Son of Khyber: Thorn of Breland by Keith Baker Page B

pinned gargoyle. “I might not know how to kill you,” she whispered. “But I’m sure I can figure something out.”
    Dispatching the gargoyle proved to be a simple if gruesome task. The greater challenge was prying the myrnaxe free of the corpse. The spear had sunk deep into the stone, and whatever strength had allowed her to strike the blow had faded.
    “Be swift!” Fileon hissed behind her. As Thorn had anticipated, the halfling had been able to pull himself up on his own. Thorn held her tongue, devoting all her energy and attention to the axe. At last it slid free, and she drew it back into her glove.
    “You waste our time,” Fileon whispered, but he nonetheless extended his good hand and helped Thorn down to the ledge.
    “Sorry. I thought it might be a good idea to save your life. I’m sure you’d do the same in my place.”
    “I’m afraid I wouldn’t.” Fileon was still holding Thorn’s hand, and as he spoke, Thorn saw his dragonmark gleaming on his withered arm.
    Before she could react, she felt a terrible numbness spread throughout her body—and then she felt nothing at all.
    Fileon pulled his hand free, and there was something like sorrow in his eyes as he looked up at her. “Itruly wish there was another way, sister. I had hoped you’d be crippled by the Deneith blade, but I should have known better than to trust in one of them. It seems I am my only ally—along with the gargoyle that killed you. It seems the Son of Khyber will have to alter his plans.”
    Don’t be a fool, Thorn thought. Try as she might, she couldn’t move a muscle. She could only stare into Fileon’s eyes and hope he would see reason. She saw no hatred in his gaze. If anything, there was true sorrow.
    Shaking his head, he pushed her off the ledge.

C HAPTER N INE
Dragon Towers
Lharvion 20, 999 YK
    F ocus!
    The world was a blur, the wall of Torran Spire slipping past and the Dagger River approaching below. Thorn could hear the gale around her and her heart pounding within her chest, but she couldn’t
feel
anything. She was completely disconnected from her body.
    Ledge!
    The window ledge protruded from the wall, and Thorn reached out for it—or tried to. Her arms wouldn’t move. Her shoulder struck the ledge, sending her spinning to the side, but she felt nothing—gravity, wind … nothing.
    Questions burned in the back of her mind. Why would Fileon do this? Have I been exposed?
    But there was no time to analyze the situation. Unless she could do something, her remaining lifespan would be measured in moments. No time for reason. But she found a spark of rage and latched onto it. Anger at Fileon. But there was far more than that. She was still furious at Sorghan, the murderous bigotwho’d nearly killed her. Still angry at the Twelve for setting this thrice-damned mission in motion. And there was still the burning pain of uncertainty—the mystery of Sorghan’s death, the question of her own aberrant powers. And in that moment of fury, the stone at the base of her neck came alive, cutting through the numbness and burning against the bone. For once, she welcomed the pain, seizing hold of it and letting it serve as a conduit for her anger. The magic of Fileon’s dragonmark shattered in the face of this rage, and suddenly Thorn could feel everything—the wind, the blood rushing through her veins, the torn skin where her shoulder had struck the ledge. She was in control once more.
    But she was still falling.
    While it had seemed an eternity, it had only taken seconds for Thorn to break the power of the dragonmark. She was falling past the foundation of Dragon Towers, past one of the so-called flying buttresses, magical supports that kept the towers from collapsing. Stretching out, Thorn managed to set her palms against the stone. A moment’s thought reactivated the spider charm—and suddenly her hands were anchored to the stone. Thorn swung her legs against the wall, bracing for the impact as best she could, but the pain