Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [33]
“So I was a test?”
“Your eyes see clearly, beloved. There is no place in this family for traitors. Not at this late hour. The shaper would not betray in plain sight, so we needed to see what he would do in the shadows. And I wanted to see how you dealt with him. And so I have. Now let us move swiftly. We have work to do, and the bells of the tower have not stopped.”
Thorn had nothing to say, and Dreck’s cold words were unnerving. But he was not actually accusing her, and she was comforted by the fact that Brom, at least, looked glum. Dreck was more ruthless than she’d thought, but it seemed that some of the Tarkanans still had feelings.
“Take the lead and be wary of wards,” Dreck told her. “I’m certain the chamber where our prize awaits will be guarded with both magic and steel. Brom and I will deal with the living, but it falls to you to silence the alarms.”
Thorn nodded. She reached for Steel, but at the last moment she hesitated, remembering their last debate. He might mean well, but she was getting tired of the dagger telling her what to do. Sorghan d’Deneith’s icy blade was bound within her left gauntlet, and a thought brought it to her hand. She thought, Let’s try a silent weapon for a time.
If there were any servants beyond the two Fileon had killed, they didn’t cross the path of the intruders. The halls were still and empty, save for sealed crates and furniture still wrapped from moving. Thorn had expected the treasure of the house to be held in a vault, but Dreck’s directions took them to the residential floor.
Brom fascinated Thorn. The weight of his oversized arm was clearly a burden he’d had to adapt to, and he used the arm as if it were a third leg. There were studs on the palm of his spiked gauntlet, which Thorn now realized helped him with traction, like nails in a boot. Beyond this, over time she’d noticed that the dwarf had a host of unusual scars—scars in a variety of colors, some even traced in patterns of scales and what seemed to be chitin. She finally caught a glimpse of his aberrant mark, rising along the back of his neck below his wild mane of hair. Black and bilious green, it looked much like a constrictor snake crawling up his back, and it pulsed along with his heartbeat.
There had been no challenges on the way up to the residential floor, but as she neared the top of the steps, Thorn heard a sound—the faint scrape of metal on metal, an armored figure shifting its weight. She raised her hand, and Brom and Dreck froze behind her. There were no voices, no breathing that she could hear … but there it was again, the harsh scrape of shifting steel.
Thorn crept to the top of the stairway. Her dagger might not talk, but she could use it as a mirror, sliding the blade around the corner and studying the reflection. What awaited them was not human nor even the warforged she’d been expecting. Instead she saw a pair of dogs sitting on either side of a doorway. They were the size and shape of wolfhounds, but these were no living creatures. Even with her limited view, Thorn saw light glinting off armored skin and long snouts filled with razors.
Iron defenders, she guessed. She’d seen the creatures at other Cannith facilities. Tireless homunculi, heavily armored and able to chew through platemail. While their senses weren’t as keen as hounds of flesh and blood, even a whisper would alert them to her presence. Slipping back to the others, she indicated the position of the defenders.
Dreck nodded. He gestured at her to stay where she was. Then he turned to Brom and pointed to the top of the stairs.
The patchwork dwarf moved with remarkable grace given his bizarre appearance, but he wasn’t made for stealth, and he knew it. A wide grin spread across his