Keith Baker - Son of Khyber

Dreck inclined his head. The drow woman clicked her tongue against her teeth.

Daine looked back at Thorn. He was gritting his teeth, and it was clear he was in pain. But he still smiled slightly as he met her eyes. And there was that same look in his eyes, that sense of recognition. “Welcome to House Tarkanan, Lady Thorn. Steel yourself. We have much to do in the days ahead.”

Before she could speak, he turned away and strode out of the room.

There was a change in the air when the Son of Khyber left the room-the sense that a charge had dissipated. Thorn realized that the stone at the base of her spine had been ice-cold for the past few minutes, chilling the flesh around it. She’d been so distracted by the stranger that she hadn’t noticed, and now it was the fading chill that caught her attention.

Fileon’s corpse and the body of the Cannith boy were still stretched out on the floor. Beetles and other insects were crawling across their skin. Thorn examined Merrix’s son, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. The boy’s skin was smooth and pale, and he wasn’t breathing. There were no obvious injuries, save for the hole at the center of his chest-the socket that had once held the metal sphere.

“Explain this,” she said to Dreck.

“It is just what it seems, beloved. A vessel of flesh grown to house the consciousness held within the sphere. The original child died seven years ago, and Lady Ilena could not conceive again. But Lord Merrix was determined to produce an heir, even if he had to produce that heir.”

Thorn ran her fingers over the corpse, feeling its cooling skin. Studying the boy’s face, there was nothing to suggest that he was anything but human. “How many more of these are there?” she said. “Can he make them to look like specific people?”

“I do not know, beloved. I served in Lord Merrix’s household, and he forged my form with his hands. I learned of the boy before I fled. I know that he was first of his kind, and that the sphere that held his soul was something Merrix acquired, not his creation. But it has been a year since I parted ways with my maker, and I know nothing of his recent work.”

The mere thought that Cannith could produce people brought bile to her throat. And yet… the love of a parent was a powerful thing. Perhaps the boy was unique, created solely to fill the gap in Ilena’s wounded heart. She needed more information.

“Enough.” If the drow Xu’sasar felt any remorse or sympathy for the dead, she didn’t show it. She pushed the bodies into the chasm in the center of the room, leaning over to make certain that they had disappeared into the depths. She turned back to the others. “Come,” she told Thorn.

Thorn glanced at Dreck. The warforged nodded. “I have my own duties to attend to, beloved. But our paths will cross again, and soon. Until then, remember the lessons taught to you by the Shaper of the Young, not his betrayal. Let your instincts be your guide. They will teach you all that you need to know about the powers of your blood.” He reached into a pouch and produced a small stone that glowed with the pale blue radiance of cold fire. He tossed it to her. “You will be walking through dark places. Take this, and trust your guide.”

Strange as he was, Dreck was the last familiar thing in this place, and Thorn felt a pang of sorrow to see him go. She still didn’t know why he called her “beloved,” but she’d grown used to it. “Watch yourself.”

“Come,” Xu’sasar repeated. The drow had slipped up behind Thorn, and her voice was a whisper in Thorn’s ear. “The world below awaits.”

The Undercity Lharvion 20, 999 YK

Do you seek battle?” They were the first words Xu’sasar had said since she’d led Thorn from the broken chamber. She didn’t break her stride even as she spoke. Thorn had to struggle to keep up with her, and a few times Thorn had nearly tripped on the loose stone and debris scattered through the abandoned halls. Xu’sasar had ordered Thorn to follow directly in her footsteps, and it was easy to see why; even while jogging, Thorn had spotted the rippling auras of a number of wards, and once she had nearly stepped on a tripwire.

“What?” Thorn asked.

“Your hand reaches for your blade. You slew Fileon. Do you wish to try my skills?”

“Not in the least,” Thorn said, and it was the truth. Thorn might not have seen the dark elf fight, but she’d seen enough to know that she wouldn’t want her as an enemy. Xu’sasar was lean and swift, moving through the rubble with the deadly grace of a scorpion. Thorn’s senses were sharp enough to sense the wind moving around an invisible man, yet Xu’sasar had slipped to her side unnoticed. “This is unfamiliar ground for me, and I feel better with a weapon in my hand.”

Xu’sasar stopped moving. She was standing on the remains of a collapsed pillar, and she spun in place to face Thorn, perfectly comfortable on the uneven surface. “Draw then, dreamer. But there is a saying among my people: ‘When you hold the weapon, you call the battle.’”

Xu’sasar still held the strange, bone throwing wheel in her left hand, and the light of the cold fire gleamed against her silver-white hair and her chitin armor. But it wasn’t the weapon that sent a shiver along Thorn’s nerves.

“Dreamer? What do you mean by that?”

“His word, not mine,” the dark elf said. She turned and leaped off of the pillar, resuming her jog through the dusty labyrinth. “It is the word he spoke, when he first saw your image.”

“Who?” Thorn asked. But it seemed that the dark elf had said all that she intended to.

He was surely the Son of Khyber, and Thorn’s dreams had certainly been troubled of late. She could still hear the laughter of the fierce woman in red. How would this aberrant warlord know any of this?

All disturbing questions. But now she finally had the opportunity to consult with Steel, and she wasn’t going to pass it up. She pulled the dagger from the sheath, feeling his presence settle into her mind.

It’s about time, he whispered. I’ll need a full debriefing once we are alone, but we must establish what we can as quickly as possible. You have identified the Son of Khyber.

Thorn tapped his hilt once with her thumb. Yes.

Good. And from what I could hear, the Cannith heir was some sort of construct. You are certain of this?

Tap.

Perhaps you were deceived. Even if such a thing were possible, it would surely require a creation forge, and the Treaty of Thronehold saw the forges shut down.

Thorn’s irritation grew, but there was no way to discuss the issue with Xu’sasar around. She tapped the dagger twice. She gestured at the dark elf and traced a cross on Steel’s hilt. Threat analysis.

Interesting. The drow is this Daine’s bodyguard? Those scars on her skin are consistent with the tribal customs of southern Xen’drik. She’s a long way from home.

He fell silent for a moment as he studied the mystical energies around Xu’sasar.

The locket she wears around her neck strengthens her flesh, giving it the resilience of leather, he said at last. But it is her weapon that concerns me. It’s a protean blade, capable of shifting form and function. It’s stronger and sharper than steel, capable of producing venom to coat the blade. I suspect there’s far more to it than that; I’ve never sensed such power in a single object, and it’s difficult for me to unravel the threads.

Thorn tapped the dagger and turned her attention to her surroundings. The style of architecture had changed. In their wild sprint, they had passed through sewers, catacombs, and buildings in the style of ancient Wroat, half-buried by the disaster that had destroyed the first human city to stand in this place. But this hall had no rubble on the ground nor cracks along the walls. It was austere and solid, carved into the bedrock deep beneath Sharn. She recognized the style from the Great Crag of Droaam. It was the work of the Dhakaani goblins, a citadel carved into the depths long before the first human set foot on Khorvaire.