The Queen of Stone: Thorn of Breland (29 page)

“It seems likely,” Sheshka said. “My people are one of the most powerful factions in Droaam, and while I respect what the hags have done, I am still weighing whether we wish to walk their path. If they want war with Breland, my death would enrage my people and bring them to the front lines, turning a possible enemy into a valuable ally.”

“But if they want a war with Breland, why not start a war with Breland? It’s taken them months to set up this summit. Why go to the trouble?”

Sheshka had no immediate answer to that.

“And these assassins. Even if they somehow infiltrated Darguun, Valenar, Breland—how could they know their spies would be chosen for this mission?”

“If there was more time, I’d think they had been turned while at the Crag,” Sheshka mused. “Those who suffer the affliction become loyal to their new pack. But I told you—the change takes days at its fastest, more likely weeks. A chance of succumbing whenever there’s a full moon in the sky, but only a chance.”

“You’re sure Zaeurl couldn’t be acting on her own?”

“Anything is possible,” Sheshka said. “But she’s always seemed so fiercely devoted. It’s difficult to imagine.”

The lock finally turned. Thorn opened the gate and they stepped through.

Another thought lodged in Thorn’s mind. “Blessing,” she said. “One of the gnolls I dealt with said something about that. ‘A blessing more common by the day’—or something similar. It made the wolves angry enough to kill him.”

Sheshka’s vipers hissed in the shadows, the sound rising over the gurgling of the sewer. Thorn still had much to learn about the ways of the medusa, but she could recognize surprise.

“What is it?”

Hsssss
. Finally Sheshka answered. “Nothing I should speak of.”

“I would have thought we were past that, since they tried to kill you too.”

“I don’t know your nation, but you are not of Droaam. We may soon be at war. Would you tell your secrets to your enemy?”

“Do you want war?” Thorn said.

Hssssss
.

“I told you before. Zaeurl has lived in the west for over a hundred years, and she never sought to spread her affliction beyond the members of her pack. I spend my days in my own domain, and I know the Daughters do not regard me with perfect trust. I am not told everything that they do. But I have heard rumors that they have called on Zaeurl to share her ‘blessing’ with members of the skullcrushers. And they are building up a squad of giants and ogres with the added power of the predator.”

Memories flashed through Thorn’s mind.
Don’t
, the elf had told the ogre. And
I don’t need my blessing to deal with you. Don’t…
Did he mean, “Don’t change shape?” He’d tried to take Thorn into custody … did he not want the ogre to reveal his power in front of a delegate? Sheshka said the gnolls were allies of the Daughters, and Ghyrryn served in a company assigned to the Crag. If the hags didn’t share all of their secrets with the Queen of Cazhaak Draal, it was possible the gnoll did know more than Sheshka.

“How many of these blessed ogres do you think we’re talking about?” Thorn said. They’d reached a ladder, and Thorn began to climb. The Great Crag was surrounded by the ruins of an old goblin city, which the Daughters were reclaiming. Kalakhesh’s notes were sketchy, but if they spoke the truth, this opening would let them exit at the inner edge.

“From what I’ve heard, it’s just an experiment,”
Sheshka said. “I’d be surprised if there were more than a score of them.”

A stone lid appeared at the top of the ladder. Thorn pushed hard against it, and it finally shifted. Light spilled down onto them, and for a moment Thorn thought it was day. Then she realized that it was the light of the full moons. Looking through the hatch, she could see two gleaming orbs in the sky above. She reached up and pulled herself onto the surface. She saw four more moons in the sky, far brighter than the Ring of Siberys. And she heard voices, chanting and shouting. And more than that. The roar of beasts. Bears, perhaps? And the howling of wolves, echoing off ruined walls.

Hundreds of wolves. All around them.

“Sheshka?” Thorn reached down to help the medusa up the ladder. “About those numbers? I think you’re going to be surprised.”

T
horn called forth her myrnaxe and prepared for battle. But the voices of the wolves had been carried by the winds. Thorn and Sheshka stood amidst ruins and rubble. The shattered stone face of a hobgoblin priestess regarded them with her one good eye, her mold-encrusted headdress carved into the stone of a nearby pillar. No one else appeared to be watching.

“You’re right,” Sheshka said at last, four of her serpents turning to face Thorn. “Far more than twenty. Zaeurl has brought the full force of the Dark Pack to the Great Crag. But not even the pack has so many dire wolves, and I hear the bellowing of steelbone bears. The rumors are true. They’ve been recruiting.”

The tumult continued—the rumbling of ogres chanting in their native tongue, the piercing howls, the cries of other creatures, and the occasional heart-wrenching sound of a harpy’s song—but whether celebration or ceremony, the noise was a safe distance away.

“Are we in danger?” Thorn had set her back against a weathered wall, and she held the myrnaxe in a flexible grip, ready to strike with either spear or crescent blade. It occurred to her that she was looking directly at a medusa;
if Sheshka opened her eyes, Thorn would be a statue. Time to work on peripheral vision, she thought.

“I do not know.” Sheshka strung her bow and set an arrow against the string. Her eyes remained closed, but her serpents twisted about, searching for signs of movement. “Because the assassins were wolves, we can only assume that Zaeurl is my enemy, and thus any beast may threaten us. If Zaeurl acts in the service of the Three, anyone who lives in the Crag’s Shadow could turn against us.”

“Lovely,” said Thorn. “At least it’s not a very
big
city.”

