Keith Baker - Son of Khyber

“And yet Tavin is nowhere to be seen. This Son of Khyber seems to be in charge. And if I read the tensions correctly, the old guard-Fileon-doesn’t much care for it.”

Agreed. Something has changed, and that is why we are here. Our liaison with the Twelve believes that this change in leadership reflects a change in direction for the house.

She ignored his reproachful tone-as if she’d forgotten her mission. “Strange. I thought I was one of the King’s Dark Lanterns, not some lackey of Merrix d’Cannith.”

She found Dreck’s words echoing in her mind: Are you so certain that your actions served the people of Breland?

Steel had no face, but his mental voice had a reproachful tone. The dragonmarked houses are valuable allies of the Brelish crown. Vital allies, should war begin anew.

“This sounds like history repeating itself. The Citadel turned on Fileon’s unit because of pressure from the Twelve. Now I’m putting myself at risk in pursuit of their interests. What happens next? What if the houses decide that the Citadel shouldn’t employ half-elves? Do I find myself on a suicide mission in Darguun?”

An unlikely scenario, Steel replied. House Lyrandar is one of the most influential voices in the Twelve, and Boranel has always had strong ties to Medani. Both are Khoravar houses. It’s more likely they’d try to recruit you than have you killed.

“Recruit me? From where I stand, I’m already working for them. And what if I do have an aberrant mark?”

You do not. And you are ignoring the greater issue. This house takes its name from Halas Tarkanan. During the War of the Mark, it was Tarkanan who destroyed the greatest city of the age.

“And who started the War of the Mark? The Twelve.”

That’s not the point, and you know it. The city of Dorasharn was not built by the Twelve. Its citizens possessed no dragonmarks of any sort. Whether you place the blame on Tarkanan or the Twelve, tens of thousands of innocent people died in the struggle between them.

Thorn considered this. The stone in her neck pulsed against her bone, an echo of the pain she felt when she used the false mark. She heard Dreck’s words again: We are the children of Khyber, and our blessings are fury and pain.

I must know, Lantern Thorn. Steel’s whisper was cold and steady. Are you confident in your ability to complete this mission?

“I am loyal to Breland,” Thorn said, laying her hand across the blade. “And I will do whatever I must to protect my country.”

Then let us see what tomorrow brings.

Thorn slid off the bed and knelt on the floor in the corner of the room. She thought back to the lessons of the day: You must learn to hone your anger, to make it a blade you can unsheathe and release when battle is done. She might not have an aberrant dragonmark, but the ember of fury was there. And she wanted to let it go.

Dragon Towers Lharvion 20, 999 YK

Dreck woke her early in the morning, his mismatched eyes gleaming in the dim light of dawn. Fileon was waiting for her in the dining hall.

“I wish I had a choice in this,” Fileon said to Thorn. “You are still a child when it comes to mastering your mark, and I doubt you are prepared to do what must be done.”

Thorn was growing tired of the constant needling. “It seems to me I’ve passed every test you’ve laid before me, ‘brother.’”

Fileon ran his fingers along his withered arm, and traces of crimson light followed the motion. “Watch your tone, sister. I have spent years training our kind, helping the Children of Khyber find the path to power. I have seen friends driven mad and watched my lover waste away. Now you come to us, just as the Son of Khyber said you would. A Dark Lantern with shards in her spine. An assassin with skills to match our best, touched by Khyber in our moment of need. Quite fortunate for us, yes?”

“Not so fortunate for me,” Thorn said. She couldn’t tell-was he questioning her story? She ran her fingers over her mark. “I’m the one who’s going to be spat on when people see my face.”

Dreck spoke before Fileon could respond. “Release this anger, both of you. Yes, beloved, our blessing is a burden. And you, Shaper of the Young, do not fear what destiny has given us. For what are dragonmarks but the symbols of the great Prophecy itself? It is fate that marked the Lantern and brought our paths together.”

“So I’ve been told,” Fileon said. He looked back at Thorn. “Perhaps the hand of Khyber truly is at work. If so, you should have no trouble with the task that lies ahead.”

She nodded. “You said that today I’d face our true foes. What did you mean by that?”

Fileon drew a leather cylinder from his robes and passed it over the table. It held two sheets of parchment. The first was a sketch of a brooch, an engraved circle crossed with a pin in the shape of a silver sword. The second was the image of a man-a weathered soldier with close-cropped hair and a grim stare, with the tell-tale lines of a dragonmark visible on his neck.

“This should be no challenge for one of your skills,” Fileon said. “Not so different from work you have done in the past. The brooch you see there is an heirloom of House Deneith. It is currently in the possession of Sorghan d’Deneith, of the Sentinel Marshals.”

“You want me to rob a Sentinel?” It was no easy challenge. House Deneith bore the Mark of Sentinel, and their magical gifts sharpened their senses and strengthened their defenses. The house brokered mercenary services across Khorvaire, selling the skills of soldiers and bodyguards. The Sentinel Marshals were the most elite agents of the house, empowered to pursue criminals and fugitives from one end of Khorvaire to the other. Still, she’d expected something more than this.

“Not at all,” Fileon said. “I expect you to kill him then take the brooch from his corpse.”

And there it was. The true test. It was one thing for Thorn to steal something from a house enclave; property could be replaced. But killing a lord of the house, one of its elite forces… if Thorn was an agent of the Twelve, she’d have to refuse.

If she was an agent of the Twelve.

Her first response was simple enough. “I told you before. I won’t kill for gold.”

“This is no contract killing. We have many enemies, and this man is one of them. He hunts our kind for sport, using his authority to cover up his crimes. When the Sentinel Marshal tells the city watch that his aberrant victim was a wanted murderer, who do you think they believe?”

“And were his victims murderers?”

Fileon shrugged. “Not all. I can assure you, if he learned of your existence, he would take great pleasure in hunting you down. Should the Citadel choose to pursue you, Sorghan might well be the tool they use.”

Thorn hesitated. She knew what the Citadel would expect of her: agree to do the job, then find some way to save the innocent man without breaking her cover. But in that moment, she felt a pang of doubt. Fileon’s story of betrayal came back to her. And in truth, she’d seen fear and hatred in the eyes of strangers this past week, even in the miserable depths of Sharn. She thought of little Zae being hunted by Deneith troops.

She pushed the image away. She had a job to do, and with that in mind, her course was clear. She picked up the parchment. “Very well.”

Dreck was watching her with his mismatched eyes. He spoke. “Pray pardon my impertinent words, beloved, but I would know your mind. When you were still in service to your king, would you hesitate to kill an assassin preying on the Brelish people?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said. “Because I chose to serve Breland. I wasn’t forced into it by a chance affliction. And just because I’ve been driven from the Citadel doesn’t mean that I’ve turned on Breland.”