the terms of the treaty are quite clear, and he was violating them. When someone with that sort of power considers himself to be above the law, that’s a threat.”
And you’re not simply trying to justify the fact that you were responsible for the death of his son.
“His son was a monster!”
His son was an artificial creature. As an inorganic sentient myself, I’m not sure I like this term “monster.”
“He was making warforged that looked human. Who knows what he would have done with that power? Spies. Assassins. Replacing people in positions of power.”
Giving his barren wife a child.
Thorn resisted the urge to pull Steel into her glove. “Enough. House Cannith was violating the restrictions placed on its behavior by the Treaty of Thronehold and using the Citadel to fight a personal battle. Tell me that neither of these things trouble you.”
I can’t argue either of those points, Lantern Thorn. Though I don’t see how either apply to Marudrix.
“He’s Cannith-”
And it’s quite a large family. Far larger than the Citadel itself. Do you hold yourself responsible for the actions of every agent of the Citadel?
Thorn frowned. “I just don’t like working for Cannith again.”
And I don’t believe you are. While Marudrix may be a member of the family and an apprentice of the Tinkers’ Guild, there was no mention of Merrix or any other member of the house. If anything, the stranger question is why he made his way to the Citadel instead of turning to his family.
Thorn considered that. “True.”
For all you know, he’s an excoriate like the captain of our ship. Perhaps he was driven from the house for questioning Merrix’s policy on secret creation forges.
“That’s not something to joke about.”
No, I suppose not. Still, perhaps you should find out more about his connections to the house.
“I suppose I will.” Thorn ran a hand over her pouches and pockets, making sure all her tools were in place. Satisfied, she walked out of the crew quarters and made her way toward the helm.
Shargon’s Tooth was a small vessel, built to carry commando teams behind enemy lines. Given that her companions weren’t in the cabin, there were only a few places they could be. She found Drix and Cadrel in the chamber that served as a galley and observation deck, just behind the helm. Drix had a small crossbow set on the table with wheels and twine laid out on a cloth next to it; he was polishing a gear. Cadrel looked over as she entered.
“Our guardian rises,” he said. “Did you sleep well, my dear?”
“Well enough,” she replied. “Let’s get to business. Would you mind clearing the table?”
The tinker looked sadly at his unfinished work. He carefully folded the cloth and tucked his tools away. As soon as the space was available, Thorn laid out a map.
“Scrying is unreliable in the Mournland,” she said. “This map is the best we have, based on the preexisting geography of Cyre and what information we’ve received from survivors and scouts, including you, Drix.” She pointed at a spot along the southern coastline. “Your report places this eladrin spire roughly here, northeast of the old village of Seaside. We’ll be making landfall as close to Seaside as possible. We know that the Green Road is still partially intact. That will serve as our guide as we move toward the southern woods. From there, it’s up to you to show us the way.”
Drix nodded. “I remember the path,” he said. “But you won’t be able to sleep. The forest… it’s different now. Hungry. You can’t stand still.”
“We’re prepared,” Thorn said. She reached into the pouch at her side. Like her gloves, the space within was larger than the pouch itself; a thought called the leather wineskin to her hand. “The good news is that we’ve got Irian tears. A few drops of this will keep you going through the night and help fight the effects of exhaustion. You don’t want to take too much of it, but we should be all right.”
“Good news, hmm?” Cadrel said. “I trust there’s bad to follow it?”
Thorn sighed. “I’m afraid so.” She reached into the pouch again and drew out a thin rod. Six inches of it were covered with a rubbery, greenish substance. “Troll sticks. Not actual troll, I think, but you wouldn’t know it from the taste. The stick grows the meat; it takes about three hours for it to grow back. It’s about as unpleasant as anything you’ll find in the Mournland, but at least it’s not poisonous. So that takes care of basic survival.”
“There’s nothing basic about survival in what lies ahead of us,” Drix said. “Food’s good but let’s not forget about the ghosts. And the hungry wind. And the voices in the mist.” He smiled slightly, as if he were remembering a childhood vacation.
“Good questions,” Thorn said, privately wondering how many of those things were real and how many existed in only the tinker’s head. “I need to know what you can do in a fight.”
“I was stabbed through the heart,” Drix said. “Does that count as a fight?”
“You walked away from it, so I guess that counts. That stone of yours… just how effective is it? Will it really protect you from any sort of injury?”
“I don’t know,” Drix said with a shrug. “It healed me from the stabbing. And the boulders. And the bear. And the crab that glued me to its back…”
I know he sounds slightly mad, Steel said as Drix continued to list his misfortunes.
“Slightly?” Thorn smiled at Drix, drumming her fingers against Steel’s hilt. She wondered how many of his supposed injuries actually occurred.
Nonetheless, the power I’m sensing in that stone is remarkable. And something that will stand out to anyone else who might look for it.
Lovely, she thought. “Do you know how to use that crossbow?”
“Hmm?” Drix said, ceasing his reverie of pains. “Well, not that one specifically. I’m still working on her. She’s not finished. But she means well. When I’m done, she’ll aim herself.”
Thorn sighed. “And you, Cadrel? I see you’re wearing a blade today. Do you know how to use it?”
“Indeed.” Cadrel stepped away from the table, and suddenly his short sword was in his hand. “I know I did little to impress you in our last altercation; I thought it best that I stay by the prince. I’m no match for you, my dear, but I’ve fought a few duels in my day.”
“And magic? I know you can weave a disguise. What other surprises do you have?”
“It’s a poor entertainer who reveals every trick,” Cadrel began.
“And a foolish one who goes to the Mournland,” Thorn said. “This is no stage, Cadrel. I need to know exactly what you’re capable of.”
“You wound me, my dear. Still, this is an adventure unlike any I’ve ever been on; I suppose I must bend my own rules. I do know a few tricks of illusion, yes. I can disguise my own face and form. I can cast a false image for a minute or two, though one without sound or substance. Once upon a time, I could hone this to craft a burst of bright light, dazzling an opponent for a few moments, though I’m afraid it’s been some time since I’ve tried such a thing.”
Thorn nodded. It was still more than she’d expected; perhaps the old man wouldn’t be the liability she’d thought. Still, an elderly duelist and a tinker with an unfinished crossbow? Not the most impressive team she’d worked with.
“Cadrel, would you give me a moment alone with Drix?”
Essyn smiled, giving a slight bow. “Certainly. I’ll go check with our lovely captain; we must be close to our destination by now.”
Thorn turned back to Drix as Cadrel left the room. The tinker was looking wistfully at his crossbow. She studied him, noticing the curve of his eyes, the slight points to his ears. “It seems we have something in common,” she said.
He looked up at her, puzzled.
She tapped an ear. “Elf blood. How far back in your line does it go?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “My father was Khoravar, and his mother.” The word literally meant child of Khorvaire, but the more common term was half-elf-the blended race formed from the mingling of human and elf blood. Thorn was Khoravar herself, but first generation; her mother was an elf from the island nation of Aerenal.
