The Queen of stone

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Great Crag Droaam Eyre 18, 998 YK

The 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."

The oni stared at Beren, and Thorn felt a faint charge in the air… magical power? Then he grinned, and the energy faded. The grin turned into a deep belly laugh. He raised a hand to Toli, whose sword was half-drawn from its scabbard. Thorn realized that she'd already drawn Steel, hiding the blade against her arm.

"Your lord is wise," Kantar said. "Sheathe your weapon, guardian. Yes, we seek the favor of all nations, but Breland is our neighbor and the foe we have fought before, and it is you we most hope to befriend. You are safe here, Beren ir'Wynarn. Enjoy our hospitality, and sleep soundly this night."

Beren gave a curt nod, and they began walking again. Thorn smiled. With the nerve to face down a giant, he'd be just fine without an aide.

The Daughters had spared no effort on the evening's feast. The hall was a spectacle of colors and sound, an overwhelming sight after the dull stone walls of the rest of the Crag. Sparks of golden light floated in the air, fey flames that drifted just beyond the reach of guests. A team of goblins darted around a central fire pit, preparing and distributing food. After a week of eating rabbits, the rich aroma of spiced meats and vegetables set Thorn's mouth watering. Tribex, gorgon, some sort of crustacean the size of a warhorse-there was enough food for an army, and it smelled delicious.

Long tables were set with Riedran crysteel, plates and goblets with the beauty of carved glass but the strength of iron. Music echoed through the hall, the work of a band of goblins in the far corner. The little creatures were producing a frenzied song on pipes, drums, and lute. A dancer accompanied them. Her skin was jet back, and as Thorn watched, flames seemed to dart across her flesh.

Skindancer, Steel whispered. Most changelings use their gifts to impersonate other living creatures, but when you can alter your body, there are many other possibilities.

The skindancer spun in place, and her hair flowed out from her body, taking on a brilliant red hue as it did, as if a cloud of fire had suddenly burst around her. The woman spun faster and faster as the music built to its climax. On the final note, her hair shifted to black and spun in toward her. From a distance, Thorn wasn't certain the woman was wearing clothes; it seemed that she had just painted patterns on her skin.

"We have changelings in Breland-why haven't I seen that before?" she murmured.

Because the changelings of the Five Nations hide their abilities. You know how they're treated, with suspicion and distrust. In a land with harpies and medusas, a shapeshifter isn't so strange. I'd imagine the changelings of Droaam have more opportunities to explore the full extent of their powers.

But as fascinating as it was, the dancer was just one part of the wild celebration. Tiny gargoyles darted around the curved ceiling, tossing spheres of glowing glass in a display of juggling and acrobatics. Around her, delegates spoke with the lords of Droaam. A Mror dwarf dressed in black and gold roared with laughter at the words of an armored minotaur, and Lord Beren was speaking with a woman dressed in flowing robes of white silk with bronzed leather. No… as Thorn took in the scene, she realized that the leather was the woman's skin. The living mane that roiled around her shoulders confirmed it. This was a medusa, perhaps the very one Thorn sought. She faced Beren. Clearly, something was blocking her deadly gaze, or there'd be a statue in Beren's place. Again, Thorn was impressed with Beren. Regardless of the setting, it took courage to stare into the face of a medusa.

This sight was enough to shake Thorn out of her reverie. The celebration was a remarkable and overwhelming event, but she had work to do. She had two missions, and she didn't expect to find Harryn Stormblade at this party.

Drul Kantar had said that the Daughters of Sora Kell had called the most powerful warlords of the land to the Crag. Based on the encounter at Korlaak Pass, either some of the warlords had their own plans for Droaam and its relations with the east, or the Daughters were playing a game even their soldiers weren't aware of. Tonight would be her first chance to study the lords of Droaam.

A goblin passed by with a tray of marinated meat on skewers. Thorn grabbed one of the treats as the servant went past. Perhaps it was just her hunger, but the meat was one of the most delicious things she'd tasted; juicy, perfectly spiced, with an exotic flavor she couldn't identify. It wasn't until she reached the end of the skewer that she noticed the small skull wedged down at the base-charred and blackened, but still distinctly humanoid. Pixie kabobs? she wondered. Her gorge rose, and she was half-inclined to let it. Surely they wouldn't serve intelligent creatures as food. She noticed a gnoll licking his jaws, two of the skewers in his hand. She resolved to stick to the tribex.

"Good evening, Lady Tam." The face was familiar, but the voice was a surprise. It was Minister Luala, the Thrane envoy. She spoke softly, but somehow Thorn could hear every word. Drego Sarhain stood just behind her, with the shadow of a smirk on his face. "Now that I am able, I wish to thank you for your conduct and company on our journey."

"I just played the hand I was dealt, minister."

"Nonetheless, your kindness was appreciated… especially in comparison to your comrade in arms." Her eyes flickered to where Lord Beren and his bodyguard were speaking to another oni.

"If you mean Toli, I'd be happy to let that subject drop, minister. I'm a diplomat. I choose my words with more care than my companions. But Toli lost friends and family to Thrane soldiers. Personally, I think it's a testament to his restraint that words were all that were exchanged."

The minister looked crestfallen. "I had hoped that we could heal the wounds between our nations-just as I sought to restore Toli to health."

"If you want to magically mend the damage, try raising the dead of Vathirond and Shadukar."

Drego stepped forward. "And what of the Thranes slain by Brelish soldiers? Our nations rose together when the Last War began. Are you somehow placing the blame on Thrane's shoulders alone?"

"Not at all," Thorn said. She sighed. She appreciated what Luala was trying to do, but she understood Toli's anger. "I wasn't asking for forgiveness. I don't expect your people to forget the deaths of those they loved in the space of a few years. I know mine won't. I appreciate your thoughts, Minister Luala. Perhaps a time will come when our wounds can be healed. But right now, we're here for Droaam. I suggest that you don't try to take on too many challenges."

"Wise advice." A woman's voice, low and husky.

The newcomer stood directly behind the Thrane soldier accompanying Drego and Luala. The bodyguard started in surprise and reached for his weapon, but the stranger caught his wrist in one hand and his neck in the other, pinning him in place.

"Don't," she said, addressing Drego and Thorn as much as her prisoner. "I've been told not to kill you, but no one raises a weapon against me and lives."

She released the soldier with a sudden shove that sent him stumbling to his knees. Drego Sarhain had moved between the stranger and Minister Luala, and Thorn stepped to the side, where she could get a good view of the newcomer.

At first, Thorn thought it was the elf she'd seen back at the Duurwood Camp-the hunter with his wolves. The stranger wore the same uniform-loose black hunter's clothes spattered with grey patterns to help blend into the shadows. Pale skin, hair the color of moonlight, the wide eyes and pointed ears of a full-blooded elf. But this was a woman. Older than the young hunter. And only one long elf ear emerged from beneath her hair; her left ear was missing, the wound hidden from view. My mother sends her greetings, the young elf had told the gnolls. Thorn guessed she'd just moved up the family tree.

If the son had seemed dangerous, the mother put him to shame. She wore no boots, and she stood on the balls of her feet, arms at her sides, hands open and ready. Elves weren't known for strength, and she wasn't a bulky woman, but she was slender and compact-a perfectly forged rapier set next to the clumsy club of an ogre. But what impressed Thorn the most was the conviction in the woman's large elven eyes. She had the gaze of a true predator. Thorn was certain that the woman had already sized her up and was ready to respond to any action she might take. A chill grew at the base of her spine… the same sensation she'd felt when the wolves appeared in the Duurwood.

"I am the warlord Zaeurl," she said. "I believe you've met my children."