Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [18]
“Not so fortunate for me,” Thorn said. She couldn’t tell—was he questioning her story? She ran her fingers over her mark. “I’m the one who’s going to be spat on when people see my face.”
Dreck spoke before Fileon could respond. “Release this anger, both of you. Yes, beloved, our blessing is a burden. And you, Shaper of the Young, do not fear what destiny has given us. For what are dragonmarks but the symbols of the great Prophecy itself? It is fate that marked the Lantern and brought our paths together.”
“So I’ve been told,” Fileon said. He looked back at Thorn. “Perhaps the hand of Khyber truly is at work. If so, you should have no trouble with the task that lies ahead.”
She nodded. “You said that today I’d face our true foes. What did you mean by that?”
Fileon drew a leather cylinder from his robes and passed it over the table. It held two sheets of parchment. The first was a sketch of a brooch, an engraved circle crossed with a pin in the shape of a silver sword. The second was the image of a man—a weathered soldier with close-cropped hair and a grim stare, with the tell-tale lines of a dragonmark visible on his neck.
“This should be no challenge for one of your skills,” Fileon said. “Not so different from work you have done in the past. The brooch you see there is an heirloom of House Deneith. It is currently in the possession of Sorghan d’Deneith, of the Sentinel Marshals.”
“You want me to rob a Sentinel?” It was no easy challenge. House Deneith bore the Mark of Sentinel, and their magical gifts sharpened their senses and strengthened their defenses. The house brokered mercenary services across Khorvaire, selling the skills of soldiers and bodyguards. The Sentinel Marshals were the most elite agents of the house, empowered to pursue criminals and fugitives from one end of Khorvaire to the other. Still, she’d expected something more than this.
“Not at all,” Fileon said. “I expect you to kill him then take the brooch from his corpse.”
And there it was. The true test. It was one thing for Thorn to steal something from a house enclave; property could be replaced. But killing a lord of the house, one of its elite forces … if Thorn was an agent of the Twelve, she’d have to refuse.
If she was an agent of the Twelve.
Her first response was simple enough. “I told you before. I won’t kill for gold.”
“This is no contract killing. We have many enemies, and this man is one of them. He hunts our kind for sport, using his authority to cover up his crimes. When the Sentinel Marshal tells the city watch that his aberrant victim was a wanted murderer, who do you think they believe?”
“And were his victims murderers?”
Fileon shrugged. “Not all. I can assure you, if he learned of your existence, he would take great pleasure in hunting you down. Should the Citadel choose to pursue you, Sorghan might well be the tool they use.”
Thorn hesitated. She knew what the Citadel would expect of her: agree to do the job, then find some way to save the innocent man without breaking her cover. But in that moment, she felt a pang of doubt. Fileon’s story of betrayal came back to her. And in truth, she’d seen fear and hatred in the eyes of strangers this past week, even in the miserable depths of Sharn. She thought of little Zae being hunted by Deneith troops.
She pushed the image away. She had a job to do, and with that in mind, her course was clear. She picked up the parchment. “Very well.”
Dreck was watching her with his mismatched eyes. He spoke. “Pray pardon my impertinent words, beloved, but I would know your mind. When you were still in service to your king, would you hesitate to kill an assassin preying on the Brelish people?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” she said. “Because I chose