Son of Khyber

CHAPTER FOUR

Dragon Towers Lharvion 16, 999 YK

You’ll have to be more specific. Steel’s psionic voice was calm, betraying no hint of emotion. The first man you killed on this assignment? Since we became partners? In your life?

“Why was I chosen for this mission, Steel?”

House Cannith and the Twelve are concerned about the apparent growth of House Tarkanan in recent years. Specifically, they believe that a new leader within the house poses a threat to their operations. Cannith barons approached the Citadel, which agreed to investigate the matter both as a favor to House Cannith and as a matter of Brelish security… and to eliminate the threat if it exists.

“I know all that,” Thorn said, slightly annoyed. The dagger’s psychic voice had a condescending tone that often got on her nerves. “But why was I chosen for this assignment?”

The nature of the mission precluded the use of any local Sharn Lanterns. You were available. You’re proficient in the operation of Riedran tattoos, something required by this assignment.

“That’s all?”

Need there be more?

“I don’t know,” Thorn said. She ran a finger across her false mark. “Yesterday, Fileon asked me to tell him about the first time I killed someone with my aberrant dragonmark.”

And your answer appeared to satisfy him. Of course, the mark you’ve been given doesn’t actually kill. However, given the diversity seen in aberrant marks, this shouldn’t be a concern. The worst outcome I can imagine is that he will believe that you’re holding back.

“Am I?”

No. The tattoo allows you to cause debilitating pain but would only kill someone who is in a severely weakened condition.

“I’m not talking about the tattoo.” Thorn held the dagger before her, studying the unreflective black steel of the blade.

What then?

“Toli. Perhaps you remember him? Tall, King’s Shield, a little hairy in the end… and dead because I touched him.”

Your point, Lantern Thorn?

“Do I have an aberrant dragonmark?”

Don’t be ridiculous. Surely you remember when this mark was applied. And it does not kill.

“But I do, it seems.”

Toli died under mysterious circumstances. Perhaps it was a side effect of the curse that transformed and controlled him. Even if you were somehow responsible, you have no mark of your own-and if you have no mark, it logically follows that you have no dragonmark.

“And are you so certain that I don’t have a mark? What if it’s hidden beneath my hair? What if it’s invisible?” She touched the dragonshard embedded at the base of her neck. “What about this? Could there be power within it?”

No, Steel said. One of my primary functions is the analysis and identification of magical auras. If there were any power in those stones, I would know.

Thorn said nothing. Steel knew as well as she did that auras could be hidden. And beyond that… Steel was the closest thing she had to a partner. But ever since Droaam, she sometimes wondered whether she could trust him. She knew that his first loyalty was to the Citadel. He’d withheld information from her before, sharing the details of a mission when he deemed it necessary. And he’d told her that her enhanced senses came from her ring-something she knew to be a lie. Was it an honest mistake? Or was he keeping secrets from her?

If you slept poorly, you have my sympathies, Steel said. But I suggest you set your concerns aside and focus on the mission at hand. Your observations show that Tarkanan has relocated its primary base of operations. You must earn their trust and make your way into the inner circle-and determine the identity and plans of their new leader.

“The Son of Khyber,” Thorn murmured.

Yes. And at the moment we know little save that name. It falls to you to learn his true name and nature. And as such, I suggest you prepare for the coming dawn.

He was right. She surely had a hard day ahead of her. “Fileon said that the mark might cause madness,” she said. “Perhaps I can use that.”

It would explain your strange habit of talking to your dagger.

“Madness.” Thorn smiled as she returned Steel to his sheath, but her suspicions lingered.

Thorn met her second Tarkanan at breakfast, and he came as a surprise. Dreck was a warforged, one of the construct soldiers produced by House Cannith. But he was no warrior. His metal body was tall and lean, with long arms and an assortment of rings on his delicate fingers. But what caught her eye when she met him was the acid-green mark traced across the side of his face, gleaming brighter than the torchlight. It appeared to be an aberrant dragonmark-something that surprised her and Steel alike. The warforged were artificial beings, with alchemical fluid instead of blood, and Thorn had never heard of a warforged manifesting any sort of dragonmark. The warforged set a plate of sausages on the table.

“You seem troubled, Sister Thorn.” Fileon handed Thorn a warm biscuit.

Breakfast was a simple meal, but after her days on the street, anything warm and fresh was a blessing. Fileon’s eyes were cold and appraising. Hardly surprising. Her cover story was sound enough and explained her skills and equipment, but revealing her background as a Lantern was a calculated risk.

“I don’t know if I belong here. I want to learn to control this curse. But I’ve heard of House Tarkanan. You’re thieves and assassins. Killers for hire.”

“And there is no blood on your hands?” A hint of a smile played across Fileon’s withered lips. “The dwarf you killed yesterday-that was for Breland, was it?”

“I was defending myself.”

“As are we. You are a citizen of a new nation, and you wear our flag on your face. And make no mistake, we are at war. The dragonmarked houses have long fueled the fires of public fear. How have you been treated since your mark appeared? What do you see when people look you in the eye, when they see the lines across your face?”

Thorn met his gaze. “No one paid me to kill that man.”

“A thousand pardons, beloved.” Dreck said, his voice deep and musical. His choice of words was strange, yet somehow seemed natural from him. Thorn wondered if he’d been designed to be a bard, or simply a living instrument. “I wonder what path you have walked. In your prior service, did you take payment from the crown? What do you truly know of those whose blood you’ve spilled? Are you so certain that your deeds served the people of Breland, and not simply the whims of king and courtiers?”

“You know nothing about what I’ve done,” Thorn snarled, rising from her seat.

