Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [44]
“Were you there? When he first arrived?”
Brom nodded. “Lady Tavin was our leader then. Daine walked into the hall as though he owned it, asked to see the ‘eldest child of Tarkanan.’ None of us had ever seen a mark of such size before, and he has such confidence. Lady Tavin came to the hall, and he said …” The dwarf tugged at his ragged beard, mismatched eyes closed in thought. “‘You have done your work well. You have prepared our people for the war that lies ahead. But it is I who must lead them in that struggle.’ Tavin took him to her quarters, and darkness fell before they emerged again. But when they returned, she ceded her role to him. It was he who led us to this place, who diverted funds from our business as a guild to establish these hidden fortresses.”
“How did he even know about this place?”
Brom pulled at his beard again. “That is a twisted knot. As I see it—” He broke off as the sound of a bell echoed throughout the hall. “Assembly,” he said, taking her wrist and pulling her back toward the common room. “Quickly now.”
Moments later they were in the main hall. Dozens of Tarkanans squeezed into the chamber. All eyes were on the front of the hall, where the Son of Khyber stood. Xu’sasar stood behind him, a silent shadow. His mark pulsed with ruddy light as he spoke.
“Brothers and sisters!” he called out. His voice was deep and strong, reverberating off the walls of the chamber. “Children of Tarkanan. The time has come to seize our destiny. Tomorrow we go to war. Let the heirs of Cannith sleep soundly tonight, for tomorrow we will strike a blow they’ll never forget.”
Thorn’s hand was resting on Steel’s hilt, and the dagger whispered into her mind. It sounds like you’re going to have a busy night, he said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Undercity
Lharvion 20, 999 YK
The crimson mark of the Son of Khyber rippled along his skin, reminding Thorn of a flickering flame. His personality was a palpable force in the room. Absolute silence held the room as the assembled Tarkanans waited for his next word, and Thorn found that she was holding her breath.
Daine was silent for a moment, as he gazed over his assembled forces. His eyes met Thorn’s, and at that moment the shard in her lower back sent an icy chill through her nerves. Then he spoke.
“We stand on the eve of war. Those who fight at my side tomorrow may not survive the battle. I want you all to understand the nature of this struggle, to know why it is worth the sacrifice.”
A murmur passed through the hall, and a few people nodded.
“You all know the myth,” Daine continued. “How at the dawn of time, three dragons fought for dominance. Khyber tore Siberys to pieces and scattered him across the sky. Eberron bound Khyber. All natural life comes from Eberron, but the most remarkable creatures are those touched by one of the other Progenitors—the dragons born of the blood of Siberys, the demons that rose from the depths to rule the newborn world, and the other wonders and terrors that share our world.”
An interesting time for a fable, Steel whispered.
Thorn was equally puzzled. At the same time, she was entranced. Daine was a master storyteller, and it was hard not to be swept away with the fable.
“The Progenitors stand above the gods. They are the architects of reality, aware of all the paths the future might take. And for whatever reason, they chose to share these mysteries with mortals. The answers lie in symbols left by the fissures of earthquakes, the motion of the moons, glyphs traced out by lava flows and hurricanes. These are the pieces of the great Prophecy. And three thousand years ago, the Progenitors chose a new canvas for the Prophecy. The dragonmark, traced across living flesh.
“It took time for people to understand the meaning of the marks, the powers they possessed. But it soon became clear that there were two sorts of marks. The true-breeding marks of the Twelve could be passed from father to son. They were reliable. Predictable. And for the most