Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [14]
“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.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Dragon Towers
Lharvion 19, 999 YK
Thorn tossed a pinch of powdered silver into the air and whispered three words in the language of dragons. The metal vaporized. Glittering smoke drifted across the hallway, and Thorn watched it drift. There. She saw the pattern in the smoke, a ghostly web traced through the mist.
“Pathetic,” Fileon said.
Thorn ignored him, holding fast to her memories of the nebulous grid. She drew out a length of mithral wire and straightened it into a long probe.
“I watched my daughter run this path,” Fileon said. “Half your age and mad as five rats. She reached the door before the quarter mark on the hourglass.”
Thorn knew the halfling was sneering at her. Over the course of the last two days, his disapproval had fixed in Thorn’s mind. Part of it was the typical bluster of the drill sergeant. But the more time she spent around Fileon, the more certain she became that he had been ordered to train her. And for whatever reason, he chafed at the command. Dreck stood silently beside the halfling, his metal face unreadable. His eyes were two different colors—one formed from red crystal, the other as green as the mark on his face.
She pushed Fileon’s criticisms from her mind, focusing on her task. Keeping the image of the ward in her mind, she slowly pushed the wire forward. If she brushed a single strand of the invisible web, she would unleash the power trapped within the ward. It was a deadly game, but one she excelled at. A moment later, the probe penetrated the field. Though Thorn couldn’t see the patterns, she knew that she’d threaded the wire through a nexus of mystical strands.
Thorn reached down with her left hand and picked up a vial filled with water infused with the energies of Mabar. Pulling out the stopper with her teeth, she poured a few drops onto the wire. The glittering liquid flowed along the length of the probe, and the instant it reached the end, Thorn whispered another incantation. There was no change in the air, no visible sign of success, but she felt a faint pressure in her mind as she spoke. She twisted the verse, drawing out syllables in response to this ghostly presence … and then it was gone. All that remained