Keith Baker - Son of Khyber

“Combat,” said Fileon.

The rats charged into the room.

Thorn had faced many trials over the past few days. The only ones she’d actually enjoyed were these combat sessions with Fileon and his daughter. Zae might just be as mad as five rats. Certainly, she spent more time talking to the creatures than she did to anyone else. And the rats listened to her, answered her calls, which was why she was here in the training room with her father. She’d summoned the massive sewer rats who were hounding Thorn and seeking to tear the flesh from her bones.

We’ve fought wyverns in Woodhelm and basilisks in Droaam, Steel whispered as Thorn vaulted over one of the beasts. I was made for greater things than killing sewer rats.

Thorn could hardly respond, with Fileon and Dreck watching her every move. She was bleeding from multiple bites, and she hoped the creatures weren’t carrying any sort of disease. The lead beast was harrying her, searching for an opening to tear out a tendon. As it leaped at her, Thorn dropped into a three-point stance and slammed her mithral bracer into the rat’s mouth, shattering teeth and sending the animal skidding across the floor.

“You are a vessel for pain,” Fileon called out to her. “Don’t think. Feel. Feel the pain and anger of your enemies, and step out of their path.”

The halfling had some fascinating ideas about what Thorn should be able to achieve with her aberrant dragonmark. In these sessions he seemed to forget his anger, seeking only to help her to understand her gift. Unfortunately for Thorn, it was a gift she didn’t possess. Thorn wasn’t a vessel for pain. There was no deeper well of power for her to tap into. But she had talents of her own, gifts which might serve the same purpose. Her eyes could pierce the darkness, and in Droaam she’d learned that all of her senses had been equally enhanced. If she relaxed and let her instincts guide her, she could feel the motion around her. Even though she couldn’t see them, she could sense the rats darting around her, preparing to attack from all sides. As the beasts charged, Thorn leaped and twisted to the side, landing behind the rats.

“Yes!” Fileon said. “Now fight. And let the last one fall by your mark.”

Steel’s observation about the rats had been apt, and normally Thorn would have taken no pleasure in killing dumb animals. But these beasts had her blood on their teeth, and after spending so much time dodging them, Thorn was hungry for vengeance. Claws left gouges on wood as the rats charged her once more. A sweeping kick scattered her enemies, and the rest was Steel and blood. Thorn was swift and precise, knocking her enemies aside with her armored forearm and following with a deadly thrust.

Her final foe was the rat with the broken teeth. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he moved sluggishly; his dedication to the fight was impressive. But the outcome was never in question. Thorn caught the rat with an open-handed slap, and as their flesh met, she unleashed the power of her false mark. The tattoo burned against her skin, and as before, the pain was agonizing. Although it was no true dragonmark, she found that Fileon’s lessons helped her deal with the pain.

Do not fight it. Do not feel it. Let it flow through you; do not seek to dam the river.

No easy task. Part of her wanted to claw her face, to gouge the mark from her skin. But she fought this instinct, focusing all of her attention on the rat. The pain was intense, but it lasted only an instant. The beast squealed and collapsed.

Thorn pulled out a cloth to clean the blood off of Steel and knelt down to examine her own injuries. As she did, the halflings studied her fallen foes. The girl Zae said nothing. Of course, she never said anything; her aberrant mark might allow her to communicate with vermin, but if she could speak the common tongue, she’d never had anything to say to Thorn. Zae dressed as a beggar, likely to move more easily through the streets of Sharn. Her hair was matted, her skin crusted with dirt, her body hidden beneath layers of filthy rags. At least four rats lived within her clothing-normal rats, not the giant beasts Thorn had just fought. But they glared at Thorn reproachfully from the folds of Zae’s clothing as the girl examined the dead.

Fileon, on the other hand, was more concerned about the fact that one of the rats was not dead. Her final victim was still twitching and whining.

“Pathetic,” he said. “Were you so squeamish when you served the Citadel? The pain you feel is the spark that starts a fire. You must unleash the blaze, instead of clinging to the tinder.”

“It’s frightening,” Thorn said. “It doesn’t feel like a part of me.” This was both lie and truth. Thorn had no fear of her mark, but it wasn’t a part of her. She couldn’t learn to unleash its full power, because she was already using its full power; the living tattoo was designed to stun a victim, and no matter what techniques Fileon taught her, its power could not grow.

To her surprise, it was the warforged Dreck who spoke next. “You must feel it, beloved. Not as pain, but as anger. Turn the sensation into emotion, and turn that emotion against your foe. Let your anger grow, and it will serve as the vessel of your power.”

“But what if I don’t hate my enemy?” she asked. It didn’t matter either way, since these techniques couldn’t increase the power of a false mark. But she was curious to learn more about the forces that drove the aberrants.

“You must learn to,” Dreck said. “It is the nature of our gift and the burden we must bear. We are the children of Khyber, and our blessings are fury and pain. You must learn to hone your anger, to make it a blade you can unsheathe and release when battle is done.”

Thorn nodded. “I’ll try,” she said.

“No,” Fileon said. “Try, and you will fail. Try and you will die-and bring down those who are relying on you. You will have to do better than that.”

Dreck nodded. “There is fire within you, beloved. But you must seize it if you are to succeed. Doubt, and you will fail. Find that ember of fury. Know that this power lies within you. Otherwise, you will fall.”

Thorn bowed her head. “I understand.”

“Go,” Fileon said. “Meditate on this. We will try again when you have had time to recover. But tonight is your last chance, sister. We have run out of time for child’s games.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Son of Khyber is watching you, beloved.” Dreck’s voice was soft and soothing, but Thorn could see Fileon scowling behind him. “We must ensure that you are ready for the work that lies ahead. Tomorrow you will venture into the world once more. Tomorrow you will face our true foes for the first time.”

“True foes? Who-”

Fileon silenced her with a raised hand. The time for conversation was over. “Go. Meditate on the lesson you have learned here. We will continue at the seventh bell.”

Thorn nodded and turned to go. Behind her, the halfling girl sat on the floor, stroking the fur of the shivering rat.

“The Son of Khyber,” Thorn mused. She was sitting on the bed in her quarters, with Steel laid across her knees. He’d assured her they weren’t being observed, and she’d personally scoured the room to make sure there were no rats hidden in the walls. “So what do we know?”

“Child of Khyber” is a common term for those possessing aberrant dragonmarks, the dagger whispered.

“It might come as a surprise, but I do actually read the briefing materials. And yes, I would imagine that the leader of this cabal of aberrant assassins actually has an aberrant mark of his own. But what do we actually know?”

Very little. Until recently, the house was fully controlled by Thora Tavin. As the halfling said, Tavin seemed content to keep it as a criminal enterprise and shelter for those possessing aberrant dragonmarks.