Son of Khyber

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Undercity Lharvion 20, 999 YK

Many of the Tarkanans remained in the common room after the speech, drinking and discussing the challenges the morrow would bring. Others had retired to the barracks, choosing to rest for the exertions that lay ahead. Thorn wandered the halls until she found a quiet corner. Drawing Steel, she crouched on the balls of her feet, her back set against the wall. There was a chance someone might come this way, but she wasn’t worried. When she thought back to Zae and her rats, it seemed unlikely that anyone would question a new girl muttering to her dagger.

“So why does he have to die?”

Don’t start this again. Tomorrow they plan to destroy a Cannith forgehold. Aside from the lives that would be lost in such an action, House Cannith is a strategic partner of our nation.

“And Karrnath, and Thrane, and Aundair…”

All the more reason to prevent this attack. The goods produced locally are those most likely to reach Brelish markets. Suppose that Karrnath launches an attack against us. Even if we haven’t alienated the house, if their production facilities within Breland have been destroyed, Karrnath will likely receive the greater share of their goods.

“So Daine was right,” Thorn said.

About what?

“‘The kings of this land are so afraid of each other that they dare not challenge the true threat.’”

Since when did House Cannith become a threat?

“The moment it started producing human warforged.”

I’m still unconvinced that what you saw was what it appeared to be. And you are not one of these people. They are murderers.

“And I’m not? Barely a day has passed since I killed a Deneith Sentinel. By touching him, let me remind you. He said I deserved to die for my tainted flesh, and he almost killed me. So he wasn’t my enemy?”

He was fooled by Fileon and the false mark you wear on your face-

“And would have killed me because of it.”

He was fooled by your mark. He was indeed your enemy. And perhaps Merrix is as well. But House Deneith is not. House Cannith is not. You are an agent of Breland, Lantern Thorn. The parameters of this mission have always been clear. Learn what House Tarkanan is planning. Identify their new leader. And if necessary, eliminate him. It has become necessary. It’s not simply a question of stopping tomorrow’s attack. For years House Tarkanan has been content to play a minor role in the criminal underworld. This Son of Khyber has turned them into soldiers. If he is removed, the will to fight may die with him. Will you fulfill your duty?

Thorn sighed. As much as she hated it, he was right. This was her mission. “Yes.”

Your evaluation?

“I’ll have to act alone. I’m sure I could get away from here. But they’ve got a strong defensive position at the main gate, and there’s an evacuation plan in place. As you say, the primary goal has to be to kill Daine, and a frontal assault would surely give him time to escape.”

Agreed. And truth be told, I don’t entirely trust the commanding officer of the Sharn Dark Lanterns. You have a plan?

“I believe I do,” Thorn said. “But before I get started… what about what he said? Returning from the dead? Is it possible?”

It seems unlikely. There are a few cults that claim that the Keeper saves the souls of heroes from Dolurrh so they may be returned when they are needed. But there’s no documented evidence of it ever happening. Although…

“Yes?”

There was a Daine who fought for Deneith in the War of the Mark, a master swordsman and commander of troops. But the accounts of the battles say that he was killed by Halas Tarkanan.

Thorn frowned. “Whose records?”

Almost all accounts of the War of the Mark were recorded by scribes of House Sivis.

“Who surely wouldn’t have any interest in skewing the story to avoid any mention of an officer developing an aberrant dragonmark and shifting sides.”

There was a pause as Steel considered this. I see your point. Nonetheless, I suspect it’s just a story he’s using to influence his troops.

“Good. Because if he has been pulled back to this world after being dead for fifteen hundred years and charged to change the course of history…”

Yes?

“I’d imagine history won’t be so pleased when I spoil its plans.”

Perhaps he has been chosen to change the course of history, and you’ve been chosen to change it back.

Thorn shook her head. “I hate prophecies.” She stood and spun Steel in one hand. “Let’s see if we can cut the threads of fate.”

Two guards stood on duty when Thorn finally made her way to Daine’s chambers. She did her best to ignore them, fixing her eyes on the hallway ahead, and as she’d hoped, the two sentinels barely acknowledged her as she walked between them.

