foes. The girl Zae said nothing. Of course, she never said anything; her aberrant mark might allow her to communicate with vermin, but if she could speak the common tongue, she’d never had anything to say to Thorn. Zae dressed as a beggar, likely to move more easily through the streets of Sharn. Her hair was matted, her skin crusted with dirt, her body hidden beneath layers of filthy rags. At least four rats lived within her clothing-normal rats, not the giant beasts Thorn had just fought. But they glared at Thorn reproachfully from the folds of Zae’s clothing as the girl examined the dead.
Fileon, on the other hand, was more concerned about the fact that one of the rats was not dead. Her final victim was still twitching and whining.
“Pathetic,” he said. “Were you so squeamish when you served the Citadel? The pain you feel is the spark that starts a fire. You must unleash the blaze, instead of clinging to the tinder.”
“It’s frightening,” Thorn said. “It doesn’t feel like a part of me.” This was both lie and truth. Thorn had no fear of her mark, but it wasn’t a part of her. She couldn’t learn to unleash its full power, because she was already using its full power; the living tattoo was designed to stun a victim, and no matter what techniques Fileon taught her, its power could not grow.
To her surprise, it was the warforged Dreck who spoke next. “You must feel it, beloved. Not as pain, but as anger. Turn the sensation into emotion, and turn that emotion against your foe. Let your anger grow, and it will serve as the vessel of your power.”
“But what if I don’t hate my enemy?” she asked. It didn’t matter either way, since these techniques couldn’t increase the power of a false mark. But she was curious to learn more about the forces that drove the aberrants.
“You must learn to,” Dreck said. “It is the nature of our gift and the burden we must bear. We are the children of Khyber, and our blessings are fury and pain. You must learn to hone your anger, to make it a blade you can unsheathe and release when battle is done.”
Thorn nodded. “I’ll try,” she said.
“No,” Fileon said. “Try, and you will fail. Try and you will die-and bring down those who are relying on you. You will have to do better than that.”
Dreck nodded. “There is fire within you, beloved. But you must seize it if you are to succeed. Doubt, and you will fail. Find that ember of fury. Know that this power lies within you. Otherwise, you will fall.”
Thorn bowed her head. “I understand.”
“Go,” Fileon said. “Meditate on this. We will try again when you have had time to recover. But tonight is your last chance, sister. We have run out of time for child’s games.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Son of Khyber is watching you, beloved.” Dreck’s voice was soft and soothing, but Thorn could see Fileon scowling behind him. “We must ensure that you are ready for the work that lies ahead. Tomorrow you will venture into the world once more. Tomorrow you will face our true foes for the first time.”
“True foes? Who-”
Fileon silenced her with a raised hand. The time for conversation was over. “Go. Meditate on the lesson you have learned here. We will continue at the seventh bell.”
Thorn nodded and turned to go. Behind her, the halfling girl sat on the floor, stroking the fur of the shivering rat.
“The Son of Khyber,” Thorn mused. She was sitting on the bed in her quarters, with Steel laid across her knees. He’d assured her they weren’t being observed, and she’d personally scoured the room to make sure there were no rats hidden in the walls. “So what do we know?”
“Child of Khyber” is a common term for those possessing aberrant dragonmarks, the dagger whispered.
“It might come as a surprise, but I do actually read the briefing materials. And yes, I would imagine that the leader of this cabal of aberrant assassins actually has an aberrant mark of his own. But what do we actually know?”
Very little. Until recently, the house was fully controlled by Thora Tavin. As the halfling said, Tavin seemed content to keep it as a criminal enterprise and shelter for those possessing aberrant dragonmarks.
“And yet Tavin is nowhere to be seen. This Son of Khyber seems to be in charge. And if I read the tensions correctly, the old guard-Fileon-doesn’t much care for it.”
Agreed. Something has changed, and that is why we are here. Our liaison with the Twelve believes that this change in leadership reflects a change in direction for the house.
She ignored his reproachful tone-as if she’d forgotten her mission. “Strange. I thought I was one of the King’s Dark Lanterns, not some lackey of Merrix d’Cannith.”
She found Dreck’s words echoing in her mind: Are you so certain that your actions served the people of Breland?
Steel had no face, but his mental voice had a reproachful tone. The dragonmarked houses are valuable allies of the Brelish crown. Vital allies, should war begin anew.
“This sounds like history repeating itself. The Citadel turned on Fileon’s unit because of pressure from the Twelve. Now I’m putting myself at risk in pursuit of their interests. What happens next? What if the houses decide that the Citadel shouldn’t employ half-elves? Do I find myself on a suicide mission in Darguun?”
An unlikely scenario, Steel replied. House Lyrandar is one of the most influential voices in the Twelve, and Boranel has always had strong ties to Medani. Both are Khoravar houses. It’s more likely they’d try to recruit you than have you killed.
“Recruit me? From where I stand, I’m already working for them. And what if I do have an aberrant mark?”
You do not. And you are ignoring the greater issue. This house takes its name from Halas Tarkanan. During the War of the Mark, it was Tarkanan who destroyed the greatest city of the age.
“And who started the War of the Mark? The Twelve.”
That’s not the point, and you know it. The city of Dorasharn was not built by the Twelve. Its citizens possessed no dragonmarks of any sort. Whether you place the blame on Tarkanan or the Twelve, tens of thousands of innocent people died in the struggle between them.
Thorn considered this. The stone in her neck pulsed against her bone, an echo of the pain she felt when she used the false mark. She heard Dreck’s words again: We are the children of Khyber, and our blessings are fury and pain.
I must know, Lantern Thorn. Steel’s whisper was cold and steady. Are you confident in your ability to complete this mission?
“I am loyal to Breland,” Thorn said, laying her hand across the blade. “And I will do whatever I must to protect my country.”
Then let us see what tomorrow brings.
Thorn slid off the bed and knelt on the floor in the corner of the room. She thought back to the lessons of the day: You must learn to hone your anger, to make it a blade you can unsheathe and release when battle is done. She might not have an aberrant dragonmark, but the ember of fury was there. And she wanted to let it go.
CHAPTER SIX
Dragon Towers Lharvion 20, 999 YK
Dreck woke her early in the morning, his mismatched eyes gleaming in the dim light of dawn. Fileon was waiting for her in the dining hall.
“I wish I had a choice in this,” Fileon said to Thorn. “You are still a child when it comes to mastering your mark, and I doubt you are prepared to do what must be done.”
Thorn was growing tired of the constant needling. “It seems to me I’ve passed every test you’ve laid before me, ‘brother.’”
Fileon ran his fingers along his withered arm, and traces of crimson light followed the motion. “Watch your tone, sister. I have spent years training our kind, helping the Children of Khyber find the path to power. I have seen
