“Zae?” Thorn said.
Fileon’s daughter looked up from her work. She’d abandoned her beggar’s rags, and was wearing a simple black robe. Her eyes were wide and dark. “True,” she said. It was the first time Thorn had ever heard her speak.
“What are you doing here?”
Another rat hopped onto the table, a long needle gleaming in its mouth. Zae took it and began to thread it, but she kept her eyes locked on Thorn. “My father taught me the healing arts. Do you remember him?”
It was a chilling question, but stranger still coming from Zae. The girl spoke in a soft, lilting voice. There was a strange distance in her eyes, and it seemed that she actually wanted to know the answer to the question. Thorn noticed that both the rats were watching her.
“Yes… I remember him.”
“I want to,” Zae said. “I remember what he taught me.”
Thorn relaxed slightly. Strange as the girl was, Zae didn’t seem to be on a quest for vengeance.
“We’ve left the high towers,” Zae said thoughtfully, looking back down at the injured dwarf. “But I like it here. There’s so many stories.”
Thorn let that pass “What’s wrong with Brom? I thought he could regenerate from any injury.”
“My father taught me my lessons on Brom,” Zae said, running a finger along the patterns of scales and chitin traced across the dwarf’s skin. “He told me that the gifts… the gifts of Khyber are unpredictable. When Brom heals, the damaged flesh is often replaced with elements of other species. In your last battle, he suffered severe internal injuries. His gift has kept him alive, but he hasn’t woken up. I suspect that one or more internal organs were damaged, and have returned in an incompatible form.”
Zae’s voice grew stronger as she spoken, and for a moment it seemed that it was Filleon who was speaking. Thorn tried to push the thought aside. “So… he might have a kobold’s heart?”
“Yes,” Zae said. “Something incapable of providing the flow of blood he needs.”
“What can you do?”
The halfling smiled “It’s a game my father taught me. I need to cut him open and find the parts that don’t belong. Then I cut them out, and keep doing it until he grows a part that works.”
Thorn was surprised by his cavalier attitude. “Has this happened before?”
“Oh, yes,” Zae said. “I’ve kept a few of the more interesting things I’ve found inside of him. Would you like to see?”
“No thanks,” Thorn said. “I need to get some rest before my next task… and I think that my dreams are strange enough as it is.”
The halfling shrugged again and returned to her work. A rat crawled up her back and peered down from her shoulder.
Drego was watching her when she woke.
Her sleep had been mercifully free of dreams. As she rose from the darkness, she felt the dull ache of the shards burning against her spine-and she felt Drego. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew he was there. In part it was his scent, and in part she just knew that it was what he would do. He was bold, she had to give him that. And again she wondered why he was so interested. It had to be more than sheer physical attraction. They served different nations, and he had to know that she’d kill him if Breland demanded it. So what game was he playing?
She kept her eyes closed, her breathing slow. How long had he been standing there? How long would he wait?
Minutes past before he finally spoke. “Nyri,” he said softly. “Nyrielle. It’s time.”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “I thought you’d keep your distance for a time, brother Drego. And in this place, my name is Thorn.”
“You’ve always been dangerous… Thorn. I could see that the first time we met. But whatever you may think, I’ve never been your enemy. I know that you’ll see that in time. And I want to be close at hand when you do. I truly hate to take you out of bed, but the others are waiting.”
Thorn slid off the bunk, pulling her cloak from the floor. She ran a hand along its various hidden pockets, wondering if Drego had searched through its contents while she slept. It seemed unlikely. Drego’s strength lay in his magic, and while he might be able to weave a spell of invisibility, he had little talent for practical stealth. “Lead the way then. I think I’ll follow this time.”
There was a great deal of activity in the fortress. The canteen had been stripped, and Tarkanans were packing crates and dragging goods away. It seemed evacuation was the order of the day.
“I know I was a little brusque earlier,” Thorn said as they wove a path between the Tarkanan laborers. “I never expected to see you again, and that ‘plot to release a plague of werewolves’ kind of stayed with me. Can we start over?”
“I should like nothing better, sister Thorn.” He even sounded like he meant it.
“Good.” Thorn drew Steel, hiding the blade against her wrist. “So tell me, how have the last few months changed Drego Sarhain?”
Drego launched into the tale of how his comrades had rescued him from Droaam, and of heroic battles with dark forces in the months between. There was nothing of substance to the story, just as Thorn had expected. It was Steel’s report that she wanted to hear.
I’m afraid nothing has changed, he whispered. I sense no active enchantments or sources of magical energy.
She’d feared as much. It was the same as her first meeting with Drego. It was highly unlikely that he was operating without any sort of magical tools, which meant that he had a way of blocking divination. Thorn examined him, looking for clues. The belt was new, as was the darkwood wand hanging from a sheath-surely a tool for focusing his sorcerous powers. He wore a locket that she remembered from their last encounter. To her chagrin, she found her thoughts drifting as she studied him. He was a handsome man, quite athletic for someone who relied on magic to solve his problems. And while she knew his banter was just that, there was definitely electricity between them. It was unfortunate that she’d never truly be able to trust him.
His story was suspicious but not impossible. Under Galifar, the champions of the Silver Flame battled supernatural threats across the continent. And there were always tales of corruption within the church, especially in Breland.
Thorn tapped the hilt and quietly sheathed the dagger. They were passing through the Chamber of Bones, Drego lighting the way with a floating ball of argent flame, and it was time to prepare for her next meeting with the Son of Khyber.
Xu’sasar, Daine, and Brom were waiting for them. It seemed that the unorthodox surgery had worked. Brom was hearty as ever, and he’d even taken the time to hammer out the dents in his war gauntlet. Xu’sasar had polished her chitin armor, and the opalescent plates gleamed in the light of the cold fire. Her silver-white hair was a shroud of moonlight drifting around her slender frame. The vicious bone wheel in her hand was a reminder of her deadly talents.
If Daine had made any special preparations for the battle ahead, Thorn couldn’t see them. His boots were still crusted with the muck of the sewers, and there were bloodstains on his armor. The change was in his demeanor. The tension she’d felt earlier had vanished, and he smiled as he saw her.
“Well met, brother and sister,” he said. “I hope you are ready for the challenge that lies ahead.”
Thorn waved a hand. “Any day that goes by without battling an ancient force of evil is a day wasted, that’s what I always say.”
Now Daine’s smile was strained. “There is truth to what you say, but do not think to laugh at what we face. Drego, what we know of our quarry comes through you. Xu’sasar and Thorn know little of the danger. Please, explain.”
All eyes turned to Drego.
“Very well,” he said. “The first thing to understand is that there are worlds beyond the one we know, higher planes of existence and dark realms that lie just beyond the shadows. Potent spirits inhabit these planes, spawned by the sheer magical energies of these realms. There are many such spirits, from the devils of Shavarath to the treacherous rakshasa spawned by Khyber itself in the first age of our world. Angels are born of the highest realms within the Astral Sea. They are not gods, but many claim to serve the gods. And even the least among them wields fearsome power. Every angel embodies a particular concept. An angel of war may be straightforward enough, armed with a blade of fire and deadly skill. But the greater angels hold dominion over less tangible forces-joy, honor, even love. Some sages say that the angels watch over those mortals who embrace their values. Others believe that the angels are a reflection of the influence those values have in the world, and that if honor leaves the world, its angels will fade.”