Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [51]
They say madness is the price of an aberrant mark, Thorn thought. “So what are these facts that will stay my hand?”
“Lessons you’ve learned these past few days. You’ve heard of Fileon’s betrayal. In Sorghan d’Deneith you’ve faced the blind hatred of the houses.”
Thorn laughed. “Not much of an argument. One bigot hardly incriminates his entire house, regardless of how vile he is. And Fileon’s tale is just that: a story. From someone I’m surprised you of all people would ask me to trust, I might add.”
“Tell me you don’t believe it. Why are you here now? As a tool of the Twelve. Today they command your service. Tomorrow they might call for your death. Tell me you’re comfortable with these merchants buying your services. I’ve heard that you told Fileon that you wouldn’t kill for gold. Tell me, then: what is it you were about to do?”
Thorn said nothing. These were the same fears she’d already had. He might just as well have been reading her mind.
Daine smiled. “Tomorrow we will destroy a Cannith forgehold.”
“So you’ve said. I fail to see the benefit to Breland.”
“That’s because you’ve never heard of our target. We’re not going to attack the central enclave. The strike will target a facility hidden below Sharn: the personal holding of Merrix d’Cannith.”
Thorn frowned. “So it’s not a public facility. It’s still supplying industrial support to Brela—”
“Nothing done in this forgehold will ever be shared with Breland. This isn’t just a private workshop. Lord Merrix has a creation forge here in Sharn, in direct violation of the Treaty of Thronehold.”
Thorn wrapped her fingers around Steel’s hilt. The dagger’s presence flowed into her mind, and she could feel his surprise. The creation forges were the greatest inventions of House Cannith. They were the engines that produced the warforged, living soldiers of metal and wood. During the Last War, Cannith had produced tens of thousands of warforged, selling them to every nation. When the struggle came to an end, the Treaty of hronehold included the provision that all creation forges would be destroyed—an effort to limit Cannith’s power and prevent an arms race. If Merrix had a working creation forge, he was challenging the direct orders of the sovereigns of Khorvaire. And if he had a creation forge, he could have a warforged army of his own.
What is his proof? Steel asked.
“How would you know about this?” Thorn asked.
“You’ve seen the boy,” Daine told her. “That … thing in the shape of a child. Tell me that doesn’t concern you, that you don’t see the danger it represents.”
Thorn said nothing, but the image of the corpse flashed through her mind, the body with the socket in its chest.
“Dreck learned of the boy, knew that he’d been made in a secret forge, but he couldn’t find its location. But the boy knew the place of his birth.” Daine turned up his left palm, and the glowing dragonmark crawled across his skin. “I have power to bind souls within my mark. I can still hear their voices, and with effort I can draw on their memories. Merrix’s son had a semblance of a soul trapped within its shell. I saw the forge itself through that boy’s eyes, and it’s his memories that will lead us to it.”
As before, the lines of the mark began to pull free of Daine’s skin, rising up from his palm. As it did, the stone at the base of her spine grew even colder, and Daine himself winced. He clenched his fist, pressing the mark against his flesh, and the chill in the stone passed.
“Fight at my side tomorrow,” Daine said. “Give me the chance to prove what I have told you. My people are no threat to Breland. It is the ambition of the dragonmarked houses that threatens us all. They are no longer afraid of Galifar. They are using you. And unless something is done, it is only a matter of time before the balance of power fully slips into their grasp.”
Thorn considered it. “And Merrix can hardly complain about the loss of a forge he’s not supposed to possess.”
Daine nodded. “Nor can he seek vengeance against your Breland for an action taken by the