Son of Khyber: Thorn of Breland (22 page)

“How would I know you?” she asked.

“It’s nothing. You just remind me of someone I knew a long time ago.” He shook his head. “Foolish, I know. You weren’t even born when I died for the first time.”

Thorn raised an eyebrow. “So you’re serious about that? You’re telling me that you actually fought in the

War of the Mark?”

They’d reached Daine’s quarters, and he turned to face her. “I know it’s an unbelievable story. Yet it’s true. There is work to be done in this age that only I can do. And so my soul was caught between life and death, until enough time had passed and a proper vessel could be prepared.”

“Vessel? So this—”

“This is not the body I was born in,” Daine said. He sat down on the hard stone bed and ran his fingers along the bare skin of his left arm. The sense of sorrow was stronger than before.

“What happened?”

“Back before I died, back when my mark first burned its way across my body, I was thrown into another world, a place of magic and wonders. I battled strange beasts and overcame treacherous spirits and finally made my way to the palace of the Queen of Dusk herself.”

Aureon’s Word, she thought. Aberrant marks had always been said to cause madness, and he possessed an exceptionally large mark.

Daine shook his head ruefully, and for a moment Thorn thought that he’d heard her thoughts. “I know what you’re thinking. Soldier from the past, marked by destiny, champion of the feywild … how can it be anything
but
madness? And yet, this is the nature of our world, Thorn. Great powers are all around us. The balance of the thirteen planes and the gateways waiting to open. The Sovereigns watching from on high, if they truly exist. Dragons and demons fighting wars measured in millennia. Just look at your own life.”

“What about it?” Thorn said. “I serve Breland.”

He smiled, his dragonmarked eye gleaming. “So there are no mysteries in your life, then?”

Well … except for strange bursts of strength, sucking out a man’s life, and the fact that I can see in the dark—and that someone in the Citadel might know more about it than they’ve revealed? No. But Thorn kept her thoughts to herself, speaking calmly. “We were talking about you.”

“So we were. I’d been drawn into another plane of existence. The Queen promised to show me the way home, in exchange for certain … services. And she told me that whatever happened in my war, I would not die until my work was done. I thought I spent years in that place, but when I returned home, only days had passed. The war was at its height. I worked with my cousin. I met many brave souls. And I saw all too many of them die.”

Thorn nodded. The story still sounded outlandish, but it was clear that he believed it. He was lost in thought, reliving the events of the past.

“I was here, in the old city of Sharaat, when my cousin broke the earth and brought the towers crashing down. My body was crushed within the rubble.
And yet I did not die. Instead I found myself bound within the dreams of dragons, trapped within their fears and desires. It was all I could do to hold on to my sanity and sense of self. Time had no meaning. And then this man”—he tapped his chest—“this man came before the dragons. ‘The way is prepared,’ they told me. ‘Take this gift, and walk the world once more.’ There was a battle, and then I awoke. You can’t imagine what that was like, returning to reality after centuries of alien dreams. But my freedom came with a price. The soul born in this body was left behind. My freedom damned him to my prison.”

He’d killed the Cannith child without hesitation, but Thorn could hear remorse in his voice now. She sat down beside him. “Do you know who he was?”

He laughed ruefully. “A man named Daine, of all things. A scion of House Deneith, carrying my sword and bearing an aberrant mark.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.”

“No coincidence at all. Every piece of it arranged. I’ve studied the principles of the thing, these last few years. It’s all about creating sympathies between the things you wish to join. The forces that want me here today went to a great deal of trouble to arrange this. Just look to Xu’sasar.”

Thorn was wondering where the dark elf fit into this puzzle. “What do you mean?”

“My predecessor found her in Xen’drik. While crossing through the planes, she met a being she considers to be the Traveler—the spirit who gave her that weapon. He told her what would happen, and told her that she would have to protect me after the change. My predecessor’s other companions weren’t too pleased when they realized what had occurred. Without Xu, I would never have made it to Sharn. No coincidence
there. She was told what would happen and what she had to do.”

How could any of this be true? It certainly seemed like madness. And yet Daine’s voice was calm and steady, still ringing with that sense of regret.

“You don’t seem too pleased about it,” she said.

He looked at her, and she felt the chill at the base of her spine. “I am here because I must be, not through any choice of my own. I have stolen the body of a man who might have been a hero. I have devoured the souls of children, and I fear my own dreams. No, I am not pleased.” He looked away, but the icy touch remained. “Can you imagine what it’s like to be a ghost in another man’s body? Am I even alive at all? Or a few memories saved to serve this purpose?”

“So why play along?”

Daine stood, and now regret turned to anger. “What else am I to do? Everyone I knew and cared for has been dead for centuries. Those who destroyed them are now lords of the land. I am being used. I know that. I am a weapon in the hands of a higher power. But their desires and my vengeance follow the same path, and I will have that vengeance.”

His mark was rippling now, tugging against his skin. Thorn let her hand drift down to Steel’s hilt.

Madness
, the dagger whispered.
Assume that mark of his does what he says, that he’s actually taken the mind of the child into his own. How could such a power cause anything but madness? He’s concocted this wild tale to justify his actions, nothing more. He’s served his purpose. Destroying the creation forge was likely a good thing. But you should be done with him now
.

It seemed all too likely. She tightened her grip on the hilt. She could draw and strike. Daine had turned away
from her, and she could cripple him in any number of ways. And yet …

“So what now? You said we need to conclude operations in Sharn. What operations? And why are you telling me?”

“Well you should ask. I’m telling you because I need you. Because you have more tactical experience than anyone else in my brood, even Fileon. And because you aren’t one of us. I can’t ask you to do this because of your mark. I want you to do it because it is the right thing for your nation. I want you to realize that the houses are a threat, so that even after I am gone, someone will remember and be on guard.”

