The Queen of Stone: Thorn of Breland (14 page)

But a decade ago the Daughters of Sora Kell emerged from myth and laid claim to Droaam. And tonight she’d be dining with one of them … sitting in the same hall as the Mistress of the Mires, Lord Koltan’s Doom, the Spinner of Gold and Lies. And where there was one sister, could the others be far away? Nandon’s midnight tales echoed in her mind.
Maenya eats the flesh and drinks the blood, but she saves the soul, binding it forever to the bones of her victim. She sleeps on a bed made from the skulls of children, and their ghostly cries ring through the cavern, now and until the end of time
…

“I’ve never met Sora Katra,” Beren said, drawing her from her reverie. “Sora Maenya … that’s a different story. When I was just a lad, younger than you are now, I was stationed at Lherenstan, one of our keeps along the Northern Graywall. We were fools to try to settle that land, and to try to hold it during wartime. Breland’s too big as it is, and we were too far from home. But there were always tales of gold and dragonshards beyond the Graywall, and greed has long outweighed common sense.”

“Why were you there?” Thorn said.

Beren laughed. “I know, I know—a tragic waste of such a mighty warrior. My father was to blame. The old man wanted to keep me away from Thrane, to find me a job signing parchments or washing dishes. I knew
my duty as a Wynarn. I wanted a sword in my hand, and I found my way to the front lines soon enough. As it turned out, Thrane would have been far safer than Lherenstan.”

“What happened?”

“The tide of violence ebbed and flowed. Months passed with no trouble at all, then some settler or prospector would cross a line. The ogres would raid the villages, and we’d take the fight to them. I did my share of bloody deeds those days, on Aureon’s word!”

Thorn was accustomed to Beren’s stories, to his jovial bluster. But as he continued, she could tell that something was different about this tale. He still smiled, but the fire in his eyes had faded. He pressed on, as if compelled to speak.

“It was Zarantyr of 972 when she came to our gate. She was a refugee. She told us that her husband and children had been killed by trolls. I’ll never forget her. Tall and thin, hair as black as a crow’s wing and just as ragged, surrounding her like a shroud woven from the night itself. I could see that her skin was flawless beneath the dirt, and her eyes were as dark as her hair.

“But her spirit impressed me the most—the determination that had carried her so far from Sharn and Wroat, the courage that kept her going after her family was destroyed. She said she was hungry, asked if she could stay the night beneath our roof before continuing east. The commander agreed. But I didn’t stay for the evening meal. Cainan and I were sent on a scouting mission, to search for our lady’s village and track the aggressive trolls.”

“And what did you find?” Thorn said.

Beren studied the cold fire dancing along his enchanted torch. “There was no trail to follow. It was Zarantyr, and it had snowed the day before, but there were no tracks save ours … and the snow was stained with blood. Yet there were no signs of struggle. No
smashed doors, no burned buildings. Just the bones of twelve settlers, picked perfectly clean and stacked neatly by the town well. Every bone … except for the skulls. Those were nowhere to be found.”

“And the woman?”

“We returned as quickly as we could, but it was past midnight by the time we arrived. I’d called on Dol Arrah, begged the Sovereigns to let that woman be a ghost, a restless spirit who’d simply wanted her remains to be found. But I knew what we were going to find. We’d left thirty people in that fort, veteran soldiers among them. All that awaited us on our return was their bones, picked clean and stacked on the table in the great hall. The skulls were gone. She’d told us the truth. She was hungry.”

Thorn had heard such tales before, but never from a man who had actually lived one. She tried to envision the hall filled with bones, but the only thing that came to mind was the battlefield in her dreams, the haughty figure dressed in black and red. The sword descending toward Drego’s face.

“Cainan … it broke him,” Beren said, still gazing into the fire. He wasn’t smiling any more. “He tried to kill me. I managed to reach the nearest supply post before collapsing. I don’t know if they ever restaffed that fort. A decade passed before I returned to the Graywall, to fight at Kalnor Pass. And I still dream of her … those dark eyes, boring into mine. Every night in the Kalnor campaign, I was convinced I’d wake to find her waiting at my bedside. That she’d take my skull next, trapping my spirit until the end of time.”

