Keith Baker - Son of Khyber

Steel’s thoughts pierced her mind. Do you intend to kill Sorghan d’Deneith?

Thorn slid the dagger all the way into its sheath and continued down the street.

Dragon Towers Lharvion 20, 999 YK Black Blade ale,” Thorn said, licking the foam from her lips. She slipped a chunk of sharp Karrnathi cheese to the rat on her lap. “It’s hardly worth dying for.”

The rat nibbled on the cheese but gave no other response. Thorn wondered if Zae was watching at that moment and what she made of the comment. While Thorn didn’t care much for the brew, it had proven to be her ally tonight. Sorghan made his home in the Deneith enclave in Dragon Towers, a veritable fortress protected by the best soldiers and wards the house could muster. She’d cracked harder targets, but not many-and never operating on her own, with no resources to speak of and no allies. But Thorn knew soldiers, and she guessed that Sorghan wouldn’t spend his Farnight in the enclave canteen. At which point it became a question of identifying his favorite haunts. Thanks to Steel, she knew that Sorghan was born and raised in Karrnath. One could find Karrnathi Nightwood ale in any Ghallanda tavern, but Sorghan came from the city of Karrlakton, and that meant he’d been nursed on the product of the Black Blade Brewery. There was only one inn that served the brew in Dragon Towers: the Lion and Goat, whose trade sign was a statue of a chimera with the dragon’s head knocked off of it. A few greased palms confirmed her suspicions. Sorghan was a regular, and the barman expected him to show when the evening hours rolled by.

Her preparations made, Thorn made her way to the Deneith enclave, watching the gates from the shadows of the nearest alley. The sketch she’d been given was a good one, and she easily spotted Sorghan when he emerged from the stronghold. If assassination were her only goal, she could have struck on the street the moment he was safely away from the watchful eyes of the Deneith guards. But she still hoped to find a way to win the trust of the Tarkanans without killing the marshal, and so she’d shadowed him as he’d made his way to the inn. Now she watched him from a dark corner, surrounded by off-duty mercenaries and the scents of sweat and spilled beer.

Sorghan was drinking alone tonight, and lightly. It seemed that he was a man who never let his guard down. His back was against the wall, and his free hand rested on his blade. He’d worn his armor to the bar, dark leather reinforced with rivets of blackened steel. He was waiting for someone. He’d turned away two companions in the time it had taken Thorn to finish her beer. But he’d yet to notice her.

He’s protected from poisons, Steel told her. He has a spatial pocket woven into his right gauntlet, as you have in your own gloves. I can’t tell you what’s within.

She tapped the dagger once.

I trust that you know what you’re doing, Lantern Thorn. His chilly emphasis on the word “Lantern” suggested that he still had his doubts. My first loyalty is to the Citadel, and I will be obliged to give a full accounting of your actions.

Thorn lifted her hand from the blade and considered her options. Killing him wasn’t the challenge. As a Dark Lantern, Thorn had been trained in the arts of espionage and counterespionage. Skilled as she was when it came to bypassing a lock or shadowing a mark, assassination was her specialty. She’d already considered three possible ways she could finish Sorghan before he could rise from his chair. And if she’d just wanted him dead, that would have been enough. She’d studied the building, even gone so far as to rent a room on the upper floor. She could cripple him with a swift blow, take to the stairs in the ensuing chaos, and slip out the window before anyone could follow.

Unfortunately, his death alone would accomplish nothing. She needed the brooch, and she couldn’t predict how long it would take to retrieve it from his body. And in a room full of Deneith troops, every second would be precious. Besides, in spite of her anger at the Twelve, Thorn still hoped to keep Sorghan alive. She could look into Fileon’s claims once the mission was over, but for now she’d prefer to get Sorghan safely out of Sharn.

Thorn glanced down at the rat. The creature had finished the last crumb of cheese, and Thorn tucked it into her pouch. Time to act.

A trip to the bar provided her with two more flagons of Black Blade. So armed, she strode over to the corner and took a seat at the table.

“That seat is claimed, my lady.” Sorghan’s voice was deep and rough, and his gray eyes could have been chips of flint. Thorn could see the silver brooch, but he wasn’t wearing it on his cloak. Instead, it was pinned to his armor, partially hidden by dark wool.

“Quite. It was good of you to save it for me.” She pushed a flagon across the table. “I’m happy to repay the favor.”

“I’m in no mood for company.”

“It’s not up to you, Marshal Sorghan.” Thorn let her hood slide back and ran her fingers along the edge of her dragonmark. “I’m afraid I’m on family business.”

Thorn had changed before entering the bar. There was more to the work of the Lantern than mere muscle and steel. During her days in the Citadel, she’d learned to work a few spells. It wasn’t something that came easily or often, but in times like this, it was invaluable. She’d woven an illusion that hid her face and form, and now she appeared to be a minister of House Deneith with the Mark of Sentinel traced across her face. She’d darkened her hair and sharpened her features, highlighting the Karrnathi ideals of beauty.

Sorghan’s eyes betrayed no hint of surprise nor emotion of any sort. Thorn was hard-pressed to tell if her disguise affected him on any level. “Continue.”

“You’re to return to Karrlakton, immediately.”

He remained utterly impassive. “And why is that?”

Thorn smiled. “I’m afraid it’s a delicate matter, Marshal. Not one I can discuss in such a public space.”

“A matter of some urgency, it would seem. Such that you could not wait for me at the enclave.”

Thorn shrugged. “My instructions are quite clear. There are things I am to share with you and you alone.” She looked away. “And I will admit to having a… personal interest in a private meeting. The tales of your exploits are most impressive.”

She saw the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “Tales of my many victories in battle?”

Now she met his gaze and returned the smile. “Oh, those too. I have a room here. Perhaps when you’ve finished your ale, I could share my messages.”

“Why wait?” Sorghan pushed back his stool and rose from the table. “I’ve had enough to drink for the moment. And if you wish a demonstration of my skills, I should like to have my head clear.”

“Of course.” Illusion hid Thorn’s belt pouches, but she could still find them, and she reached down and ran her fingers along the body of the rat. The creature was slightly stiff, its breathing slow and steady. The soporific she’d slipped into the cheese had clearly taken effect. Smiling, she rose and walked to the stairs. “Follow me, Marshal Sorghan. We have much to discuss.”

The Lion and Goat might have had an exceptional selection of beer, but its rooms left much to be desired. Thorn’s quarters were cramped, the linens were stained, and there was a long crack in the mirror that hung on the wall. Thorn pulled the shutter on the everbright lantern, and the light of the cold fire filled the room. Behind her, Sorghan shut the door.

Thorn considered the situation. “This may be hard to-”

Sorghan was upon her before she could finish. He grabbed her hair and pulled hard, jerking her head back. He had a knife at her neck, a narrow dagger that felt like a sliver of ice.