The Queen of Stone: Thorn of Breland (11 page)

F
ight, or flee? Make a run for it, trusting the poisoned barbs of the ghoulbriar to slow pursuit? Stand tough and take down as many monsters as possible? Shift to nightclothes and play dumb? Had it only been Ghyrryn or even Gharn, the last option might work. But the image of the harpy’s broken wings and empty eyes chilled her, and she didn’t want to fall into the hands of this wolf pack. They might not hit the briar, and she couldn’t outrun a wolf. She’d fight.

She reached her conclusion in less than a second, and her enemies hadn’t moved. On the heels of their argument, both sides were cautious, waiting for the other to act. The tension broke when the elf moved forward, drawing a curved sword with one hand as he gestured to his wolves with the other. Thorn prepared for the attack.

A burst of sound and motion shook the briars and branches to her left. All heads turned, including Thorn’s. A bird of prey—a hawk with dark feathers and a wide wingspan—broke through the canopy and rose into the moonlit sky. In a second, it was gone.

Thorn froze, holding her breath. Unless the breeze changed, she was still downwind from the wolves. As long
as they blamed the disturbance on the bird …

“Go,” said Gharn. He turned back to the hunters. Behind him, Ghyrryn and the other gnolls were ready for battle. “You have your task. Leave us to ours.”

The elf stared at the horned gnoll, then glanced over his shoulder, following the path of the bird. “Very well, brother,” he said, a razor edge to his soft words. “Have no fear. We’ll be watching your path all the way to the Great Crag.” His eyes drifted to Ghyrryn. “And beyond.”

Ghyrryn gave a low, trilling whine, staring at the elf. The large wolf growled again, but this time the elf turned his back on the gnolls. “Come,” he said, beckoning to his wolves. “We have other matters to attend to.”

The gnolls remained until the hunters and their beasts were out of sight. Then they huddled together, hooting and growling. Thorn couldn’t understand their words—but she could see that Gharn was angry and taking it out on Ghyrryn. Finally, one of the other gnolls picked up the wounded harpy and the quartet turned back to their camp.

“All I’m saying is that
I
wasn’t the one who almost got us both killed.”

“Which is a miracle, with all the noise you were making. I’ve seen drunken tribex quieter than you. Perhaps it was my fear that they’d hear
you
that caused me to slip.”

“And yet—”

“Fine.” Thorn said. “I acknowledge your skill, mighty Drego. Your gifts, and your gifts alone, prevented that battle, saved our lives, and avoided an international incident that would have sent the world spiraling into war.”

“There’s no need to exaggerate,” Drego said reproachfully.

“Once I start, it’s hard to stop.”

Drego and Thorn sat in the woods on the edge of the Brelish-Thrane campsite. Jharl had spotted them as they
returned to camp, but Thorn had already changed her clothes to her traveling gown. As she explained to the gnoll, the two were just enjoying the night and debating the issues that lay between their two nations.

“Impressive work, though,” Thorn said. “You summoned the hawk, and the casting didn’t break your invisibility. But why didn’t I hear the words of the spell? Summoning can be noisy magic.”

“Not for me,” Drego said. He waved a finger in the air, and a spark of silver light flickered on the tip.

Duly noted, Thorn thought. She knew it was possible to cast spells without speaking—certainly a useful talent for a spy. But it took vastly more energy to cast a silent spell, and it was a difficult skill to learn; Thorn had tried with no success. It occurred to her that the Thrane minister Luala had remained silent while performing her healing magic earlier … apparently, the Thranes had a gift for it. Still, it was unwise of him to flaunt it. Now she knew that if she ever needed to subdue Drego, she’d need more than a gag.

Drego stared into the tiny flame. Thorn reached out and ran her fingers gently across his other hand. “So what happens now?” she said.

Her touch broke his concentration and the spark of light vanished. He turned to meet her gaze. His eyes were gray, but the light of the moons turned them silver. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not proposing marriage, and if I see you in Breland I’ll probably cut your throat. But as long as it’s us versus them … I think we can work together.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled, lifting her hand and touching his lips to her gloved fingers. “And the marriage will have to wait until you convert, anyhow. I have my faith to consider.”

“We have other things to discuss. What did you make of that meeting?”

Drego released her hand, a pained expression on his face. “Very well, my lady, very well. To the matter at hand.”

“Droaam is a young nation. The Daughters of Sora Kell arrived less than twenty years ago. Before that …”

“Chaos,” Drego said. “My people know more of it than most. Crusaders of the faith would often venture into the savage lands of the west, dedicating their lives to destroying all the evil that they could until they themselves fell in battle. Few returned, but some journals have been recovered.”

“And what qualifies as ‘evil’ in this tale?”

“Any monster that would threaten the settlers to the east … people of Breland, I’d like to point out. So my ancestors gave their lives to protect yours. If not for my great-greatgrandfather, you might never have been born.”

Thorn refrained from pointing out that her mother wasn’t even from Khorvaire. “So we’re practically brother and sister.”

Drego placed his hand over hers, and his smile wasn’t exactly fraternal. “I wouldn’t go that far. But in those days, there was no semblance of a nation. Ogres, trolls, giants—the stronger creatures enslaved the weak. When Galifar collapsed into war, the beasts of Droaam became more aggressive, but their attacks were still random, uncoordinated.”

“And then the Daughters of Sora Kell arrived.”

