Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [64]
“No coincidence at all. Every piece of it arranged. I’ve studied the principles of the thing, these last few years. It’s all about creating sympathies between the things you wish to join. The forces that want me here today went to a great deal of trouble to arrange this. Just look to Xu’sasar.”
Thorn was wondering where the dark elf fit into this puzzle. “What do you mean?”
“My predecessor found her in Xen’drik. While crossing through the planes, she met a being she considers to be the Traveler—the spirit who gave her that weapon. He told her what would happen, and told her that she would have to protect me after the change. My predecessor’s other companions weren’t too pleased when they realized what had occurred. Without Xu, I would never have made it to Sharn. No coincidence there. She was told what would happen and what she had to do.”
How could any of this be true? It certainly seemed like madness. And yet Daine’s voice was calm and steady, still ringing with that sense of regret.
“You don’t seem too pleased about it,” she said.
He looked at her, and she felt the chill at the base of her spine. “I am here because I must be, not through any choice of my own. I have stolen the body of a man who might have been a hero. I have devoured the souls of children, and I fear my own dreams. No, I am not pleased.” He looked away, but the icy touch remained. “Can you imagine what it’s like to be a ghost in another man’s body? Am I even alive at all? Or a few memories saved to serve this purpose?”
“So why play along?”
Daine stood, and now regret turned to anger. “What else am I to do? Everyone I knew and cared for has been dead for centuries. Those who destroyed them are now lords of the land. I am being used. I know that. I am a weapon in the hands of a higher power. But their desires and my vengeance follow the same path, and I will have that vengeance.”
His mark was rippling now, tugging against his skin. Thorn let her hand drift down to Steel’s hilt.
Madness, the dagger whispered. Assume that mark of his does what he says, that he’s actually taken the mind of the child into his own. How could such a power cause anything but madness? He’s concocted this wild tale to justify his actions, nothing more. He’s served his purpose. Destroying the creation forge was likely a good thing. But you should be done with him now.
It seemed all too likely. She tightened her grip on the hilt. She could draw and strike. Daine had turned away from her, and she could cripple him in any number of ways. And yet …
“So what now? You said we need to conclude operations in Sharn. What operations? And why are you telling me?”
“Well you should ask. I’m telling you because I need you. Because you have more tactical experience than anyone else in my brood, even Fileon. And because you aren’t one of us. I can’t ask you to do this because of your mark. I want you to do it because it is the right thing for your nation. I want you to realize that the houses are a threat, so that even after I am gone, someone will remember and be on guard.”
He’d regained his composure, and his charisma was undeniable. Thorn wanted to believe him. But she still felt that there was something he wasn’t telling her. You don’t know me, then? Why had he asked her that?
“So you need me,” she said. “For what? What happens next?”
“Next?” He closed his fingers across his palm, and crimson light flowed across his dragonmark. “Next, we kill an angel.”
Well, that’s logical, Steel said. That certainly takes madness off of the table.
Angels were a thing of myth—mighty spirits of light and radiant energy said to inhabit the higher planes of existence. Sometimes they were said to serve the Sovereigns. In other tales they were guardians guided by destiny itself.
“We’re going to kill an angel,” Thorn repeated. “To fight the dragonmarked houses.”
Daine nodded. He reached into the bag of holding and produced a curious object—a cage made from bars of many metals, with gems and dragonshards embedded at the sockets. It was small and fragile. Thorn thought that Daine