“Harmed him? Why would I harm anyone with an aberrant mark?”
That did it. Righteous anger turned to confusion and fear, and in that moment Thorn threw Steel.
It was a perfect throw, certain death for a defenseless man. But no fire flowed through her veins, no burst of inhuman might. There was a flare of ectoplasmic energy as Steel struck Merrix’s defensive enchantments, and the blade pierced the field and drew blood. But the spell saved the lord’s life. Merrix’s hand rose to his throat as Steel flew back to Thorn’s grip, and he staggered back. “Take them!” he called out to the warforged, choking on blood. “But take that one alive!”
“Fare you well, sister,” Palmer whispered. And then the warforged were upon them.
No time for thought. Thorn had one advantage: the assassins all seemed to have the same basic training. She was able to use the lessons she’d learned earlier. But there were too many of them.
Palmer fell quickly, and Thorn stood alone. She didn’t even think. She just moved, darting between a shifting maze of adamantine blades. She could smell her own blood, and she knew she’d been hurt, but she just kept moving, trying to stay on her feet until something changed.
And then it did.
The construct in front of her spasmed as the bone wheel cut into its neck. A swift kick from Xu’sasar finished the job, knocking the assassin’s head from its body. Now Tarkanans were all around Thorn. Daine was fighting the juggernaut, ducking beneath its blows and lashing out with his gleaming blade. The dwarf Scrapper fought at his side. Her leather armor was caked with dried blood, but Scrapper refused to fall. She clenched her teeth as an assassin’s blade grazed her shoulder, but managed to wrap both hands around her opponent’s wrist. Scrapper’s aberrant mark shattered spells, including the mystical forces that animated the warforged. The construct twisted in Scrapper’s grasp, but couldn’t break free… and now the rootlike tendrils that served as warforged muscles became brittle, snapping as the assassin convulsed. Within moments, the warforged shattered, falling to the ground in a heap of metal and dust.
It was over within moments, and the Tarkanans faced Merrix.
“You?” he said, gazing at Daine. He still seemed to be in shock. “Lei’s lapdog?”
Daine shook his head. “Things have changed. I didn’t expect to find you here, Lord Merrix. Now I can thank you personally for the wonderful gifts you’ve given us.” He had the sack of holding in his hand, and he reached in and produced a steel half-sphere studded with dragonshards and glyphs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of these, but there are some things you never forget. Now!”
On his command, Xu’sasar and Thorn leaped forward, both moving to grapple with the dragonmarked lord. Not fast enough! Merrix must have already been planning his escape, for as fast as the Tarkanans were, their hands closed on empty air.
“Thorn,” Daine said. “Is he still here?”
Thorn closed her eyes, extending her senses around her. “No,” she said at last. We’re the only ones left. He had a teleportation charm.”
“Very well.” Daine looked around the room, evaluating the injured and the dead. “Scrapper, help Brom. Xu, you take Palmer. Head for the gate. Now.”
Thorn stayed with him as the others dragged off the injured. “What about the forge? Dreck is gone.”
Daine smiled slightly. “It’s under control.”
He set the flat side of the half-sphere against the stone column, whispering an incantation over it. A pattern of light flowed across the dragonshards, and they began to pulse rhythmically.
“I suggest you run,” he told her. “I’m sure Lord Merrix has made improvements, but in my day these were very unstable.”
He loped for the gate, and she ran after him. They had just reached the entry hall when she heard a mighty groan behind her, the sound of a giant bellowing in torment. This cry of misery and pain reverberated throughout the hall, surrounding her and shaking the ground itself. She felt a sense of mingled anger and despair sweeping over her, and she had to concentrate to drive the alien emotions from her mind.
“Keep running!” Daine shouted.
The Tarkanan survivors were waiting at the gate. The moaning had grown louder, and combined with the sound of crashing stone, it drowned out Daine’s orders. The aberrants didn’t need instructions. The moment they saw Daine, they ran for their escape route. They passed through the first hidden hatch and made their way into the sewers. There Daine called them to a halt, resting against the scum-encrusted wall. Thorn could still hear the terrible howling in the distance, but it didn’t seem to be drawing any closer.
“Well,” Daine said. “I’d call that a good start.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Undercity Lharvion 21, 999 YK
The Tarkanan fortress hummed with activity. The infirmary was filled to capacity. Soldiers engaged in combat drills, while the noncombatants gathered supplies in preparation for swift evacuation.
As for Thorn, she was deeply troubled. She had no regrets about the destruction of the creation forge. But she’d done her best to kill Merrix d’Cannith, lord of one of the most powerful families in the world. And what was she supposed to do now? She slipped into a shallow alcove and drew Steel.
“You’re the sharp one. What happens now?”
It’s a good question. This attack may have served the interests of Breland. That doesn’t mean that the next one will. This Son of Khyber remains a disruptive force in the world. The logical course of action is to kill him during this moment of chaos and return to the Citadel.
“I know,” Thorn said. “Still… those warforged assassins. Why would Merrix have something like that? What if Daine’s right, and the Twelve are plotting against Galifar?”
Then someone will have to stop them. Perhaps an enterprising agent of the King’s Dark Lanterns.
“Which is exactly what I’m trying to do now,” Thorn said. “What was that weapon Daine used to destroy the forge?”
A necrotic resonator, Steel said. This is the first time I’ve ever observed one, as they were outlawed centuries ago. But I’m fairly certain that’s what it was.
“Why were they outlawed?”
The necrotic resonator absorbs the fear and agony of a scene of mass death, releasing it later as necrotic force. In addition to the sheer destructive power of the blast, it typically leaves restless spirits haunting the area for centuries to come. Those who sought to outlaw the weapon said that it bound the souls of the victims, trapping them in madness and eternal suffering.
“So this was a relic?”
No, I don’t think that it was. From my brief observation of the casing and the cut of the shards, it looked to have been made within the last century. If I had to guess, I’d say that it was charged during the Mourning.
Thorn slapped the wall with her free hand. “And there you are,” she growled.
What?
“Daine took that weapon from Merrix’s own workshop. He’s making warforged assassins in violation of the Treaty of Thronehold. Now he’s making explosives out of the Mourning itself? Why?”
It could simply be that the weapon is outlawed by his own house-
“With good reason.”
— and he believes that he can prove its worth and then sell it to, say, Breland.
“Or conquer Breland with his bombs, his war-forged, and his Deneith army. And let’s not forget the Lyrandar playing havoc with the weather and flinging lightning down from their airship fleet.”
A colorful image. But do you truly believe-
“Thorn.” The Son of Khyber was walking toward her.
Thorn had been whispering, and she felt confident that he hadn’t overheard her words, but nonetheless she sheathed Steel and stepped out from the alcove. “Yes?”
“Walk with me,” he said. “We have things to discuss.”
Daine said nothing until they reached the lower level of the fortress. Bones still littered the floor of the crypt, and Thorn kicked a skull out of her path.