“I didn’t realize there were Khoravar in House Cannith,” she said. “I thought only humans could carry the Mark of Making.”
“That’s what they say,” Drix said sadly. “My mother took me back to Making once, to meet my grandparents. To go to school there, I think. They didn’t want me. The Jurans are tinkers, and that’s all we’ll ever be. That’s what they say. Dirt in our blood.”
“Did you talk to your family about this?” She pointed at his heart.
“My family is dead,” he said, looking away. “Killed in the Mourning. The barons in Breland didn’t want me before. I’m not going to them now.”
Thorn nodded thoughtfully. He seemed sincere enough. There were times when he seemed a little unhinged, but at the moment it seemed it was just pain, emotional or otherwise. “Why are you doing this?” she said. “With that stone, you’re all but immortal. Why would you want to give that up?”
He looked at her, and she could see the sorrow in his eyes. “It’s not mine. Not me. It’s the Mourning. I can feel it. The sorrow, the anger… I can feel it.”
He seemed serious. She squeezed Steel’s hilt. “Really?”
“It weaves my flesh and blood together, but the pain… the pain never truly goes away. It doesn’t belong in me. I know that.”
It’s possible the stone holds psychic impressions of the dead, Steel said. Considering he’s just said that he’s in constant physical pain, delusions seem more likely.
Even as she listened, Thorn felt a pulse of pain from the shard embedded in her neck. Her stones were just shrapnel, not magical gems, but she’d lived with them for almost a year, dealing with the pain and sheer sense of wrongness that came with them. In the darkest times, she’d turned to drink and dreamlily to chase that pain away. She was slowly growing used to them. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t as crippling as it had once been. Still, there was a time when she’d have done almost anything to escape from it. If Drix felt anything like she had, she could understand why he’d want it out.
“I know you think the pain is driving me mad,” Drix said. “It’s not. It’s not. It’s the voices. The faces. I need to make it stop, to let their spirits rest.”
“I understand,” Thorn said. She felt a flicker of sorrow and a touch of guilt for having let her distrust of Cannith get the better of her before. Magic stone or not, his life was tough enough as it was.
Drix sighed, looking out the porthole. “Why are we traveling underwater, anyway?”
Thorn shrugged. “It’s just a safety precaution. These vessels were built during the Last War, used to sneak behind enemy lines. The Mournland may be neutral territory, but the last thing we need is a chance encounter with Darguul slavers. This way we get to Seaside quickly and safely.”
“So we’re safe here?”
“We should be,” Thorn said. “Between the speed of the vessel and our reinforced hull, no natural creature can pose a threat to us. And we’re too far down for a ship to even notice us.”
The impact surprised them both.
There was a groan of strained wood. Thorn braced herself against the table as the floor shook. Drix’s unfinished crossbow slid across the floor, and Drix stumbled and fell to his hands and knees.
“Of course, I’ve been wrong before,” Thorn said.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Thunder Sea B arrakas 22, 999 YK
Thorn drew Steel as she headed for the helm. “Report,” she said.
There was a momentary fluctuation in the bonds connecting the elemental to the ship.
“That’s not a good thing.” The floor rolled beneath her as Thorn made her way down the narrow hall, and she braced herself against the wall to keep from falling.
Essyn Cadrel was already on the bridge with Captain Shaeli. The captain’s dragonmark was glowing slightly in the dim light, and the Khoravar woman cursed under her breath. She clung tightly to the gleaming wheel.
Thorn saw Cadrel’s eyes widen, and she realized Steel was still in her hand. She lowered the dagger. “What’s going on?”
“It seems we’ve found a souvenir of the Last War,” Cadrel replied.
“Cyran breacher,” the captain said. The words were an effort.
“I fought on the ground,” Thorn said. “What’s that?”
“A nightmare,” Shaeli said. She gasped as the ship shuddered again.
Breachers are a joint creation of House Cannith and the binders of Zilargo, Steel told her. A warforged leech built to prey on elemental vessels. The first impact must have been it latching onto the hull. Now it’s fighting the captain for control of the elemental core. If it overcomes her willpower, it’ll loose the elemental and shatter the vessel. Even if it doesn’t, it will carve a hole through the hull.
“Lovely.” Thorn murmured. “How do we fight it?”
“No weapons,” Shaeli said. Her breathing was shallow, her voice strained. “I’ll try… to surface. You might survive the wreck.”
I’m afraid she’s correct. On a normal ship, you might be able to target the breacher from above. On this vessel, by the time it penetrates the hull, it will be too late.
“Get to the hatch,” Shaeli whispered. “Lifeboat.”
“And what about you, Captain?” Cadrel said.
“Must remain… If I let go… it’s over.”
The ship shook again. Thorn’s mind raced. There was no way for her to fight an enemy outside the ship, and if it punched a hole in the hull, the water would finish them before battle was an option. Then a memory came to her. Merrix d’Cannith shattering a warforged soldier with a single touch, in the tunnels below Sharn.
Drix was still in the galley when she returned. He’d spread the pieces of the crossbow across the table again and seemed oblivious to the threat.
“Drix!”
“Oh, hello again.” He smiled at her. “What’s wrong?”
Thorn pulled Drix from his chair, sending tools and twine tumbling to the floor. “We’ve only got a few minutes before this ship gets cracked like an egg. Can you do anything about it?”
“What could I do?” Drix said, seeming honestly curious.
Thorn strode into the hall, pulling Drix with her. She could feel the vibrations as the breacher drilled into the hull, and she followed the sensations. “You’re Cannith, aren’t you? Can’t you do anything?”
“I’m just a tinker,” Drix said. “I fix things. Make things work better.”
Host above, Thorn thought. He certainly isn’t Merrix. “Have you ever fixed a warforged?”
“Yes,” Drix said.
They entered the heart of the vessel. There ahead of them was the elemental core-a swirling sphere of the bluest water Thorn had ever seen, suspended in a cage inscribed with glowing sigils. The sphere was shaking, pseudopods lashing out to strike at the bars. And to the side, Thorn could feel the breacher grinding into the wall, separated from them by less than a foot of wood; if not for the mystical force strengthening the hull, it would surely be through already.
“How? Just hammering the plates? Or with magic?”
“I’ve been working with magic,” he said. “But I’ve still got a lot to learn. It’s hard.”
The breacher could break through at any time, Steel warned her. Or the elemental could break its bonds. In either case, this is the worst place we could be.
“I know,” she said, returning the dagger to his sheath. “Tell me what it’s like.”
“A warforged… it’s magical but also alive. You need to reach out with your thoughts. Feel the threads of life.”
The liquid sphere pulsed, and the ship rocked as it did. Thorn could feel the vibration of the construct digging into the wood, and she could imagine the metal beast latched onto the hull.
Drix was oblivious to the threat, lost in his memories. “You follow the threads, search for the breaks, let your
