much like a constrictor snake crawling up his back, and it pulsed along with his heartbeat.
There had been no challenges on the way up to the residential floor, but as she neared the top of the steps, Thorn heard a sound—the faint scrape of metal on metal, an armored figure shifting its weight. She raised her hand, and Brom and Dreck froze behind her. There were no voices, no breathing that she could hear … but there it was again, the harsh scrape of shifting steel.
Thorn crept to the top of the stairway. Her dagger might not talk, but she could use it as a mirror, sliding the blade around the corner and studying the reflection. What awaited them was not human nor even the warforged she’d been expecting. Instead she saw a pair of dogs sitting on either side of a doorway. They were the size and shape of wolfhounds, but these were no living creatures. Even with her limited view, Thorn sawlight glinting off armored skin and long snouts filled with razors.
Iron defenders, she guessed. She’d seen the creatures at other Cannith facilities. Tireless homunculi, heavily armored and able to chew through platemail. While their senses weren’t as keen as hounds of flesh and blood, even a whisper would alert them to her presence. Slipping back to the others, she indicated the position of the defenders.
Dreck nodded. He gestured at her to stay where she was. Then he turned to Brom and pointed to the top of the stairs.
The patchwork dwarf moved with remarkable grace given his bizarre appearance, but he wasn’t made for stealth, and he knew it. A wide grin spread across his face, and he charged up the stairs, mail clanking and his armored fist tearing at the wood. The iron defenders howled as they intercepted him on the landing, an eerie call more like a horn than the voice of a living beast. And then they were upon him. The first raised its hind legs to rake with talon-tipped feet and sank its teeth into the flesh of Brom’s smaller forearm. The second snapped at the dwarf’s ankles and knees. They were trying to pull him down and savage him, and within seconds blood coated their snouts.
“The door,” Dreck said. “Go now.”
Thorn’s instinct was to help Brom. The guardians were tearing him apart, and blood was spreading across the floor. Yet the dwarf had not cried in pain. He was chuckling. A blow of his powerful arm sent one of the hounds sprawling. It rose to its feet and darted back at Brom, but one of its forelegs was bent out of shape, and it moved awkwardly.
For a moment, Brom met her gaze. Bloody spittlewas dripping from his mouth, but he just laughed. “Go, little sister! Do your part!” He seized a defender in his massive hand and dashed it against the floor. It twisted in his grip and tore at his fingers, piercing the armored gauntlet.
Thorn darted up the stairs and leaped over the melee. She caught a glimpse of raw entrails dangling from a guardian’s snout and wondered how Brom could still be laughing. Dreck followed her, but as she jumped over the blood, he joined the fray, his blade striking with deadly precision and catching the guardians in the gaps between their armor.
Thorn pushed aside the sounds of battle and focused on the task before her. The door was a work of art in its own right. The frame made from Aereni livewood. Fresh ivy clung to the wood. The door itself was darkwood etched with the emblem of a tree beneath a starry sky, inlaid with gold and silver. It was fine work, but Thorn was concerned with the enchantments woven into it. The wards were stronger than those she’d dealt with at the entrance. This was more than a simple seal and alarm. If triggered, it would release a blast of energy that would flow down the hallway. A few drops of nightwater weakened the enchantment, but taken alone the waters of Mabar weren’t strong enough to counter the magic. Thorn whispered a word of power and watched the ripples in the air. This mystical echo was a critical tool, helping her gauge the
There had been no challenges on the way up to the residential floor, but as she neared the top of the steps, Thorn heard a sound—the faint scrape of metal on metal, an armored figure shifting its weight. She raised her hand, and Brom and Dreck froze behind her. There were no voices, no breathing that she could hear … but there it was again, the harsh scrape of shifting steel.
Thorn crept to the top of the stairway. Her dagger might not talk, but she could use it as a mirror, sliding the blade around the corner and studying the reflection. What awaited them was not human nor even the warforged she’d been expecting. Instead she saw a pair of dogs sitting on either side of a doorway. They were the size and shape of wolfhounds, but these were no living creatures. Even with her limited view, Thorn sawlight glinting off armored skin and long snouts filled with razors.
Iron defenders, she guessed. She’d seen the creatures at other Cannith facilities. Tireless homunculi, heavily armored and able to chew through platemail. While their senses weren’t as keen as hounds of flesh and blood, even a whisper would alert them to her presence. Slipping back to the others, she indicated the position of the defenders.
Dreck nodded. He gestured at her to stay where she was. Then he turned to Brom and pointed to the top of the stairs.
The patchwork dwarf moved with remarkable grace given his bizarre appearance, but he wasn’t made for stealth, and he knew it. A wide grin spread across his face, and he charged up the stairs, mail clanking and his armored fist tearing at the wood. The iron defenders howled as they intercepted him on the landing, an eerie call more like a horn than the voice of a living beast. And then they were upon him. The first raised its hind legs to rake with talon-tipped feet and sank its teeth into the flesh of Brom’s smaller forearm. The second snapped at the dwarf’s ankles and knees. They were trying to pull him down and savage him, and within seconds blood coated their snouts.
“The door,” Dreck said. “Go now.”
Thorn’s instinct was to help Brom. The guardians were tearing him apart, and blood was spreading across the floor. Yet the dwarf had not cried in pain. He was chuckling. A blow of his powerful arm sent one of the hounds sprawling. It rose to its feet and darted back at Brom, but one of its forelegs was bent out of shape, and it moved awkwardly.
For a moment, Brom met her gaze. Bloody spittlewas dripping from his mouth, but he just laughed. “Go, little sister! Do your part!” He seized a defender in his massive hand and dashed it against the floor. It twisted in his grip and tore at his fingers, piercing the armored gauntlet.
Thorn darted up the stairs and leaped over the melee. She caught a glimpse of raw entrails dangling from a guardian’s snout and wondered how Brom could still be laughing. Dreck followed her, but as she jumped over the blood, he joined the fray, his blade striking with deadly precision and catching the guardians in the gaps between their armor.
Thorn pushed aside the sounds of battle and focused on the task before her. The door was a work of art in its own right. The frame made from Aereni livewood. Fresh ivy clung to the wood. The door itself was darkwood etched with the emblem of a tree beneath a starry sky, inlaid with gold and silver. It was fine work, but Thorn was concerned with the enchantments woven into it. The wards were stronger than those she’d dealt with at the entrance. This was more than a simple seal and alarm. If triggered, it would release a blast of energy that would flow down the hallway. A few drops of nightwater weakened the enchantment, but taken alone the waters of Mabar weren’t strong enough to counter the magic. Thorn whispered a word of power and watched the ripples in the air. This mystical echo was a critical tool, helping her gauge the
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