“Shalitar,” she whispered, in the first tongue ever spoken on Eberron. Spider.
The air resonated with the power of the word, and Thorn let that energy flow through her, along her limbs and into her hands and feet. To this point, it had been strength and skill alone that allowed her to scale the wall. Now the touch of the spider held her fast to the surface, even as she let go with one hand to draw Steel. She couldn’t speak without alerting Fileon, but she didn’t have to. Steel could feel her touch, and they had codes for such situations. She pointed the blade at the gargoyle and traced a cross along the hilt. Threat analysis.
Little of note. A simple arcane lock on the window itself, but your companion seems to have that in hand. If it’s the statue you’re worried about, I sense no magical emanations.
That’s a start, Thorn thought. But she wasn’t about to let her guard down. She studied the statue, imagining what the beast would be like if it spread its wings and took flight, if life came into the granite eyes. What would it take to bring down such a creature? Thorn had been trained in the arts of assassination and knew many ways to cripple a human, dwarf, or elf. But Eberron offered many challenges to the would-be killer. Where would a gargoyle hide its heart? If she couldn’t rely on striking a vital organ with that first blow, what gave the best odds of crippling the creature?
Paranoia and preparation paid off. Thorn heard a faint click as Fileon pulled at one of the casement panels-and then the gargoyle was in motion. It moved with inhuman speed, catching the halfling before Thorn had time to react. The beast drove one palm into Fileon’s forehead, knocking him backward and off the ledge.
He might have been crippled and caught by surprise, but Fileon’s reflexes were remarkable. He spun in midair, reached out, and caught hold of the very edge of the ledge. He slammed into the wall below, but he kept his grip on the outcropping, hanging off the edge of Torran Spire. Blood was flowing into his eyes from the gash on his forehead, and his hands were scraped raw.
Even as Fileon was falling from the ledge, Thorn was in motion. She flung Steel at the beast’s eye, which was no longer stone. Regardless of whether there was a true brain behind it, few creatures with eyes could afford to lose them. But hitting such a target while hanging from a wall was no small task. Thorn struck close to the mark, but not close enough-and the gargoyle’s skin was nearly as tough as the stone it resembled. Steel caught the beast directly between the eyes with enough force to snap its head back, but the blade didn’t penetrate the skin.
Thorn had drawn the creature’s attention away from Fileon, but there wasn’t a moment to lose. Once the gargoyle took to the air, it would have the advantage-and that was assuming that it stayed to fight, instead of fleeing to warn its mistress. Trusting in the spider charm, Thorn pulled her left hand free of the wall and ran directly up to the gargoyle, the magic holding her feet to the stone. The enchantments woven into Steel drew him back to her, and she caught him without thinking. Yet Steel would not serve for the task ahead. While she preferred to fight with finesse, sometimes sheer force was required. With a thought, she pulled Steel into the pocket of space bound into her glove and drew out the weapon that had been held within. It was the myrnaxe, the brutal weapon forged in the fires of Droaam.
While she hadn’t crippled the creature, Thorn’s blow had at least staggered the gargoyle. Now it was the focus of all her senses. She could see it straightening, its wings spreading to catch the air. Not fast enough!
Thorn sprinted past the struggling Fileon and straight along the glass of the closed windowpane, then she slammed into the gargoyle. She caught it with the iron-shod haft of the myrnaxe, and it felt as if she’d struck a wall. Yet it was sufficient. The gargoyle stumbled back, falling down against the roof. Without sparing a moment for thought, Thorn raised the myrnaxe and brought the spear end down against its chest, striking the spot where a human would keep his heart. Instinct and training guided her hands, but what happened next was enough to jolt her from her trance. She’d expected resistance. She’d seen how Steel bounced off its hide. Instead, she felt nothing at all as the spear slid through the gargoyle. Her hands were touching its chest, and she realized that she’d pierced the roof of the building.
The surprise came with a cost. The wound would have surely driven a human into the ground, but the gargoyle was more resilient. The roof vanished in a flash of pain as the gargoyle smashed the back of one stony hand across Thorn’s face.
Thorn staggered back across the roof, struggling to keep her balance. If not for the spider charm, she would have fallen. She called Steel into her hand, preparing for the gargoyle’s leap. But it never came. The creature was thrashing against the roof, flailing with its arms and legs. It was impaled by Thorn’s spear and, try as it might it, could not pull free. Shingles flew, and the beast carved deep gouges into the stone, but it could not stand. Mercifully, it was silent.
Thorn circled the pinned gargoyle. “I might not know how to kill you,” she whispered. “But I’m sure I can figure something out.”
Dispatching the gargoyle proved to be a simple if gruesome task. The greater challenge was prying the myrnaxe free of the corpse. The spear had sunk deep into the stone, and whatever strength had allowed her to strike the blow had faded.
“Be swift!” Fileon hissed behind her. As Thorn had anticipated, the halfling had been able to pull himself up on his own. Thorn held her tongue, devoting all her energy and attention to the axe. At last it slid free, and she drew it back into her glove.
“You waste our time,” Fileon whispered, but he nonetheless extended his good hand and helped Thorn down to the ledge.
“Sorry. I thought it might be a good idea to save your life. I’m sure you’d do the same in my place.”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t.” Fileon was still holding Thorn’s hand, and as he spoke, Thorn saw his dragonmark gleaming on his withered arm.
Before she could react, she felt a terrible numbness spread throughout her body-and then she felt nothing at all.
Fileon pulled his hand free, and there was something like sorrow in his eyes as he looked up at her. “I truly wish there was another way, sister. I had hoped you’d be crippled by the Deneith blade, but I should have known better than to trust in one of them. It seems I am my only ally-along with the gargoyle that killed you. It seems the Son of Khyber will have to alter his plans.”
Don’t be a fool, Thorn thought. Try as she might, she couldn’t move a muscle. She could only stare into Fileon’s eyes and hope he would see reason. She saw no hatred in his gaze. If anything, there was true sorrow.
Shaking his head, he pushed her off the ledge.
CHAPTER NINE
Dragon Towers Lharvion 20, 999 YK
Focus!
The world was a blur, the wall of Torran Spire slipping past and the Dagger River approaching below. Thorn could hear the gale around her and her heart pounding within her chest, but she couldn’t feel anything. She was completely disconnected from her body.
Ledge!
The window ledge protruded from the wall, and Thorn reached out for it-or tried to. Her arms wouldn’t move. Her shoulder struck the ledge, sending her spinning to the side, but she felt nothing-gravity, wind… nothing.
Questions burned in the back of her mind. Why would Fileon do this? Have I been exposed?
But there was no time to analyze the situation. Unless she could do something, her remaining lifespan would be measured in moments. No time for reason. But she found a spark of rage and latched onto it. Anger at Fileon. But there was far more than that. She was still furious at Sorghan, the murderous bigot who’d nearly killed her. Still angry at the Twelve for setting this thrice-damned mission in motion. And there was still the burning pain of uncertainty-the mystery of Sorghan’s death, the question of her own aberrant powers. And in that moment of fury, the stone at the base of her neck came alive, cutting through the numbness and burning against the bone. For once, she welcomed the pain, seizing hold of it and letting it serve as a conduit for her anger. The magic of Fileon’s dragonmark shattered in the face of this rage, and suddenly Thorn could feel everything-the wind, the blood rushing through her veins, the torn skin where her shoulder had struck the ledge. She was in control once more.