Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [39]
“Fileon told me that you wanted me here,” she said. “That you needed my skills. I’d like to hear more about that.”
“And you will, sister. We have many things to discuss. But this is neither the time nor the place. We met here for a reason, and we must resolve this matter quickly.” He turned his mark-stained gaze away from Thorn, and it seemed that a weight had been lifted from her—a pressure she only noticed in its absence. He glanced at Dreck. “Show me what you have brought.”
Thorn placed the sack on the ground. Dreck reached inside, and a moment later, both bodies were forcibly ejected from the bag. The Cannith boy was beginning to stir, shifting against his bonds. Fileon lay next to him, his shriveled arm pulled tight against his chest. The Son of Khyber shook his head as he examined the dead halfling.
“A shame,” he said. “I’d hoped he could change.”
“He was Shaper of the Young,” Dreck said. “He could not be allowed to follow a different path. Had he not opposed you directly, he would still have poured poison in the ears of his students.”
“I know,” Daine said. “But I still hate to see any of us fall. Halas would have found a better way.”
Dreck said nothing.
“And the brooch?”
Dreck drew the pin from his robes and handed it to the Son of Khyber. Daine held it in his palm and studied it, and as he did, his aberrant dragonmark moved. The lines along his arm twisted and flowed, crimson snakes flailing against his skin.
Aureon’s Shadow! What was that? Thorn had seen dragonmarks before—aberrant and otherwise—but she’d never seen one come alive. She wanted to draw Steel, to get his analysis of the mystical forces at work in the chamber. But even as she let her hand drift toward Steel’s hilt, she saw the drow woman watching her. The dark elf held her bone wheel in a throwing grip, and the threat was plain. Not the best time to draw a weapon.
Daine’s mark had fallen still. He pinned the brooch to his dark cloak, replacing the plain pin he’d been wearing before.
“Why did you want that?” Thorn asked. Why would an aberrant leader wear a Deneith sigil? When he glanced her way, she shrugged. “I risked my life for the thing. It would be nice to know why.”
Dreck turned as if to reprimand her, but Daine raised his hand. “A fair question, and you’ve earned the answer. It’s no weapon, and it holds no hidden power. It’s just a family heirloom, forged for my father. We parted with harsh words, and I wished to have it back.”
She didn’t need Steel to tell her he was lying. She’d seen the brooch. It was hundreds of years old, and the sigil hadn’t been used for centuries. But she was here to learn about the Son of Khyber, and even the lie could hold a trace of truth. “So you were born into House Deneith?”
Daine nodded. “Yes, and driven out by my kin. Just like poor Fileon. But there will be a better time to share stories, Thorn. Let us finish what you began.”
He knelt beside the Cannith boy. The child’s eyes were wide with fear, and he twisted in his bonds. Blessed Boldrei, I hope that you can forgive me if any harm comes to this boy, Thorn thought. But I have to know what Daine’s capable of.
“Be still, little one,” Daine said. His voice was surprisingly gentle. He took hold of the boy’s shirt, and with one sharp move, he rent the garment asunder.
Thorn was surprised by the action, but what it revealed was stranger still. There was a dark object embedded in the center of the child’s chest: black metal, a spark of red light. Daine grasped the object and pulled it free.
The boy convulsed, his feet kicking against the ground. And then he was still.
“Is he dead?” Thorn asked, curiosity warring with horror.
“He was never alive,” Daine said as he stood. “Not as we understand it. Behold the child of Ilena and Merrix.”
There was a sphere of dark metal in Daine’s hand, its polished surface marked with a single red circle. It reminded Thorn of Steel.
Daine’s mark came to life, crawling across his flesh. The