But she was still falling.
While it had seemed an eternity, it had only taken seconds for Thorn to break the power of the dragonmark. She was falling past the foundation of Dragon Towers, past one of the so-called flying buttresses, magical supports that kept the towers from collapsing. Stretching out, Thorn managed to set her palms against the stone. A moment’s thought reactivated the spider charm-and suddenly her hands were anchored to the stone. Thorn swung her legs against the wall, bracing for the impact as best she could, but the pain was staggering.
Yet it worked. Her shoulders throbbed, but nothing seemed to be broken or dislocated. She’d survived the fall.
Now it was time for revenge.
Relying on the spider charm, Thorn ran up along the buttress. Torran Spire was far ahead of her, but with magic on her side, she quickly closed the distance. She drew Steel as she leaped the gap between the buttress and the foundation of the spire.
Nicely done, Steel whispered. With his voice as cold and calm as always, it was difficult to tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic.
“I thought I was the traitor,” she said, panting and striding up the wall. “I didn’t expect to be betrayed quite so quickly.”
I’m sure your friends at the Twelve have much to say on the subject of aberrant stability.
“What friends? If Sorghan’s any measure, I don’t think I’ll be turning my back on anyone with a dragonmark any time soon.”
What do you intend to do now?
“I don’t know yet.” She’d reached the window to Torran Spire, and none too soon. The spider charm only lasted for a few minutes, and she’d nearly exhausted the enchantment.
Thorn slipped through the casement. While Fileon had a lead on her, Thorn had one advantage. She knew the path Fileon was taking, and the halfling would have to tread carefully. He’d need to be alert for any wards or traps that could bar the way. Following in his footsteps, Thorn could move with greater speed.
It was clear that Lady Ilena had yet to settle in her new property. The window opened onto a landing in the servants’ quarters. An open door showed a glimpse of a linen closet, with a mere two sheets tucked inside. The walls were bare, the floors devoid of any carpet. The Tarkanan estate was better appointed than this, and one of the leading lights of House Cannith would surely flaunt her wealth. Even the walls were bare white, waiting for the lady of the house to make her wishes known. The last time Thorn had seen a Cannith lord’s home, illusions had been woven into the walls; the lord could shift the shade with but a thought. If Ilena had any such intentions, she had yet to implement them.
More’s the pity, Thorn thought. No carpet to muffle footsteps, bare white walls-hardly ideal for a stealthy approach. Can’t be helped.
She made her way along the corridor, listening for sounds of Fileon or anyone else who might be around. She heard nothing, but as she approached a corner, she caught a familiar scent in the air. Blood.
Sliding up to the corner, she extended Steel out around the edge, tracing a cross on his hilt.
Two bodies, he reported. No motion. Both dead. Blood on the floor. No sign of Fileon or any other threat.
Slipping around the corner, Thorn took in the scene: a boy in his late teens and a woman who might have been twice his age, both dressed in Cannith livery. A silver tray lay on the floor. A flagon of tribex milk was on its side, spilled milk mingling with blood. While she felt a touch of remorse for the slaughtered, there was little time for sympathy. Instead, Thorn’s eyes were drawn to the clues, reconstructing the battle from the injuries and the way in which the victims had fallen. Fileon had struck swiftly and with no hesitation. The boy never had a chance to defend himself, and Fileon had turned to the matron within seconds. No sign that the halfling had used his dragonmark, but he’d known exactly where to strike to cripple his foes before they could sound the alarm.
Born into House Jorasco, trained by the Citadel, she thought. A master surgeon, using those same skills as an assassin. She’d known his touch was deadly, but she’d never guessed that he would have such skill with a blade.
It was clear that Fileon was following the path Dreck had laid out for them, a route that led her through the servants’ quarters and down to the rear entrance. Soon she came to a set of enormous double doors, darkwood inlaid with brass. One door was slightly ajar, and Thorn spotted a drop of what seemed to be water on the handle-water charged with the essence of Mabar, no doubt, left behind when Fileon had bypassed whatever ward had been set upon the door.
Wasteful, Thorn thought to herself. It’s not as though he has barrels of nightwater in the wine cellar.
All else aside, it would take time to disarm a Cannith seal. And given that he’d stopped to kill the servants, Fileon had to be close.
Thorn slipped through the doorway, both daggers held ready.
Fileon struck in absolute silence, moving with deadly speed. Whether he’d heard Thorn’s approach or whether it was pure chance, the halfling was standing just within the doorway, and his blade was leveled at Thorn’s kidney. Keen senses and pure instinct saved Thorn. Before she even saw Fileon, Thorn felt the motion to her side and swung her mithral vambrace to meet the blow. Enchanted steel struck the bracer, but the mithral held.
“You?” Fileon hissed. Clearly he’d thought his victim would be another servant or a guard. His eyes were wild, and the crimson lines of his dragonmark burned like flames.
That moment of shock was all she needed. Fileon was fast, but not fast enough. Thorn swept his blade from his hand and planted a powerful kick directly in his chest. It was a solid blow, driving the breath from his lungs and sending him tumbling to the ground.
“Stay down!” Thorn flung Steel, and the blackened blade grazed the halfling’s neck before flashing back to her hand. “That’s your only warning. Why did you try to kill me?”
Fileon stared up at her but made no attempt to stand. “You have my sympathies, sister.” There was a hint of actual sorrow in his voice, though it was overshadowed by pain. For all his speed and skill, the halfling was still an old man, and Thorn’s kick might well have shattered a rib. “But this is not the time for revelations.”
“It’s exactly the time for revelations,” she said, crossing the room in three steps.
Fileon reached for her, the dragonmark blazing on his withered arm, but Thorn was prepared for the attack. She grabbed his wrist and activated her false dragonmark.
The tattoo flared around her eye, pain tearing through her nerves. But between the blazing stone in her neck and the agony she’d endured stopping her fall, Thorn barely noticed it. Not so Fileon, who felt Thorn’s pain increased by a factor of ten. The little man shook in Thorn’s grip, but she released him before he passed out.
“Why did you try to kill me?” she asked. She took a step back, making sure she was out of his reach.
“You have learned your lessons well, sister.” The halfling was shaking, gasping for air, yet he still managed to laugh. “I regret my actions.”
“You’ll regret them even more if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
Fileon leaned back against the wall. “The Son of Khyber. He wants you below. Has need of your skills.”