Keith Baker - Son of Khyber

“Hardly… a way… to treat… family,” Drego gasped.

Thorn pressed her knee into the small of his back. “What are you doing in Breland, Drego?”

Considering the situation, he remained remarkably composed. “Being horribly mistreated,” he said.

She slammed his forehead against the wall again. “Don’t push me, Thrane. I was willing to work with you when we were both on neutral ground-and even then, you betrayed me. Give me one good reason not to kill you right now.”

“You’re about to fight a fallen angel,” he said.

“So it seems.”

“You’ll need me to survive. My dragonmark may be as false as yours, but I am trained to battle creatures not of this plane. I can find this radiant idol, and I can help you destroy it.”

Thorn considered this, letting Steel’s edge press against Drego’s soft skin. “And how did you come to be here? What do you stand to gain?”

Remarkably, Drego still had the aplomb to chuckle. “Brelish. You see the world in shades of gray, but sometimes it is black and white. I’m a flame-bearer of the church, Nyrielle. I’ve sworn to protect the innocent from supernatural evil, and that means driving these horrors from the world. For hundreds of years, the Church of the Silver Flame battled evil across all Five Nations. Then the war came. Now we are not trusted. We are seen as agents of Thrane, when we actually serve a power that would shield every nation.”

“The Silver Flame has churches throughout Breland,” Thorn growled. “Why do we need you to come in and solve our problems?”

“You don’t have a priest in Breland worth my spit,” Drego said. Thorn could almost hear him rolling his eyes. “This nation has always been riddled with corruption. Graft and greed drives your hierophant, not the Voice of the Silver Flame. Those with the courage to fight evil either fled to Thrane during the war or have been held in check by their corrupt superiors.”

Interesting, Steel observed. So he admits that he’s a spy, but claims that he was sent into Breland to assassinate an evil spirit.

“This is hardly the first time this has happened,” Drego said. “Throughout the war, Flamebearers worked in Aundair, Breland, Cyre… even as far as the Lhazaar Principalities. Yes, we want to see Galifar united by the Silver Flame. But faith must always come before politics. The Flame exists to battle these creatures. It is our duty to protect all innocents, regardless of nationality, from these beasts.”

“It’s a pretty story,” Thorn said. “Perhaps even enough to keep me from killing you as a spy. But the last time I put my trust in you, you betrayed me and nearly unleashed a plague upon my nation.”

“Oh, that,” Drego said. “If you’re going to keep bringing that up, we’re never going to-”

Thorn called on the false dragonmark, letting the pain flow through her and into the Thrane. She held back its full power, but it was enough. He thrashed beneath her hand, gasping for breath.

“I’m not an ambassador tonight, Drego. I’m not playing the courtly game. I need a reason to let you live, and I’m still waiting to hear one.”

Drego was still breathing heavily. “I understand,” he said. “Let me… let me explain.”

And he was gone.

Thorn cursed. He’d used this trick the last time they’d fought-slipping between layers of reality. He was behind her. She spun, but fast as she was, it wasn’t enough. She saw a flash of silver light, and then the breath was crushed from her lungs. She was caught in a field of pure force, a gleaming hand that mirrored Drego’s clenched fist. Thorn struggled, fighting to summon the unnatural strength that had aided her in the past, but to no avail.

“I’m not playing games this time,” Drego said. His face was pale in the argent light cast by the hand, but his voice was steady. “What I did in Droaam had nothing to do with Breland. I sought to change Khorvaire itself. What I do now has nothing to do with Breland. I am here to destroy the ancient evils lurking below Sharn-something that will actually help your people. So kill me if you will. But if you do, you’re the one hurting Breland.”

He opened his hand, and Thorn’s bonds vanished.

“So what will it be?” he asked.

Thorn looked into his eyes, searching for any signs of his true intent. For the moment, he’d lowered the mask of the playful courtier. She could see his concern. He knew he was taking a risk by releasing her. But more than that, she could see that he wanted her to believe him. Why was her opinion important to him? Back in Droaam, he’d been determined to spare her life. Why?

She slid Steel back into his sheath and held out her hand. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll work with you, Drego Sarhain.”

He smiled and took her hand. She tightened her grip and pulled him to her, slamming her right fist into his chest. Her supernatural strength rose to answer her anger, and Drego flew back and collapsed among the brittle bones.

“I’ll work with you,” Thorn said. “But betray me again, and you’d best kill me quickly. Because you won’t get another chance.”

Drego groaned. He tried to rise then fell back among the shattered bones. Thorn smiled and left him alone in the darkness.

The Undercity Lharvion 21, 999 YK

Thorn stopped by the infirmary on her way to the barracks. She’d wanted to check on Palmer. She was surprised to see Brom still there, stretched out on a bier with his oversized arm propped against the floor. A halfling was kneeling next to him, suturing a wound on his chest. As Thorn watched, a rat crawled up along the woman’s arm and severed the thread with its teeth.

“Zae?” Thorn said.

Fileon’s daughter looked up from her work. She’d abandoned her beggar’s rags, and was wearing a simple black robe. Her eyes were wide and dark. “True,” she said. It was the first time Thorn had ever heard her speak.

“What are you doing here?”

Another rat hopped onto the table, a long needle gleaming in its mouth. Zae took it and began to thread it, but she kept her eyes locked on Thorn. “My father taught me the healing arts. Do you remember him?”

It was a chilling question, but stranger still coming from Zae. The girl spoke in a soft, lilting voice. There was a strange distance in her eyes, and it seemed that she actually wanted to know the answer to the question. Thorn noticed that both the rats were watching her.

“Yes… I remember him.”

“I want to,” Zae said. “I remember what he taught me.”

Thorn relaxed slightly. Strange as the girl was, Zae didn’t seem to be on a quest for vengeance.

“We’ve left the high towers,” Zae said thoughtfully, looking back down at the injured dwarf. “But I like it here. There’s so many stories.”

Thorn let that pass “What’s wrong with Brom? I thought he could regenerate from any injury.”

“My father taught me my lessons on Brom,” Zae said, running a finger along the patterns of scales and chitin traced across the dwarf’s skin. “He told me that the gifts… the gifts of Khyber are unpredictable. When Brom heals, the damaged flesh is often replaced with elements of other species. In your last battle, he suffered severe internal injuries. His gift has kept him alive, but he hasn’t woken up. I suspect that one or more internal organs were damaged, and have returned in an incompatible form.”

Zae’s voice grew stronger as she spoken, and for a moment it seemed that it was Filleon who was speaking. Thorn tried to push the thought aside. “So… he might have a kobold’s heart?”

“Yes,” Zae said. “Something incapable of providing the flow of blood he needs.”

“What can you do?”