He’d regained his composure, and his charisma was undeniable. Thorn wanted to believe him. But she still felt that there was something he wasn’t telling her.
You don’t know me, then?
Why had he asked her that?

“So you need me,” she said. “For what? What happens next?”

“Next?” He closed his fingers across his palm, and crimson light flowed across his dragonmark. “Next, we kill an angel.”

Well, that’s logical
, Steel said.
That certainly takes madness off of the table
.

Angels were a thing of myth—mighty spirits of light and radiant energy said to inhabit the higher planes of existence. Sometimes they were said to serve the Sovereigns. In other tales they were guardians guided by destiny itself.

“We’re going to kill an angel,” Thorn repeated. “To fight the dragonmarked houses.”

Daine nodded. He reached into the bag of holding and produced a curious object—a cage made from
bars of many metals, with gems and dragonshards embedded at the sockets. It was small and fragile. Thorn thought that Daine might break it if he were to simply close his hand on it.

“Another of Merrix’s creations that he chose not to share with Breland,” Daine said. “This is an extremely potent weapon. It could shut down every enclave that the twelve has in Sharn—provided it has access to sufficient power. And that’s where the angel comes in. Do you know why Sharn’s towers are so tall? Why no other city has ever matched its height?”

She had an idea. “The towers couldn’t stand on their own, but the flying buttresses support and stabilize them.”

“Yes, but there’s a reason the buttresses aren’t used elsewhere. Sharn stands on a manifest zone—a place where the borders between planes are weak. It draws energy from the crystal sea of Syrania, home to hosts of angels. I cannot claim to an understanding of the ways of angels, but I know this. When an angel rises up and seeks to claim the mantle of a god, it is cast down to earth and bound so it can never rise again. And Sharn is where the spirits above dispose of their refuse.”

“So there’s a fallen angel in Sharn?”

“More than one,” Daine said. “They are beings of tremendous power and raw malevolence. Some have built cults in the darkness below the city. Others simply fester in their rage. But all of them are dangerous, driven by hatred and wounded pride. Personally, I wonder if the presence of these foul spirits is one of the factors that spreads moral decay throughout this city. Whether or not this is true, they are vile spirits best destroyed. Eliminating the fallen can only help your nation.”

Thorn’s hand was still resting on Steel.
Such spirits do exist
, he told her.
Three hundred years ago, there was a battle beneath Sharn, when a paladin of the Silver Flame led a band of warriors to hunt down one of these radiant idols in the tunnels beneath Sharn. The bold crusaders were all killed, and it took nearly a hundred soldiers, priests, and wizards to contain the spirit. It could not be killed. I believe it is bound in the dungeon of Dreadhold to this day
.

“What makes you think you can defeat this thing?” Thorn asked.

“It’s what I was born to do,” Daine said. “To bind what cannot be slain. You have skill I need, and I think you have untapped depths within you. Xu’sasar is fearless and deadly. And we will have the help of another—a specialist in such matters. Lucky for us that he developed an aberrant mark and joined our house.”

Thorn felt another chill as fire rippled through Daine’s mark. “And there he is,” Daine said, looking at the door. He raised his voice. “Welcome!”

A man walked into the room—handsome, dressed in clothes of black silk trimmed in silver, his dark hair well-groomed. His gray eyes locked onto Thorn’s. He smiled, and she felt a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the embedded shards.

“Sister Thorn,” Daine said. “Meet Drego Sarhain.”

The Undercity

D
rego Sarhain
. They’d met before, when Thorn was undercover at the Great Crag of Droaam. Drego was a sorcerer and spy in the service of the nation of Thrane. They’d worked together for a time, uncovering the identity of the demon who wanted to release a horde of werewolves and skinchangers against the people of the Five Nations. And that’s when Drego had betrayed her, claiming that despite the massive casualties, such a catastrophe would reunite the Five Nations—albeit, reuniting them under the banner of the Silver Flame. The medusa Queen of Stone, Sheshka, had turned Drego into a statue—and Sheshka’s curse was no easy thing to lift. Thorn wondered how Drego had escaped.

This changes everything
, Steel whispered.
What’s an agent of Thrane doing with the Tarkanans?

He was right. To this moment, there had only been two players on the board: Tarkanan and the Twelve. But what was Thrane’s interest? Thrane and Breland were still bitter rivals at the end of the Last War, and while Boranel and the young Keeper, Jaela, had sought
to normalize relations, many of the powerful cardinals had other ideas. Was Thrane trying to use Tarkanan against Breland? The Son of Khyber knew Thorn’s true allegiance, but he’d introduced her to Drego as a member of his house. Did Daine know who Drego really worked for? Despite the silver trim on his fine clothes, the Thrane had abandoned the arrowhead symbol of the Silver Flame he’d worn in Droaam. She needed answers, and quickly.

She had to give Drego credit. He didn’t show the slightest sign of recognition or surprise. He smiled and extended his hand, brushing his lips against her proffered fingers. “And how lucky we are to have such a lovely addition to our family,” he said. He held on to her hand as he continued to speak. “What gift does your mark possess?”

Drego knew Thorn was a Brelish agent and that mere months ago she hadn’t possessed an aberrant dragonmark. He was testing her—undoubtedly curious to see what the quartermasters of the Citadel had devised. She smiled and let a faint trickle of power flow from her false dragonmark. It was just a touch of pain for her—a razor running down the edge of her skin—but Drego grimaced and pulled his hand away.

“I’m sorry, Brother Drego,” she said coyly. “It’s easier to show than tell. What of you? I can’t even see your mark.”