Son of Khyber

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ashblack Lharvion 21, 999 YK

Thorn studied the two closest warforged, gathering as much information as she could in the seconds before they could act. The first was the same type as the juggernauts they’d encountered in the testing hall, a heavily armored warrior with blades and spikes bristling from its four limbs. But it was the second one that worried Thorn. This unusual warforged was lean and quick, and Thorn found that its slender build and graceful movements caused her to think of it as female. Dark enamel armor covered the warforged. The blade of a short sword extended from each of her arms, and the metal had the dark sheen of adamantine. And there were three more just like her, closing in.

“Pull together!” Thorn cried. “On me!”

Too late. To this point, the Tarkanans had done well when it came to following her lead. But none of them had known her for more than a day, and faced with this unexpected threat, each of her comrades acted alone. Brom crashed into a juggernaut, bringing the construct to the ground. Palmer lashed out with tendrils of energy, as though her dragonmark were stretching off of her ruined hands to entangle her enemies. And Koyna turned on Merrix himself, the purple and black strands of her dragonmark gleaming as she sought to unlock the fears hidden in the mind of the dragonmarked lord.

They’d done well in their initial assault and in the training hall. But now they were outnumbered, acting on impulse, and they’d lost the element of surprise.

Brom pounded at the juggernaut, leaving dents in its armored shell. But focused as he was, he didn’t see the lean warforged as it slipped up behind him and plunged both adamantine blades into his lungs.

Palmer was holding two warforged at bay with her lashing tendrils, but countering their attacks was as much as she could manage.

Koyna fell to the spiked fist of the juggernaut. If her psychic blow had any effect on Merrix d’Cannith, it didn’t show. He stood by the central pillar, smiling as the blood began to flow.

One of the slender warforged left Brom and slashed at Thorn with her adamantine blades, and Thorn dropped beneath the blow. He’s made his own Dark Lanterns, she thought. Nothing good can come of that.

The warforged was swift, and her adamantine blades could slice through Steel if Thorn was careless. She had to time every parry perfectly. But less than twelve hours had passed since Thorn had fought Xu’sasar, and as quick as this warforged was, she was no match for the drow. Thorn began to see the rhythm of her enemy’s attacks. Warforged could learn and improve, but this one had just emerged from her cradle. It was impressive to see such skill in what amounted to a newborn, but Thorn quickly saw the patterns. The next time the warforged made a thrust, Thorn stepped in close, pinning the construct’s arm. Before the warforged could get the leverage for a thrust with her second blade, Thorn drove Steel into its throat. This time, the sudden surge of strength came without any conscious thought; it was just a natural part of the blow. Backed by her inhuman strength, the thrust tore through the construct’s neck. There were many differences between warforged and human, but the ability to survive decapitation wasn’t one of them. The warforged stiffened as it fell to the ground.

I’ve got to get to Merrix, she thought. But it was too late.

Palmer was only a few feet away, covering Thorn’s back. The others had fallen. Koyna lay in a pool of blood, and Brom was a ghastly sight. And there were still four warforged left-one juggernaut, and three of the assassins. The constructs circled them, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Why don’t you drop your weapon?” Merrix asked. “We both know I can’t let you live, but there are certainly more pleasant ways to end this.”

Thorn looked up at him, but his eyes only lingered on her false dragonmark. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Perhaps I won’t live out the night. I know this. But if your tin soldiers take one step toward us, I’ll bury this blade in your throat.” She nodded at the warforged corpse lying at your feet. “I promise you I have the skill.”

She was bluffing. She could try, certainly, but Merrix was far away, and as a Cannith lord, odds were good that he had mystical protection. She needed him closer. Steel could analyze magical energies, but not from this distance.

“And I promise you that I have defenses you know nothing about.” Merrix smiled, but Thorn could see the tension in his eyes. He was a gambler, and a good one. But so was she. And she had another card left to play.

“Do you love your son, Lord Merrix?” The blood faded from his face.

“What do you know about my son?” he said. He took a step forward without thinking, knuckles white against the shaft of the gorgon’s scepter.

“Call off your dogs and let us finish our work, and you just might see him again.” In Dolurrh, she added silently.

“You lie,” he said. “Tharashk has sworn he’s nowhere in this city.” He took another step forward.

His robe is enchanted to absorb elemental energies, Steel said. There is a field emanating from the scepter that provides some defense against physical attacks, but it’s far from impenetrable. He’s also carrying a shard charged with a short-range teleportation effect-likely only good for one use, but enough to get him away from here.

She’d only have one chance. She needed that unnatural strength, but she still wasn’t completely certain how to control it. In the last two battles, it had come to her in a moment of tension and fury, not unlike a surge of adrenaline. Now she was calm and calculating-but she still didn’t know what to do.

And she still needed him closer to be sure of the shot.

“I took him from Ilena’s tower,” Thorn said. “I’m the one who silenced his cries. And I’m the only one who can bring him back to you. Kill me, and you’ll never see him again.”

Merrix’s eyes widened. Arcane energy crackled around his scepter. “You will not die tonight,” he said, taking another step forward. “You will not die for a long, long time. You will tell me everything that I wish to know, and if you have harmed my child-”

“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.”