response time of the ward.
Behind her, the sounds of battle raged on. Brom’s laughter faded with ominous swiftness, and Thorn hoped that the dwarf was still alive. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the ward. If she slipped and unleashed its power, they’d all be dead. Sheheld a probe in each hand, silver needles tipped with Khyber shards, each extended into the weakened ward. She traced a pattern in the air, letting the faint ripples around the shards guide her motions. The Khyber shards could absorb and disrupt patterns of magical energy. But if she slipped out of the pattern, she’d trigger the explosion.
There was a thunderous
clang
as a metal object struck the ground next to her—the head of an iron defender, torn free from the body. The sound was a shock, but it didn’t break her focus. One final pass …
She felt a tingle along her skin, the energies of the ward dissipating harmlessly.
“Done?” Blood stained Dreck’s robes, along with the alchemical fluids found inside the defenders. But there were no tears in the robe itself, no signs of serious injury other than the bitten forearm. He held his long knife in his good hand.
“It’s safe to pass.”
Dreck looked over his shoulder. “Mighty Brom, your strength must serve once more.”
Brom was a ghastly sight. His chain mail was in tatters, and armor and clothes alike were caked with blood. One of his cheeks had been torn free from the bone, and it looked as if there was a deep gouge in his neck where a defender had caught him by the throat. It was difficult to see how he could still stand, let alone fight. Yet somehow he remained on his feet, leaning heavily on his oversized arm. He made his way to the door, and a strange huffing sound came from the gap in his throat.
He’s laughing, Thorn realized.
Brom raised his arm and slammed it into the door. One blow was all it took. Darkwood splintered as thedoor fell off its frame, falling into the room beyond. Brom charged into the room, with Dreck and Thorn close on his heels.
It was dark in the windowless chamber, and Thorn’s sight shifted into darkvision to compensate. Compared to the barren halls and chambers of the rest of the manor, this room was positively cluttered. The soft fur of a giant steelbone bear, a vast and expensive carpet, covered the floor. A four-poster bed sat against the far wall, and this was the source of the dim light in the room. An illusion had been bound into the canopy over the bed, an image of the night sky complete with stars, moons, and the golden Ring of Siberys. Glancing around the room, Thorn saw a miniature castle, a perfect model complete with tiny soldiers walking the walls. There was a pile of books, a map of Khorvaire pinned to the wall, a warforged about the size of a halfling—a warforged that was now darting toward her, with gleaming blades extending from its wrists. It was quick, but not swift enough to close the distance before Thorn could react. She kicked it squarely in the face, and the little warforged staggered back. Before it could regain its balance, Brom’s massive fist came crashing down. Quick as it might be, the warforged wasn’t as durable as iron defenders, and the one blow was enough to crack joints and leave it twitching on the floor; Brom continued to pound until it fell still.
“So what are we looking for?” Thorn asked.
“I would have thought that was obvious,” Dreck replied. “We have come for the greatest treasure of Ilena and Merrix d’Cannith.”
He gestured at the bed, and Brom pulled the comforter from the frame with a mighty tug. A childwas hidden beneath the blanket, a boy of perhaps eight years of age, curled into a ball and staring with wide eyes.
“And now we have found him,” Dreck said.
C HAPTER E LEVEN
Dragon Towers
Lharvion 20, 999 YK
Y ou’ve used your mark to stun before,” Dreck said, looking down at the quivering boy. “Do so now. Incapacitate the child for travel.”
Thorn hesitated. This was the
Behind her, the sounds of battle raged on. Brom’s laughter faded with ominous swiftness, and Thorn hoped that the dwarf was still alive. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the ward. If she slipped and unleashed its power, they’d all be dead. Sheheld a probe in each hand, silver needles tipped with Khyber shards, each extended into the weakened ward. She traced a pattern in the air, letting the faint ripples around the shards guide her motions. The Khyber shards could absorb and disrupt patterns of magical energy. But if she slipped out of the pattern, she’d trigger the explosion.
There was a thunderous
clang
as a metal object struck the ground next to her—the head of an iron defender, torn free from the body. The sound was a shock, but it didn’t break her focus. One final pass …
She felt a tingle along her skin, the energies of the ward dissipating harmlessly.
“Done?” Blood stained Dreck’s robes, along with the alchemical fluids found inside the defenders. But there were no tears in the robe itself, no signs of serious injury other than the bitten forearm. He held his long knife in his good hand.
“It’s safe to pass.”
Dreck looked over his shoulder. “Mighty Brom, your strength must serve once more.”
Brom was a ghastly sight. His chain mail was in tatters, and armor and clothes alike were caked with blood. One of his cheeks had been torn free from the bone, and it looked as if there was a deep gouge in his neck where a defender had caught him by the throat. It was difficult to see how he could still stand, let alone fight. Yet somehow he remained on his feet, leaning heavily on his oversized arm. He made his way to the door, and a strange huffing sound came from the gap in his throat.
He’s laughing, Thorn realized.
Brom raised his arm and slammed it into the door. One blow was all it took. Darkwood splintered as thedoor fell off its frame, falling into the room beyond. Brom charged into the room, with Dreck and Thorn close on his heels.
It was dark in the windowless chamber, and Thorn’s sight shifted into darkvision to compensate. Compared to the barren halls and chambers of the rest of the manor, this room was positively cluttered. The soft fur of a giant steelbone bear, a vast and expensive carpet, covered the floor. A four-poster bed sat against the far wall, and this was the source of the dim light in the room. An illusion had been bound into the canopy over the bed, an image of the night sky complete with stars, moons, and the golden Ring of Siberys. Glancing around the room, Thorn saw a miniature castle, a perfect model complete with tiny soldiers walking the walls. There was a pile of books, a map of Khorvaire pinned to the wall, a warforged about the size of a halfling—a warforged that was now darting toward her, with gleaming blades extending from its wrists. It was quick, but not swift enough to close the distance before Thorn could react. She kicked it squarely in the face, and the little warforged staggered back. Before it could regain its balance, Brom’s massive fist came crashing down. Quick as it might be, the warforged wasn’t as durable as iron defenders, and the one blow was enough to crack joints and leave it twitching on the floor; Brom continued to pound until it fell still.
“So what are we looking for?” Thorn asked.
“I would have thought that was obvious,” Dreck replied. “We have come for the greatest treasure of Ilena and Merrix d’Cannith.”
He gestured at the bed, and Brom pulled the comforter from the frame with a mighty tug. A childwas hidden beneath the blanket, a boy of perhaps eight years of age, curled into a ball and staring with wide eyes.
“And now we have found him,” Dreck said.
C HAPTER E LEVEN
Dragon Towers
Lharvion 20, 999 YK
Y ou’ve used your mark to stun before,” Dreck said, looking down at the quivering boy. “Do so now. Incapacitate the child for travel.”
Thorn hesitated. This was the
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