Son of Khyber: Thorn of Breland Read Free Page B

take solace—you cannot be blamed for your first kill. You could not have known the power within you. You are innocent of that first death. The second and third—those are something different. But enough of this. Let me look at you. Remove your clothing and sit on the bed.”
    She took a step back. “What?”
    “Remove your clothing, child. I must study your flesh.”
    Thorn shook her head. “My mark is on my face, and that’s all you need to see. I’m no Forgelight whore.”
    The halfling laughed, but there was little humor in it. “Oh, sister, the fires of my passion burned out long ago. But whatever I have become, I am a healer still. You may bear your blessing on your face, but our marks are a heavy burden, and they can touch the mind and body in many ways.” He glanced meaningfully at his arm, then back at her. “You have spoken of the agony you feel when you use your gift. I would know the nature of it. It is possible I can ease your pain and prevent it from spreading.”
    Thorn hesitated. It was a reasonable request, but under the circumstances full cooperation would be more suspicious than this resistance. She met his gaze for a moment, then pulled off a glove.
    “Lie on your back, sister,” he said when she was done undressing. “Let me look at you.”
    Surely he would expect Thorn to be uncomfortable with the situation, so she didn’t worry too much about him sensing her unease. But it wasn’t any modesty that troubled her as the crippled halfling ran his fingers along her skin. This was the ultimate test, and if Fileon’s powers were as great as he claimed, her life depended on the answer. Everything she’d said so far had been a lie—but the mark around her eye was the greatest lie of all. Zane had promised her it would hold up to any examination. But he wasn’t the one in the condemned building with the deadly hand of the halfling tracing the pattern on her face.
    “Intriguing,” he said. “I’ve never seen lines quite like this before. But that is the nature of our gifts, what sets us aside from the Twelve. No two marksare exactly alike. Now turn over and lie down on your stomach.”
    This would be the second challenge. Thorn did as he asked and heard a sharp intake of breath as Fileon looked at her.
    Two shards of crystal were embedded in Thorn’s back. A deep purple Khyber dragonshard emerged at the top of her spine, while a rosy Eberron dragonshard protruded from the base. Fileon ran his finger around each shard.
    “Is there pain?”
    “Yes,” she said. There was no reason to deny it. The rosy shard gave her less trouble, but the shard in her neck was a constant torment, a dull pain that had become a part of her life.
    “Of course,” he said. There was something in his voice that troubled her. He sounded pleased, as if he’d been expecting to find the shards. “How did this occur?”
    “A mission. We were sent into one of the dragon-shard repositories of House Tharashk. I’ve never seen so many jewels. But we underestimated the wards. It was Mayne who triggered them. And suddenly this whirlwind rose up—a living storm of dragon-shards. It shredded Mayne. I was already running when it hit me. Lharen saved me, got me out alive. They removed most of the shards. But these two … they say that they’ve bonded with the nerves. They’d cripple me if they were removed.”
    The story was a lie, but not far from the truth—even if it was Lharen who’d died, and Mayne who’d saved her. The stones were an old injury, not some secret weapon. Fileon ran a finger around the lower shard, surely noticing the many small scars on her back. Finally he stepped down from the stool.
    “Most interesting,” he said. “But I see no cause for concern. Get dressed.”
    “So we’re done?”
    “We’ve yet to begin, Sister Thorn.” He smiled, and it was as cold and sharp as any blade. “You must learn to control your gift, and quickly. The one I serve has need of you. But it is my task to