Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [43]
The hallway was narrow and sparse. Torches set into the walls shed pale cold fire light, and Thorn slipped Fileon’s glowing stone into a pouch on her belt. In truth, she hadn’t needed the light, but there had been no reason to let Xu’sasar or any of the others know of her ability to see in the shadows.
Thorn expected to get a tour of the place, perhaps to be shown to quarters. But it seemed Xu’sasar had little interest in prolonging their journey. Sound and smell revealed the nature of their destination before Thorn actually saw it. Laughter and voices raised in conversation echoed off the walls, and the smell of broth and ale filled the air. It was the canteen, and as they entered the room, Thorn saw a score of people spread among six long tables. Elves, humans, and halflings rubbed shoulders with dwarves, gnomes, and others, and accents and clothing suggested the diverse lands from which they hailed. There were a few who seemed to have suffered from their marks, much like Fileon—a man with rotting skin, a woman whose dragonmarked hands lacked fingers—but most seemed physically sound. The strangest figure in the common room was also the most familiar—the dwarf Brom, who sat on the end of a bench with his massive arm resting against the floor.
“Thorn!” he called to her. He’d changed out of his bloody clothes and seemed to have completely recovered from his ghastly injuries. “Come meet the wretches you’ll be bunking with. And the rest of you, give our youngest sister a fair welcome! The last man to cross her is feeding the beetles now, or I miss my guess.”
Thorn turned to ask Xu’sasar if she had other plans, but the dark elf had already slipped away. The crowd quickly engulfed Thorn. The ale was warm and weak, the bread and soup no match for the delicacies she’d had in the manor in Dragon Towers. But the company was certainly interesting. The woman missing her fingers was called Palmer, and she proved to be remarkably adept at manipulating objects despite her warped hands. Shrew was a halfling, who chose not to shake hands due to his poisonous touch. The most unusual was Whisper, an elf whose mark absorbed almost all sound in his immediate vicinity. He had to shout to be heard at all, and even then his voice was little more than a murmur.
It was Brom who stayed by her side, and the dwarf soon showed her around the fortress. It was smaller than she’d thought. Her guess was that there were a hundred people garrisoned in the subterranean keep. Barracks, armory, infirmary, storeroom, training hall. There was little of interest in any of these places. But there was one place Brom didn’t take her. Two guards stood at the top of a narrow stairwell leading down to a lower level of the citadel.
“What’s down there?” Thorn asked. She’d already guessed the answer, and Brom’s words confirmed it.
“The Son of Khyber takes his rest in the chamber below,” Brom told her. “Some say he sleeps on a bed of Khyber shards. Others say he has gathered the bones of dragons. Whatever the truth may be, dark Xu is the only one allowed in his chambers.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
Brom laughed. “The stories say that it’s for our own good. Have you seen the way his mark reaches out from his skin? There’s those who swear that while Lord Daine sleeps, his mark can reach out of its own will and strike a man dead.”
“Not exactly an inspiring trait for a leader.”
The dwarf slapped the floor with his mighty palm. “Wait until you hear him speak, little Thorn. Wait until you see him in battle. He is a troubled one, yes, but he is not alone in that, not in this place. But there is a force within him. He walks the path of the Prophecy, or I miss my guess.”
“What about that Xu’sasar? She doesn’t even have a dragonmark, does she?”
Brom shrugged. “She was at Daine’s side when he came to us in Dragon Towers. I