“Yes. Force is the only language these warlords understand, and thirteen years ago, the hags appeared with an army of trolls and other creatures. I don’t know about you, but we’ve never been able to determine how they gathered such a powerful force in secret. Within a year, their opponents were either dead or sworn vassals. And here we are today.”

“Sworn vassals are only as good as the oaths binding them,” Thorn said. “From what I’ve heard, some in this land are glad to serve the Daughters. The gnolls are
supposed to be a loyal bunch. But fear is the mortar that holds Droaam together, and if you’re a tyrannical giant, it may hurt to bend your knee to some tiny crone.”

“Which brings us to tonight’s encounter. Did you recognize the name Callain?”

It meant nothing to Thorn, but Steel whispered in her ear, and she repeated the words aloud. “Callain of the Final Word. Leader of a flight of harpies accused of multiple counts of banditry.”

“The Wind Howlers.”

“Yes,” Thorn said. “I believe so.”

“So it seems that we’re bait,” Drego said. “The Daughters invite delegates to the Great Crag, ostensibly to negotiate full recognition as a sovereign nation. Death of a delegate at the hands of monsters would be an embarrassment at best—at worst, a cause for war. If any of these warlords wants to challenge the Daughters, all they need to do is kill the delegates. Small wonder your gnoll friend isn’t promising to keep the rest of us alive. I imagine they’ll have their paws full as it is.”

“There’s more to it,” Thorn said. “That elf … he said that Callain couldn’t resist the opportunity because of the ‘approaching storm.’ What did he mean? And what did Ghyrryn say that made those hunters so angry?”

“That was odd,” Drego said. “The worg warned the gnoll leader about speaking to ‘the blessed.’ Then our friend said … what’s the best way to put this?” He closed his eyes for a moment, running his fingers along the back of Thorn’s hands as he considered it. “Less blessed by the day. Less? Or … a blessing more common? It’s not an easy translation.”

Thorn mulled things over. “So the Daughters don’t trust their vassals, and they’re probably using us to draw out traitors. All this against the backdrop of a coming storm and a fading blessing.” Her eyes widened. “Could they be talking about House Tharashk?”

Drego frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Those people in black were trackers. One was a half-orc. We know House Tharashk has dealings with Droaam, and the half-orcs of House Tharashk carry the Dragonmark of Finding—the perfect tool for a bounty hunter, and the pillar of their house. What if that ‘blessing’—their dragonmark—is fading away?”

“That seems far-fetched. One of the hunters was an elf, but that doesn’t mean Aerenal is involved.”

“You’re right.” Thorn sighed. “And I’ve never heard of Tharashk having a great love of wolves. Blessings and wolves … no clever ideas?”

“I’m afraid not,” Drego replied. But Thorn saw a flicker in his eyes—a moment of doubt.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“Don’t hold back on me now,” she said. “There’s still time for me to return that wedding dress.”

“No,” he said. “Really, it’s nothing. I don’t know what this is about. But it sounds like something may be afoot in the Crag that concerns both our nations after all. I suggest we get some rest. Perhaps the sun will shed new light on this.”

“You’re wise beyond your years,” Thorn said. “Until the morning, then.” She began to stand, then paused. Drego was still holding her hand.

“I said that
we
should get some rest,” he said, a slight smile on his lips.

“I see,” Thorn said. “And would you like to come to my pavilion? I’m sure my friend Toli would be happy to see you.”

“With you at my side, I would need no tent but the sky, no blanket but the grass,” he said. She looked down at him. He was a handsome man, with cheekbones a kalashtar would envy, and piercing eyes. Even after their adventure in the woods, his skin was flawless, his hair perfect. She
considered Steel’s words …
he’s attracted to you, and we can use that
.

“Not tonight, Flamebearer Sarhain,” she said, pulling her hand free. She smiled at him. “You’ll have to convert me first.”

He slid down to the ground, placing his hand over his heart and giving a heavy sigh. Thorn turned her back on him and walked toward the Brelish pavilion.

T
he brilliant light of the moons made it difficult to sleep. Thorn remembered seeing four full moons in the sky when she was a child, marveling at the multihued light they cast across the land. The moons waxed and waned at different rates, and now Dravago and Nymm were growing wider and brighter. Within a few nights, six of the twelve moons would be full.

While Thorn had little interest in history and the academic significance of such events, the topic had come up on the long wagon ride. Drego explained that over two centuries had passed since the last such spectacle. It was a natural wonder, but for Thorn it was simply annoying. She was a restless sleeper at the best of times, and the shimmering light was too much. She pulled her blanket up over her head. It was scratchy and hot, but anything was better than the glare.

The darkness was a blessing, but Thorn’s thoughts were troubled. The campfire spat and crackled, and the sounds mingled with images of the battle with the harpies—the crushed corpses at the bottom of the gorge and the smell of blood. Thorn tried to push the thoughts away, but the charnel stench grew stronger with each moment. She heard
moans, sobs, and distant cries of pain. She was certain it was all in her imagination; it was too distant, too faint, and she’d heard no sounds of battle.

Then she heard the sound of a steel blade shifting in a mailed fist, the rasping noise of armor plates brushing against one another. A soldier in full plate mail, and only a few steps away from her. Thorn threw aside the blanket and rose to her feet, reaching for Steel.

But Steel wasn’t at her side. And she wasn’t in the camp anymore. Wagons, tents, even the others who had been sleeping around her—were nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t even say if it was still night, because the sky was filled with thick clouds of smoke, reflecting the light from fires burning across the land before her.