He stopped, and the silence was a weight across the room. The cold fire flickered but made no sound.

“At least we aren’t having dinner with Sora Maenya,” Thorn said. “Perhaps her sister isn’t as fierce.”

Beren turned to face her. His eyes were haunted, lost in the past; she’d never seen him look so grim. “I hope so,
Nyrielle. But I’m afraid. I’ve been trying to forget who we’re dealing with …
what
we’re dealing with. These aren’t women. They aren’t just monsters. Harpies or medusas I could fight, though I didn’t do so well before.

“These are the daughters of one of the first evils of Eberron. They’ve destroyed heroes, outwitted the greatest minds of Galifar. Tonight I’ll be face to face with Sora Katra. Tomorrow I’ll be negotiating with her. We couldn’t ignore this invitation. We all hoped Droaam would collapse on itself, and it hasn’t. But I
am
afraid, Nyrielle. I still see those bones when I close my eyes, and I feel that worse is yet to come.”

A sudden rap sounded on the door, and both Thorn and Beren startled. The door opened and Toli stepped inside.

“Our escort has arrived, Lord Beren. The feast is about to begin.”

“Very well, Toli,” Beren said. He extended an arm to Thorn. “Lady Tam, would you accompany me? I think this is a good night to have the company of friends, and I should like to drink to the memory of Grenn, and those fallen before him.”

She took his hand. “Of course, Lord Beren. And I hope that before we leave this place we will be able to lay their spirits to rest.”

Arm in arm, torches held in front of them, they walked out of the chamber. Then Thorn remembered that Toli had mentioned an escort.

“Good evening, Lord Beren.” Drul Kantar was at least three feet taller than Toli, and his blue skin shimmered in the light of the cold fire. His canines were long and sharp, inlaid with silver sigils. “I hope you are well. I know my lady is looking forward to your meeting. Her sister has told us much about you.”

Beren glanced toward Thorn, and she saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes. But if he was afraid, he forced it from his countenance. “Wonderful,” he said, grinning at the oni.
“Lead the way—just promise me there’ll be something to drink at the other end.”

“Have no fear,” Kantar said. “At least, not about that.”

He laughed to show it was a joke, but somehow, Thorn couldn’t bring herself to join him.

T
he halls of the Great Crag were wide and tall, built to accommodate giants. Like the entry hall, the walls were unnaturally smooth … yet the angles were irregular, with no signs of block or seam. It appeared more like the burrow of a giant worm than something carved by humanoids.

Drul Kantar was accompanied by ogre guards, and Thorn saw many more of them as they marched through the curving halls. Thorn had encountered ogres before. During the Last War, the dragonmarked House Tharashk had brokered the services of monstrous mercenaries, and a small but significant population of ogre laborers still lived in Sharn and Wroat, where they used their great strength to haul vast weight.

Still, with the exception of a memorable battle in Sharn, she’d rarely been so close to so many ogres, and she’d never really noticed just how bestial they were. She’d always thought of an ogre as a large human, but with the chance to study one up close, she saw many differences. The arms of the ogre were far longer and bulkier than those of a man, while its legs were shorter. The knuckles of the creature brushed the floor, and if its hands were free, she’d almost
expect it to move on all fours. Both of their ogre guards, though, carried heavy axes with long, jagged blades. Each ogre’s head was a massive, wedge-shaped snout, almost half as large as its torso. Long, pointed ears and a mane of matted brown hair gave the creature a lupine look. Thorn could easily imagine the ogre dropping to all fours and howling at the night sky.

