Thorn frowned. “Why would you betray your leader?” Even as she asked the question, she realized the answer.
“He is not my leader,” Fileon said. “Thora Tavin raised me from the darkness. It was her courage and her cunning that kept me alive in Darguun, her vision that built this house. This Son of Khyber, he changes everything. Sends Tavin away to build forces in other cities. Raises hopes and fears with his words. We were stable. Successful. Now he prepares us for war.”
“War? What do you mean?”
“We’ve always known the struggle would come, sister. A time when the Twelve would move against us. He would strike the first blow, and in so doing, he would bring the war upon us.”
It sounds as though the Twelve were right to be concerned, Steel said. You know your orders, Lantern Thorn. Evaluate the situation, and if this Son of Khyber proves a threat, eliminate him. The time for evaluation is done. Extract his location from this one. Kill the others. Complete your mission.
“That’s one way of looking at it,” she said. A time when the Twelve would move against us… meaning me.
Her anger stirred again. The thought of a merchant prince using the Citadel as a tool…
She was no paid assassin. She’d joined the Citadel to serve Breland, and she still didn’t see a threat to the crown. “Tell me more about this war.”
Fileon sagged against the wall. His strength was clearly fading, and now Thorn could see bloody spittle on his lips.
I hit him too hard, she thought. Whatever skills he might possess, he was still an old man and a cripple. She felt a pang of guilt, and she knelt down next to him. “Fileon,” she said. “Let me help you-”
Old he might be, and crippled-but he moved like a viper, his hand wrapping around her wrist as light flowed from his dragonmark. A wave of vertigo swept over Thorn, that terrible numbness she’d felt on the ledge. But this time Thorn refused to surrender to it. Her anger swelled within her, and the fire from the shard in her neck spread throughout her veins, the pain drowning out the aberrant chill. Fileon’s eyes were wild, and the lines of his mark blindingly bright. She could feel his power growing stronger, but she would not submit. Every nerve was on fire And then it was over.
Fileon released her, and he fell to the ground. The light faded from his dragonmark, its lines pure black. The smell of seared flesh filled the air, and Thorn could see the burns surrounding the mark. His tongue lolled from his mouth with his last breath.
He bit his tongue, Thorn realized. The bloody spit… it wasn’t from internal injuries. He was just trying to get me close. Part of her felt a fool for falling prey to the trick, but she also found herself feeling some sympathy for the little man. He probably learned that trick serving the Citadel. There was a time when he fought for Breland-it was the Twelve that forced him into the shadows, that tore his loyalty away.
This time it was no trick. Fileon was dead.
Your mission is clear. Steel’s voice pulled her back from her reverie. The others will not be expecting betrayal. Kill one of them. Interrogate the other. Learn the location of the Son of Khyber and eliminate him.
“I’m sick of this argument.” Thorn was still angry, and it was all too easy to turn this against Steel. “My mission is to evaluate the threat. I still don’t know a thing about it. I don’t know who the Son of Khyber is. I don’t know where he is, what he’s capable of, or what the consequences of his death would be. You’re the historian. You tell me how many times an assassination meant to end a war has ended up starting one.”
There was no response, so she continued.
“I’m still not convinced there is a threat to Breland. You’re very concerned with the needs of the Twelve, Steel. But right now I’d like to hear what this Son of Khyber has to say for himself.”
This is madness, Steel told her. You’ve nearly been killed three times.
“Not by the Son of Khyber. Besides, what do you expect?” She touched her eye. “Everyone knows we aberrants go mad.”
You’re not one of them.
Perhaps, she thought. She could still see Sorghan’s face as he died. And although the details were fading, the dream of Mayne dying at her touch still haunted her. “It’s not your decision to make, Steel.”
I cannot approve of this. You are threatening one of Breland’s strategic allies. If this goes wrong, I’ll have no choice but to report your actions to Zane-
“Then do it,” she said, sheathing the blade. The shard in her neck burned in answer to her growing anger. “But stop trying to tell me what to do.”
Taking a deep breath, she hefted the halfling across her shoulders. Fileon weighed little more than a child. It took her less than a minute to reach the rear gate, and another to break the ward protecting it. With that done, she raised the heavy bar and pulled open the doors.
Dreck and Brom were waiting. The warforged was dressed in brown rags, a deep hood hiding his aberrant mark. At a glance, only his long, metal hands revealed his true nature, and he’d draw little attention on the back streets of Sharn. Brom was another story. The patchwork dwarf was dressed in battered chain mail that had clearly seen many battles. Steel sheathed his ogre’s arm, culminating in a massive spiked gauntlet. Dreck scanned the hallway, his gaze dropping to take in Fileon’s corpse.
“Yes,” Thorn said. “There’re a few things we should talk about.”
CHAPTER TEN
Dragon Towers Lharvion 20, 999 YK
Dreck knelt next to Fileon, running a hand along the halfling’s warped arm. “Our blessing is a burden, and all too often frail flesh is too weak to bear Khyber’s touch.” He looked up at Thorn, his mismatched eyes gleaming. “Brom, deal with this.”
Thorn’s hand tightened on Steel’s hilt, but Dreck was talking about the cooling corpse. The dwarf produced a large leather sack. He lifted the dead halfling up with his giant hand and deposited him in the bag. There was magic in the sack, as with Thorn’s gloves and satchel. Even after the corpse was dropped in, the bag still seemed to be empty, and Brom folded it up and tucked it away.
“Do you want to know what happened?” Thorn said.
Dreck’s face was a steel mask, impossible to read. “I know what happened, beloved. He tried to kill you. Again.” He raised a hand before she could respond. “The Son of Khyber has long known of the misplaced loyalties of the Shaper of the Young. He was content for our kind to be criminals in the shadows, waiting for the time when the Twelve would finally move against us. Lady Tavin herself understands the wisdom of Khyber’s Son and has gone to take his words where they are needed. But it seems our shaper could not change his ways.”
“So I was a test?”
“Your eyes see clearly, beloved. There is no place in this family for traitors. Not at this late hour. The shaper would not betray in plain sight, so we needed to see what he would do in the shadows. And I wanted to see how you dealt with him. And so I have. Now let us move swiftly. We have work to do, and the bells of the tower have not stopped.”
Thorn had nothing to say, and Dreck’s cold words were unnerving. But he was not actually accusing her, and she was comforted by the fact that Brom, at least, looked glum. Dreck was more ruthless than she’d thought, but it seemed that some of the Tarkanans still had feelings.
“Take the lead and be wary of wards,” Dreck told her. “I’m certain the chamber where our prize awaits will be guarded with both magic and steel. Brom and I will deal with the living, but it falls to you to silence the alarms.”
Thorn nodded. She reached for Steel, but at the last moment she hesitated, remembering their last debate. He might mean well, but she was getting tired of the dagger telling her what to do. Sorghan d’Deneith’s icy blade was bound within her left gauntlet, and a thought brought it to her hand. She thought, Let’s try a silent weapon for a time.