Well done, Steel whispered. The dagger was in her hand, but thanks to the glamer she’d woven, he appeared to be a bone throwing wheel. Thorn’s skin was pitch-black, while her blackened mithral vambraces now appeared to be made of opalescent chitin. The guards didn’t see a half-elf recruit. As far as they could tell, she was Xu’sasar, the one person always allowed in Daine’s personal quarters.

It was a calculated risk. Odds were good that the dark elf was already down below. But even if the guards had seen her pass earlier, Thorn was trusting that they wouldn’t question the drow. Given the talent for stealth Xu’sasar had displayed when dealing with Thorn, she hoped that the guards would just think that they’d somehow failed to notice when Xu had come up from below. Thorn focused on mimicking Xu’sasar’s graceful gait. Her spell might give her the appearance of the dark elf, but it was a challenge to match her unusual movements.

She was carrying the sack she’d been given up on the surface-the bag she’d used to transport Fileon’s corpse and the Cannith child down to Khyber’s Gate. The plan was simple enough. Kill Daine, Xu’sasar, and anyone else she found below, then take the body of the dark elf with her. Once clear, drop the disguise and dispose of the body, leaving the “escaped” dark elf to take the blame for the murder.

No torches lit the hall below, and Thorn’s vision shifted into the gray tones of darkvision. She moved as quietly as she could, sliding slowly along the edge of the wall. What surprised her was just how far the passage went. She’d assumed that the commander’s quarters would lie directly below the rest of the fortress. Instead, the tunnel led away from the halls above. Veins of smooth basalt ran through the rougher stone. The passage had been carved through the rock itself. But for what end? Why push away from the rest of the base?

The answer soon became clear. The narrow tunnel opened into a massive chamber. A basalt altar stood in the center of the room, a long dark table carved from the floor itself. Narrow niches covered the walls, and Thorn could see a stub of bone protruding from the nearest of these.

A crypt, Steel mused.

“More like an ossuary,” Thorn whispered, thinking back to a previous mission. It seemed a likely assessment. Glancing in one of the nearby alcoves, Thorn saw a dozen goblin skulls grinning up at her. And there were tools scattered about the altar-rusted knives and remnants of shattered pottery, likely tools and salves used by embalmers.

Then she saw the net.

Four pillars of dark stone surrounded an altar. But these columns weren’t ceiling supports, as Thorn had first thought. Instead, a wide net was stretched out between the pillars, the rope in remarkably good condition considering its apparent age. Bones were trapped within the mesh. More than just bones: Thorn could see pieces of rusted armor and decaying cloth. The remnants of a hundred bodies or more, suspended a good twenty feet from the floor.

There are open shafts in the ceiling, Steel observed. This must have been a central repository for bodies. A corpse would be dropped into a pit somewhere above, and routed here, falling into the net until the embalmers could tend to it. From the looks of things, they had a little more work than they could handle.

“I hate it when work piles up,” Thorn said. She examined the room closely, watching and listening for any signs of motion, but there was nothing. Bits of bone were scattered across the floor, pieces that had slipped through the net above. Eerie as it was, the room seemed to be empty. Thorn could see the mouth of a tunnel on the opposite side of the chamber, and so she carefully began to make her way across.

She was almost at the altar when Xu’sasar struck. The drow woman had been pressed against one of the pillars, and now she stepped out behind Thorn. Her bone wheel spun through the air, curved points glistening with venom. Fortunately, Thorn had been expecting an attack. There was no time for conscious action, but the instant she heard the whir of the wheel, Thorn rolled down and to the side, twisting to face her opponent. The throwing wheel smashed into a pillar behind her, and Thorn heard the rattle as shards of stone fell to the floor. The wheel spun back through the air before she could move, returning to Xu’sasar’s hand with supernatural swiftness.

“I do not fear death,” Xu’sasar said as she drew back for another throw. “And I am not afraid to slay my reflection.”

