Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [37]
“His death would serve no purpose,” Dreck said, and she felt a surge of relief. His next words were less comforting. “But you must steel yourself to do far worse, if it becomes necessary. The last time our kind clashed with the houses, they showed us no mercy. I know it is difficult, but our path leads to war, sister. You must prepare for dark times and dark deeds.”
“I understand,” Thorn said. And she did. The Twelve may have led Thorn to this place, but if their war posed a threat to Breland, that was her concern. She’d save the child if she could, but Breland had to come first.
The lift shuddered and came to a halt. “Come,” Dreck said, hopping off of the platform.
They’d come to the bottom of Central Plateau, but Dreck’s goal was deeper still. The warforged led Thorn through a maze of alleys between warehouses. Centuries of slogans, curses, and gang symbols festooned the walls. It seemed the street cleaners never took this path. At last they reached a spiral staircase that circled a deep well. The air rising from the shaft was hot and foul, filled with the scent of body odor and feces.
“Pull back your hood,” Dreck told her.
“We want to be recognized?”
“Those who lie ahead will not aid house or watch. But they must see you for what you are.” As he spoke, he pulled back his hood, displaying the lurid green tangle of lines across his steel cheek. “Pull back your hood. Show the touch of Khyber.”
Thorn realized where they were going, just as they emerged from the stairwell and into chaos.
Khyber’s Gate.
An ogre snarled as Thorn walked into the subterranean plaza. Remembering Dreck’s words, Thorn met the beast’s gaze, running a finger along the mark around an eye. The creature stared for a moment then looked away.
The ogre was far from the only monster around them. A pack of goblins were chattering, clustered around some sort of game. Three orcs engaged in a loud debate with a hyena-like gnoll, shouting in a language Thorn didn’t know. A shifter with matted hair and long claws was wrestling with a bugbear, hissing and spitting as he grappled with the larger creature. At a glance, it was hard to tell if it was sport or a crime in progress.
Thorn had never been here, but she’d heard of it. Khyber’s Gate, the slum below the city. Where those unwelcome in even the lower wards made their homes. Humans mixed among the monsters, but they were an unsavory lot, with the look of deserters or worse. Thorn had heard that you could not buy a room in Khyber’s Gate. Everyone was a squatter in this place, and you held your property with tooth and blade. The crowd around her supported that tale. Knives and clubs were everywhere she looked, and the faint scent of blood mingled with the foul smells she’d noticed earlier.
As grim as the crowd was, they made way for Dreck. Whether it was fear of the mark itself or the connection to Tarkanan, the people of Khyber’s Gate knew to leave the aberrants alone. They were only challenged once, by a drunken orc with a rusty axe. Dreck’s mark flashed in the dim light, and the drunkard’s companions quickly pulled him away.
Deeper and deeper they went. They scrambled over rubble and through vast cracks in the thick foundations of the tower above. Finally they reached a small chamber, and Dreck took Thorn’s arm, pulling her to a halt.
There was a crack in the floor of the room, a jagged chasm just narrow enough that Thorn felt she could jump it without fear. The walls of the chasm glistened and shifted, and Thorn realized that they were covered with beetles. A few were scurrying around the walls and the floor of the room, but there were thousands crawling around the edge of the gap.
The beetles were the first thing to catch her attention, but Thorn quickly realized that they weren’t alone. She turned to find two strangers standing in the corner. Dreck showed no fear, so Thorn resisted the urge to draw her weapon.
The first one she noticed was the elf—though she was like no elf Thorn had ever seen. Her long ears and fine features were unmistakably elven, but her skin was jet