Fascinating, Steel said. It’s established fact that aberrant dragonmarks may cause physical disfigurement, but I’ve never seen anything like this before.
“I dislike being kept in the dark, Brother Dreck.” Fileon’s eyes gleamed. “I have done my work and done it well. I would know what our Son of Khyber has planned for my student.”
“See with your own eyes, Shaper,” Dreck said, his voice soft and musical. “You will serve at her side this evening.”
Fileon blinked. “What?”
“The Son of Khyber knows of your talents, Shaper. You guide the young to mastery of their gifts, but your skills have not been forgotten. You have tested beloved Thorn these past few days. Now you will lead her in our struggle.”
Brom slapped the floor with his massive hand, and Thorn felt the impact across the room. “Let us to work!” he cried, carried away with his own enthusiasm. “I did not come here to talk. I came for blood and battle. What task awaits?”
Dreck’s face was a mask of steel, and he could not smile. But Thorn could hear the joy in his lilting voice. “Tonight we strike a blow against the House of Making. The Son of Khyber seeks a great treasure of the house, and we shall bring it to him before the break of dawn.”
“Cannith!” Fileon clenched his good fist, and his dragonmark burned with crimson light. “You might as well ask us to pierce the vaults of the Kundarak bank.”
Thorn had to agree. “You want us to steal from a forgehold?”
House Cannith were the master artificers of Khorvaire, and it was their hands that had built the warforged and untold wonders besides. Infiltration was a specialty of hers, and she’d made her way into the arcane libraries of Aundair and the sacred crypts of Karrnath… but this was another matter entirely.
“Fear not, children of Khyber.” Dreck’s voice was calm. “Our leader would not send so few to face such a challenge. Our quarry is in Dragon Towers, well beyond the fortress walls of the Cannith enclave. Speed and force are called for. We leave none alive who can tell the tale, and we will travel directly to the depths thereafter.”
“And what of the grayblood trackers?” Fileon said. “How will you evade the eyes of House Tharashk?”
“Bah!” Brom dismissed these concerns with a wave of his left hand. His left arm was muscular and strong but seemed crippled next to his massive right limb. “We travel on the orders of the Son of Khyber and are guided by the wisdom of our steel brother. Do you think either would leave such matters to chance?”
“I know that Thora Tavin would never do such a thing,” Fileon said. “It was her hands that brought our house together, and she never set us against Cannith or Tharashk. Would you call down their wrath upon us when there is so much work yet to be done?”
Dreck held up the Deneith brooch. “Lady Tavin gathered the army, Shaper. The Son of Khyber will lead us to battle. Destiny unfolds, and he leads us down the path. And so you will walk with us tonight. You will watch for wards and deal with any guardians who cross your path. Brom will apprehend the target. Leave all other concerns to me.”
“As you wish,” Fileon said. He glanced at Thorn, and his eyes were cold. As if she were to blame.
Dreck spread a map across the table, an architect’s sketch of a manor tower. “The strife of others is our fortune. We have been following a marital dispute between two of the wealthiest Cannith heirs in the city. They severed their bond two weeks ago. Growing tensions caused the lady Ilena d’Cannith to purchase property beyond the house enclave.” He gestured at the map. “Torran Spire has been a Cannith holding for less than a week. We will surely have to overcome basic Kundarak seals and wards, but they have not had the time to place those defenses you fear, Shaper of the Young.”
“Hostiles?” Thorn asked.
“Minimal household staff. Ilena has yet to establish her household. What guards are present are likely to be automatons-golems or homunculi trusted to watch the house in the absence of its lady.”
This was reassuring. There was nothing to be done about Sorghan’s death, but Thorn didn’t want to make a habit of killing her supposed clients. At the same time, Sorghan’s voice echoed in her mind: No one of tainted blood could ever sit at Alder’s table. It’s time we destroyed Tarkanan’s brood. Beginning with you.
Perhaps that hate was misplaced. Thorn had studied every inch of her skin before returning to Fileon, and she still found no trace of an aberrant dragonmark. Nonetheless, when she thought of the venom in Sorghan’s voice, the hatred in his eyes, it was hard to muster much sympathy for the man. She still didn’t know if she was an aberrant or not, but little Zae, the rat girl, was and she didn’t deserve to die because of it.
Dreck’s voice pulled her from her reverie. He ran a finger along the map. “You will enter here, beloved, with the shaper by your side. Follow this path to the servants’ entrance. With fortune’s favor, you won’t encounter any further resistance. You need not kill any you find, but do not hesitate to do so. Brom and I will wait beyond this door. Once you have opened it, we shall proceed to our target.”
“And Lady Ilena?” Thorn asked. She didn’t want to kill a Cannith heir, but she’d prefer not to be seen by one.
“Attending the Tain Gala this evening. I trust that her most capable guards will be with her. She won’t return until the turning of the bells.”
“Very well,” Fileon said. “Let us be about this. But know this, Dreck. I will have words with the Son of Khyber when this is done. I see only darkness on the path ahead, and this is the last time I do his bidding unquestioned.”
“Understood, Shaper,” Dreck said. “I am certain that he will ask nothing further of you, once this night is done. But let us finish this final task as brothers.” He placed his hand against the map, and the emerald lines of his dragonmark pulsed across his face. “Cannith awaits.”
Torran Spire was on the very edge of Dragon Towers, clinging to the vast central column that supported most of the district. Mystical security aside, the doors were reinforced and barred from within. And so Thorn and Fileon made their way to a back window. The challenge soon became clear: the back of the spire projected out and away from Dragon Towers, and it was thousands of feet to the rocky shores of the Dagger River far below.
Despite his complaints, Fileon took point, and he proved surprisingly capable. The halfling made no sound as he slid up along the wall of Torran Spire, finding the slight irregularities in the stone with practiced ease. Even his withered arm proved no handicap, and Thorn guessed that there was magic at work, some spell supplementing his skill. Thorn, dressed in the simple black clothing she favored for silent work, followed at his heels. Thorn’s dark garb was enchanted to draw the shadows to her, helping her hide from sight. Wind whipped around her, tugging at her clothes and whistling in her ears.
Fileon had reached their target: a large window with enough of a ledge for the halfling to stand on. A gargoyle crouched over the casement, its frozen snarl revealing a fierce array of granite teeth. Such decorations were common enough in this city of towers, and Fileon gave it only a cursory glance before producing his tools and setting to work on the window.
Thorn wasn’t so confident. The gargoyle was as still as any statue, its dark skin a perfect match for the frame of the wide window. But there was a chill in the base of her spine-a shiver emanating from the crystal shard that set her on edge.