Thorn rolled behind the altar before the blow could land. As before, there was a shower of shards as the bone wheel struck the stone pillar. The force of the throw was amazing, as was the fact that the bone was unaffected by the impact. Thorn couldn’t risk being hit. But she did have one advantage. She could see in the darkness, but she’d also been able to fight a medusa with her eyes closed, guided solely by sound and scent. Xu’sasar had managed to take Thorn by surprise, but now Thorn was able to pinpoint the dark elf’s position, even as she crouched behind the altar. She heard the whisper of the bone blade as it returned to Xu’sasar’s hand, heard the soft sounds of the dark elf creeping closer to Thorn.

Xu’sasar leaped over the altar in one swift motion, a jump surely empowered by magic. Her bone weapon had shifted both shape and mass, and now it was a long blade on a short haft, wielded in both hands.

But Thorn was ready. When the drow was at the apex of her leap, Thorn rose and hurled the bag of holding at her. Thorn couldn’t catch the dark elf in the sack, but the heavy leather folds caught Xu’sasar full in the face, and she landed off balance. She was still swift enough to raise an armored wrist to block Thorn’s attack, but Thorn wasn’t striking with Steel. She wrapped her fingers around Xu’sasar’s forearm and activated the false dragonmark.

The tattoo burned around her eye, and Thorn felt the fire flowing through her veins. Xu’sasar stiffened, but she didn’t cry out and she didn’t fall.

Xu’sasar clenched her teeth, and a hammer slammed into Thorn’s chest-a powerful kick that sent her reeling backward. Thorn barely managed to stay on her feet. Luckily, the pain had slowed Xu’sasar. The tip of the bone glaive burned as it scraped against Thorn’s shoulder, and Thorn prayed that there wasn’t enough poison in the wound to bring her down.

Now the advantage was with Xu’sasar. The length of her long blade moved with deadly speed and kept her out of Thorn’s reach. It took every trace of Thorn’s skills to hold her foe at bay, and she had to give ground with each exchange. Xu’sasar was pressing her back to one of the stone columns. And then Thorn had her plan.

Reaching with her free hand, Thorn summoned the myrnaxe she had bound within the glove. Let your instincts be your guide, Fileon had told her. Thorn drew on his lessons. She didn’t try to summon the mysterious energy that lay within her, the burst of power that had saved her in the past. She just focused on the throw, on putting all of her strength into the blow. And the power came, responding to her need.

She threw the axe one-handed, but she barely felt its weight. It was a clumsy blow, and Xu’sasar was able avoid the deadly blade. But the drow was still disoriented from pain, and the sheer force of this blow sent her sprawling backward. Another step brought Thorn to the pillar, and a slash with Steel severed the rope supporting the over-laden net. The cord was thick and unnaturally tough, perhaps strengthened by alchemical means, but it still gave way to Steel. Before Xu’sasar could rise, an avalanche of bone and rusty metal was upon her-brittle corpses of goblin soldiers flowing down in a ghastly torrent. Darting back, Thorn escaped the bones, but Xu’sasar was buried beneath it. Skulls rolled across the floor, and the crumbling breastplate of a fallen bugbear scraped against the stone.

Thorn tightened her grip on Steel and studied the heap of bones. She’d managed to pin Xu’sasar, but it was unlikely that the dark elf was seriously injured. Thorn needed to finish her quickly, before she could work her way free from the bones. She studied the scattered bones, searching for any signs of movement, listening for the sound of labored breathing. But the motion she heard came from behind her, as someone entered the room.

It was Daine. His sword was in his hand, and the blade glowed with pale, silver light that illuminated the room. His dragonmark twisted around his arm, rippling like flame.

Thorn froze. She was still disguised as Xu’sasar, and the true dark elf was completely hidden beneath the bones. Steel was in her hand. She could finish this here. If Daine lowered his guard, one well-placed throw was all it would take to cripple him. She waited, watching, searching for the opening she needed.

“Thorn,” Daine said. She felt a chill in the crystal shard as she met his gaze. “I thought I might see you tonight. Come. You and I have much to discuss.”