Fileon’s voice was cold. “You are correct, of course. We know nothing of your life. But tell me: Do you know the origins of our house, Sister Thorn? Not the War of the Mark. Not the Tarkanan name. Just the house of thieves and killers. Do you know how we began?”

Thorn shook her head.

“You are younger than I, but old enough to remember the last decade of the war. In the north, the floating fortress of Chydris fell at the battle of Cairn Hill. To the west, the Daughters of Sora Kell emerged from the darkness to proclaim their kingdom of monsters. To the east, the loyalty of the goblins was called into question. King Boranel and his ministers were desperate to find new sources of power-forces that could be rallied within the borders of Breland.”

Thorn sat down. The last time she had seen her father, he’d been posted to Sterngate, to guard against goblin treachery. “I remember.”

Fileon took a bite of sausage, chewing for a moment. “One of Breland’s greatest resources was the King’s Citadel. The Dark Lanterns provided invaluable intelligence throughout the war. And we both know that there are silent killers among the Lanterns-though surely, assassination has always been a practice of last resort.”

“Make your point.”

“In 989, the Citadel forged a new unit. A squad of elite assassins. There were others who’d received the same training, who had the same equipment, but these killers had an edge that had never been brought to bear.”

“Aberrant dragonmarks,” Thorn said.

“Yes. Before that, aberrants were treated much as they were anywhere else. Even those who wished to serve the nation were often driven into lives of crime or forced to hide their marks. And in truth, there were few aberrant marks of great power then-few who could kill with a touch. It was with my generation that the strength spoken in legends was seen again. The ministers of the Citadel sought to harness this force. And so we finally had the chance to work together, to unlock the full potential of our powers.”

“Why haven’t I heard about this?” Thorn’s hand slipped down to Steel’s hilt, but the dagger remained silent.

Fileon laughed, and the sound was cold and harsh. “We were an experiment, sister. We were effective, certainly. I assure you, the power that flows through my blood more than makes up for my weakness of limb. I have killed for Breland, as have you.”

Thorn tapped a finger against Steel’s pommel, but there was no voice in her mind. “So what happened?”

“We were discovered by agents of House Phiarlan, revealed to the Twelve. Oh, none of us know precisely what was said, but it’s not difficult to imagine. The barons raging before the king. Threatening to withdraw their support. The Sivis stones silent, no longer carrying word between armies. No more warforged, no siege staves from the Cannith forges. No Deneith troops. Against that, what were we? Useful tools. But not useful enough.”

“So you were disbanded.”

Fileon’s eyes narrowed. “We were betrayed. They sought to use us one last time. We were sent into Darguun. Sent to die. And most of us did. Those who survived found no support waiting, no egress from that hostile land. Lesser folk might have surrendered to the Keeper’s embrace. But Thora Tavin endured, and in her we all found strength. In time we made it to Sharn. By then we’d found proof of the betrayal, of the threats made and gold paid by the Twelve. We could not return to the Citadel. Yet the crown had done its duty to the houses. It abandoned us. There was no reason for them to waste precious resources pursuing us further. Tavin was determined that no others of our kind would be used as we had been used-or threatened by the houses. During the War of the Mark, Halas Tarkanan decided to stop the persecution of his people, and turned frightened fugitives into an army. Here, in this manor, we swore to follow in his footsteps, to become House Tarkanan, to gather our people and protect them from the Twelve.”

Fileon stood, his eyes shining, and he pulled back the sleeve covering his withered arm. Pulses of angry red light flowed across the ugly mark.

“We are killers,” he said, “and we are thieves. That is our destiny, scribed on our flesh by the Prophecy and made possible by the training of your king. But now we kill who we please, and we use that gold for the good of our own, to find the lost and help them control their gifts before they are taken by madness, prejudice… or the treachery of the Twelve.

“And now…” He stared into her eyes. “You stand on the same precipice I found myself upon seven years ago. You served your nation loyally. But because of your blood, they have turned on you. And if you stand on your own, you will find that you have many enemies. Your mark is visible, hard to hide. There will be many among the common folk swayed by centuries of propaganda. They will call you monster. And there are those among the houses of the Twelve who enjoy hunting our kind. I’ve heard some Tharashk hunters and Deneith marshals actually cut the skin from their victims and keep the tanned hide as trophies.”

“Why should I trust you?” Thorn said.

He laughed, cold and hard. “It is I who should ask that question of you, my sister. For I am the only one you can trust. The lies of the Twelve have turned the world against you. And in this moment, you cannot even control your own body. Your gentlest touch could kill those you love, and the pain of that will eventually drive you mad.”

Thorn said nothing.

“I’ll tell you true, Sister Thorn. I don’t trust you. Were it in my hands alone, I would send you to one of our safehouses far from Sharn, let you learn your lessons in safety and solitude. But I have my orders.” He glanced at Dreck and scowled. “There are those who have taken an interest in you, fallen Lantern. And so it is time for you to make a choice. Time for you to embrace your new family-or to turn your back on us and face the world alone.”

“I won’t kill for gold alone.”

Dreck spoke again. “You know nothing, beloved. In days past we have taken gold for our deeds, but that will be the least of your worries in the days that lie ahead. We are your people now. We are your nation. And we have many enemies. Yesterday you killed to defend yourself. Are you willing to do the same tomorrow? Will you fight to protect others like yourself?”

Thorn looked down at the table. She rubbed her fingers across her dragonmark, letting her left hand rest on Steel’s hilt. The dagger remained stubbornly silent.

“Yes,” she said at last.

“At least there is some wisdom within you,” Fileon said. “We shall see if you have the courage to back your words. Now come. Let us see what you can do.”