Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [0]
survived her last mission in Droaam, thanks in part to
mysterious new talents she gained.
Thorn 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, Steel said. Of course, the mark you’ve been given doesn’t actually kill. The worst outcome I can imagine is that he will believe that you’re holding back.
But much as she’d prefer to chalk those skills up
to the unpredictability of the monster nation,
they’re still aiding her here in Sharn.
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?” She touched the dragonshard embedded at the base of her neck. “What about this? Could there be power within it?”
Could it be that Thorn, Dark Lantern of Breland,
bears an aberrant dragonmark?
THORN OF BRELAND
By Keith Baker
The Queen of Stone
Son of Khyber
The Fading Dream
Coming Fall 2010
To Christopher Osborn, for his friendship and understanding. And to everyone who has helped to make Eberron a reality.
CHAPTER ONE
Callestan
Lharvion 15, 999 YK
Rain mingled with blood on the floor of the alley, pooling around the corpse and the hatchet that lay next to his outstretched hand. Thorn pulled her blade free from the dwarf’s body and searched the walls around her for some avenue of escape. Nothing. The walls of the dead-end street were high, smooth, and slick with rain. The nearest window was far beyond her reach. And her enemies had already found her.
“Well. This is unfortunate.” The man paused in the mouth of the alley, considering the scene before him. His teeth flashed in the dim light of the cold fire torches. “Until now you were a simple cutpurse, dipping your fingers into our territory. A lesson was called for, certainly, but you would have survived it. Now … well, I can’t let you walk away from this.”
“He attacked me,” Thorn said. She held Steel in a loose grip, ready to throw the dagger. “I didn’t want this.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that.” The man was too well dressed for this district—his cloak enchanted to repel the rain, and beneath the cloak a shimmering glamerweave. He carried no weapons that Thorn could see. No one would come into Callestan without a weapon. From what Thorn had heard, the infants teethed on knives. That this man had no weapon meant that he had no need of one.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” the man said. “I’m told you took four purses in the market, and a locket from a lady’s neck. All that and no one the wiser. No one except my man, of course. I know you’re not from Sharn, but you don’t develop such skills without learning how things work in the big city. We’ve made the arrangements with the watch. You make your arrangements with us. Everyone gets a taste, and everyone’s happy.”
Not yet, Steel whispered in Thorn’s mind. Keep him talking.
“I’ll give you the coins,” Thorn said. “Just let me keep the necklace. I’ve got to get something for this.”
The man laughed. “My dear, what backwater are you from? You’ve killed one of my men. It’s not a question of you keeping that trinket you stole. It’s whether we start by breaking your neck or begin at your ankles and work our way up.”
“You keep saying we,” Thorn said. “I just see you. And him, of course.” She prodded the dwarf’s body with her toe.
“Yes, well,” the man said. “Allow me to clarify.”
He snapped his fingers, and an ogre moved into the alley. Half again as tall as the man, the brute was a wall of muscle clad in black leather. His tiny eyes gleamed down at his prey, and thick, gray lips drew back from yellow fangs.
“Steel?” Thorn said, taking a step back. The back wall was painfully close.
The ogre’s smile widened. “Grogan prefers to work with his hands,” the man said. “He enjoys playing with his food.”
Thorn had actually been speaking to the dagger. Not yet, he repeated.
“We’re running out of time,” she muttered.