Drul Kantar was something quite different. His arms, too, were longer than his legs, but his bearing was more human. And despite the horns and the two short tusks rising from his lower jaw, Kantar’s head was more like that of a man. He was even handsome, in a craggy, barbaric way. Thorn had recognized his nature by his size and blue skin; she’d heard stories from soldiers who had served on the Droaam front. She knew that Kantar was far more dangerous than his bestial cousins, but she knew little of his actual capabilities. She paused for a moment, slipping her arm away from Beren. As soon as the others were a few steps ahead of her, she drew Steel. Hiding the blade behind her back, she whispered, “Oni.”

Ah! The origin of the oni remains a mystery
, Steel whispered in her mind. He couldn’t resist playing the role of sage.
Despite the obvious physical similarities between the two species, onis are quite different from their mundane cousins. In addition to the formidable strength of the ogre, the oni possesses a host of magical abilities. Flight, invisibility, shape shifting, and the capability to heal from any normal wound within seconds are just a few of their powers. In addition, they are far more intelligent than trolls or ogres—or even humans. As a result, many take up the path of the wizard or sorcerer. This one has warded himself against divination, which means he has something worth hiding, and the ability to conceal it. Be careful
.

At that moment, Drul Kantar stopped walking and turned to face her. Surely he’d just noticed that she’d fallen behind; no one could hear Steel’s voice except Thorn.

“Is something wrong, young lady?” He sounded truly concerned; his voice was deep and soft.

Thorn slipped the dagger into its sheath and smiled at the blue-skinned giant, moving forward to rejoin the group. “I’m fine, Lord Kantar. I’m just not used to these tunnels. I felt dizzy for a moment. It’s passed.”

“I understand. You are a child of sun and Siberys, and you miss the air and open sky. My fellows and I are creatures of darkness, and we can forget how hard it is for you.”

Thorn nodded as they began walking. “It’s kind of you to meet us personally,” she said. “If I were more suspicious, I might suspect that you were trying to curry favor with Breland.”

“If that were true, I think we’d be in better quarters.” Beren smiled to show that he was joking, but Thorn could sense tension in her companion. Kantar’s earlier mention of Sora Maenya had set Beren on edge.

The oni chuckled. Thorn found it strange to meet a monstrous creature with such a pleasant voice. If she closed her eyes, she pictured a heavyset priest of Olladra, celebrating the Feast of Fortune with humorous tales and songs. Instead, the voice was owned by a beast who could take off her arm with a single bite.

“I intend to spend time with all the delegates. I’ve already shown the Thrane and Karrnathi envoys to the hall.”

“Thrane and Karrnath?” Thorn said. “And you left them alone? Would you care to lay odds on which side is still standing when we arrive?”

Kantar’s smile widened, revealing disturbingly sharp teeth. “Oh, they aren’t alone. My ladies have called many of the warlords of Droaam to the Crag for this gathering. You’ll see. But I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, lady. You are—?”

Beren stepped in to answer. “This is my aide, Nyrielle Tam.”

“I see.” The giant vizier paused for a moment to look at her, then glanced at Toli before he resumed his pace. “It’s fascinating to see whom each nation chose to send. And I am sorry that you lost one of your men in that unfortunate attack.”

“And what of that?” Beren said. “I trust you’ve learned
something
about the attack by now. Are we still in danger?”

“It is not my place to answer such questions,” Kantar replied. “Tonight Sora Katra speaks with her own voice, and she will decide what is said. Be assured that the Daughters will not allow any harm to befall their friends.”

“And are we friends?” Beren said.

“That’s what this gathering will determine.”

Beren stopped, and Toli stepped between the ambassador and the giant. “Let me make one thing clear,” Beren said. “I am the voice of Breland in this place—your nearest neighbor and the mightiest of the Five Nations of Galifar. I am cousin to King Boranel, and I have fought at his side on the field of battle. Should anything happen to me, there will be dire consequences. Your gnolls knew to keep me alive, and I’m sure that you have the same orders. So don’t play games with me, Drul Kantar. I have come here as a favor to your queens, to listen to their plea. We may stand in your castle, but don’t think to threaten me. My death would cost you dearly.”