Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [15]
Fileon wasn’t impressed. “Don’t be so proud of yourself, Sister Thorn. Do you suppose we have barrels of nightwater in the wine cellar? Every drop of that fluid is precious. More precious than your blood.”
Thorn said nothing. Didn’t even shrug. She’d quickly learned that the best way to deal with these jibes was to show no interest at all. For the last three days, she had endured a battery of challenges, a grueling gauntlet designed to test her ability to operate both on the battlefield and in the shadows. And whatever Fileon might say about it, Thorn was confident she’d exceeded expectations. She drew Steel and idly spun the dagger in her hand.
“What’s next?” she asked.
Fileon smiled. An increasingly rare occurrence. He walked up to the door that Thorn had unlocked and opened it. Three beasts waited on the other side—rats the size of wolfhounds, savage creatures from the deep sewers of Sharn. They snarled as they caught sight of Thorn.
“Combat,” said Fileon.
The rats charged into the room.
Thorn had faced many trials over the past few days. The only ones she’d actually enjoyed were these combat sessions with Fileon and his daughter. Zae might just be as mad as five rats. Certainly, she spent more time talking to the creatures than she did to anyone else. And the rats listened to her, answered her calls, which was why she was here in the training room with her father. She’d summoned the massive sewer rats who were hounding Thorn and seeking to tear the flesh from her bones.
We’ve fought wyverns in Woodhelm and basilisks in Droaam, Steel whispered as Thorn vaulted over one of the beasts. I was made for greater things than killing sewer rats.
Thorn could hardly respond, with Fileon and Dreck watching her every move. She was bleeding from multiple bites, and she hoped the creatures weren’t carrying any sort of disease. The lead beast was harrying her, searching for an opening to tear out a tendon. As it leaped at her, Thorn dropped into a three-point stance and slammed her mithral bracer into the rat’s mouth, shattering teeth and sending the animal skidding across the floor.
“You are a vessel for pain,” Fileon called out to her. “Don’t think. Feel. Feel the pain and anger of your enemies, and step out of their path.”
The halfling had some fascinating ideas about what Thorn should be able to achieve with her aberrant dragonmark. In these sessions he seemed to forget his anger, seeking only to help her to understand her gift. Unfortunately for Thorn, it was a gift she didn’t possess. Thorn wasn’t a vessel for pain. There was no deeper well of power for her to tap into. But she had talents of her own, gifts which might serve the same purpose. Her eyes could pierce the darkness, and in Droaam she’d learned that all of her senses had been equally enhanced. If she relaxed and let her instincts guide her, she could feel the motion around her. Even though she couldn’t see them, she could sense the rats darting around her, preparing to attack from all sides. As the beasts charged, Thorn leaped and twisted to the side, landing behind the rats.
“Yes!” Fileon said. “Now fight. And let the last one fall by your mark.”
Steel’s observation about the rats had been apt, and normally Thorn would have taken no pleasure in killing dumb animals. But these beasts had her blood on their teeth, and after spending so much time dodging them, Thorn was hungry for vengeance. Claws left gouges on wood as the rats charged her once more. A sweeping kick scattered her enemies, and the rest was Steel and blood. Thorn was swift and precise, knocking her enemies aside with her armored forearm and following with a deadly thrust.
Her final foe was the rat with the broken teeth. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he moved sluggishly; his dedication to the fight was impressive. But the outcome was never in question. Thorn caught the rat with an open-handed slap, and as their flesh met, she unleashed the power of her false mark. The tattoo burned