“If your magic has done its work, they will be unable to track us … and I’d be surprised if word has reached the Pack yet. The skullcrushers are likely still puzzled by my absent corpse.”

“So. Now I know our enemies. Do we have allies? You said we needed to get word to your people. I hope at least some of your people are here in the Crag.”

“All too few, I am afraid. I was instructed to bring a small guard, so as not to frighten the visitors. An inconvenient request, but I have grown used to the fear of your kind.”

Just as we were told to bring only four envoys, Thorn thought. Convenient, if you’re planning to seize the delegates. “Give us time.”

“How much time?” Sheshka said. She was looking away, and somehow Thorn knew that the medusa had opened her eyes. “I have dealt with your people for centuries, long before the coming of the Daughters. I have faced your crusaders and champions, crossing the Graywall to battle the monsters. Yet never did I send my soldiers against your cities.”

“Until the Last War,” Thorn said. She knew that medusas had taken part in the battles along the western frontier.

“Yes,” Sheshka said, drawing out the word. “I did join my forces to the banner of Droaam. After centuries of
silence, I felt it was time to speak. Now … I am still uncertain.”

A new chorus of howls rose into the moonlit sky, and this time they sounded closer.

“As much as I enjoy discussing politics … you said you had few allies here. I’m hoping ‘few’ isn’t ‘none’.”

“Have no fear, Thorn. My people are masters of stonework; it may be the ogre’s strength that shifts the blocks, but it is the medusa’s eye that places them. Together we will find the foreman. His companions will be architects and artists, but even the Dark Pack will be careful about falling under their gaze. Follow me. Silence is the wisest course for the journey.”

Thorn nodded. She hated to let the medusa take the lead. This was exactly the sort of operation Thorn was trained to handle. But Sheshka knew where they were going. Thorn would have to be satisfied with staying out of sight and keeping the queen alive. To that end, she returned the axe to the space within her glove and drew Steel. If they fought a wolf, she’d pull the silver. But for now, she wanted something she could throw.

“Lead the way,” she said.

Thorn was little more than a ghost in the moonlight. Her cloak was enchanted to gather the shadows, and her gray and black clothing blended into the broken stone. Though the surface was rough and uneven, Thorn left no trace of her passage, made no sound as she moved. She was a Dark Lantern of the King’s Citadel; stealth was her armor. But Sheshka was a surprise. The medusa queen might be no match for Thorn, but she was no clumsy aristocrat. She was as comfortable in the ruins as she’d been descending the slick tunnels of the sewers. Sheshka might not be a spy, but she was certainly an accomplished huntress.

Sheshka seemed to find every shadow, clinging to cover wherever it could be found. All too soon, they stumbled
upon the revelers. Thorn had seen the people of Droaam at play in Graywall when ogre fought minotaur in the pit of the Bloody Tooth. Compared to the Midnight Dawn, the scene at the Bloody Tooth had been as calm as a noble’s picnic.

Gargoyles darted through the sky, striking at each other with feathered rods. A trio of changeling skindancers was spinning around, flesh shifting with every step, accompanied by frenzied orc drummers. Goblins leaped through rings of fire. Trolls wrestled, using full force of tooth and claw. These beasts healed at an astonishing rate, and most of their wounds were sealed as soon as they were opened. They possessed terrifying strength; a roar went up as Sheshka slipped past a fighting ring, and Thorn saw the victor brandishing the arm of his opponent over his head.

Farther on, several giants were flinging chunks of rubble at one another. The rock-throwing seemed a sport, and the brutes had a knack for snatching stones out of the air just before they struck. The scent of blood was strong, and Thorn soon saw a giant clutching his shattered arm; apparently the game was just as dangerous as it appeared.

Trolls, ogres, giants, goblins, orcs, harpies, gargoyles … and wolves. Wolves were everywhere, in all shapes and sizes. Some were the gray wolves Thorn expected to see preying on the sheep of Eldeen farmers. But there were black wolves. Dire wolves the size of horses, with thick hides and fearsome claws. Wolves seemed to be
speaking
to others around them. Other beasts were in the streets, but a wolf lurked in every shadow, snarling or howling at the moons.

Thorn felt sweat bead on her skin as they slipped through the city. Time and again a wolf raised its head to taste the air as she moved past. Yet time and again, luck, skill, and magic saw her through.

But luck never lasts, skill can be matched, and magic fades away. They were finally moving away from the celebration when they passed under a strange shadow.

This doesn’t make sense, Thorn thought. With all the moons in the sky, no darkness was terribly deep; buildings were casting shadows in all directions. But they’d crossed into a patch of darkness that was simply too wide and too deep for the structures around it; this was a pool of gloom.

Sheshka noticed it as well, and paused to study the ground. Then they heard the snarl behind them.

“Good fortune for me,” the voice said, the growl of a beast twisted into words. The wolf was the size of a pony. The night was warm, but its breath steamed as it spoke, and its pure white fur was rimed with frost. “I sense you are no member of the Pack, little half-elf. I will freeze your blood before—”

It turned to white marble. Except for its eyes, it was hard to tell the difference.

“You could have let it finish its threat,” Thorn said, trying to cover her surprise with a smile. She would need some time to get used to that.

“I suspect it was going to crack your bones and suck out the marrow,” Sheshka said, stepping into an alley. “I’ve heard it before.”

They were almost at the edge of the city, and the sounds of revelry had fallen behind them. A few goblins were clustered around campfires, eating rats and beetles roasted on sticks, but wolf and ogre seemed to have been set apart.