The Queen of stone

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Great Crag Droaam Eyre 18, 998 YK

Thorn's bunk was a blanket set atop a slab of stone. And I was complaining about sleeping on the ground, she thought. I'm already looking forward to the trip back.

"I'll bet I missed a beautiful sunset," Thorn said. It was a code phrase; 'sunset' let other Lanterns know she was concerned about magical surveillance.

We are not being observed, Steel whispered.

"You're certain?"

One of my primary functions is to sense the use of scrying or other active divinations, Steel told her, sounding slightly annoyed. I've served with thirty-two Dark Lanterns in my time with the Citadel, and I've never been mistaken.

"At least, you've never had a diviner drop by to tell you that you were mistaken."

I've never had a mission compromised by magical surveillance when the Lantern has listened to my recommendations.

"So-no eyes or ears?"

That is correct.

Thorn had remained at the feast long enough to identify the remaining warlords, then feigned indigestion and asked a guard to escort her back to her quarters. She sat on her bunk, running her thumb along Steel's hilt and studying the envelope left for her at the dinner table.

What are your conclusions so far, Lantern Thorn?

"Let's see. I've just seen a childhood nightmare threaten to trap the soul of anyone who tries to steal from her. And I've been told that she knows who I am and possibly why I'm here. So I don't exactly have a conclusion. I've just been wondering whether Sora Maenya will keep my skull on the mantel or use it as a paperweight."

Thorn…

"Don't worry," she said, flipping the dagger in the air and catching it. "I've been through worse." She smiled as she spoke. As dangerous as the situation was, she enjoyed the challenge. Considering the problems drove the lingering pain from her mind; the world seemed sharper and clearer.

"So," she said, "let's look at what we know. Sora Katra's position is that Droaam is stronger than ever. She says that Droaam isn't a threat to the east unless we turn down their offer, in which case they'll tear the heads off our children and turn us to stone."

More or less.

"However, we've seen signs that Droaam isn't quite as unified as Katra would have us believe. She didn't explain the harpy attack, but from what we overheard, it was the work of a harpy chieftain in league with another warlord."

Indeed.

"Four warlords are here at the Crag. The giant Gorodan Ashlord. Zaeurl, the cheerful one-eared elf. The medusa Sheshka. And an unfriendly oni named Tzaryen Rrac. Of these, Zaeurl appears to be in favor, but the other three were mentioned as possible traitors. If one of these warlords is allied with the harpies, he may still plan to murder the delegates. And Sheshka has asked for a private audience with our Lord Beren… which would be a convenient time to add a new statue to her collection."

Steel wasn't worried. Your escorts brought a harpy prisoner with them. I'd assume the Daughters of Sora Kell now know which of their warlords betrayed them. Besides, protecting the delegates is a job for bodyguards. You have another mission.

"Yes… the one that's likely to end up with my skull on a shelf," Thorn said. "And then there's this." She tapped the envelope with her code name on it.

Presumably it's a threat, Steel said. They expected the delegates to come in the company of spies. They just want to make sure you don't engage in any activities beyond basic espionage.

"Good thing I'm not planning anything else," Thorn said. "Let's see what it says."

The envelope was sealed with a single blob of dark red wax. Thorn pried it off with a fingernail and pulled out a stiff piece of parchment.

"Well, this is an interesting way to send a warning," she said. "Whatever it is, I can't read it."

Let me see it, Steel said.

Thorn laid the note on the bed and passed the knife over it. The sheet was covered with interwoven patterns of lines that seemed more like artwork than language.

It's Draconic, Steel said. One of the oldest languages in existence. I don't know why they'd expect you to be able to read it. And it's not a warning-not an obvious one, at least. It says, "Nothing lost remains lost forever, not even a bone in an ossuary."

"Ossuary?"

A receptacle for bones. Often an urn, though the context suggests something larger. A pit, perhaps.

"Of course, that explains everything. They're trying to confuse us to death." She stood up, pinned back her hair, and picked up Steel, flipping the dagger to set the blade against her wrist. "I think the tales of Sora Teraza's madness may be more accurate than those of her foresight. Shall we put it to the test?"

Are you planning to change your clothing?

Thorn was still wearing the gown she'd selected for the feast-the most exotic piece of clothing in her shiftweave wardrobe. It was a lovely, deep blue with azure and silver trim, complete with jewelry and a short train-a ridiculous thing to wear sneaking around an enemy fortress.

"You may have a century of experience with scrying, but I'm not letting a dagger make decisions about my wardrobe."

But-

"The feast is still going on, Steel. From what we've seen, it should be continuing for hours. I've got a plan, but until it comes together, I'd rather be poor Nyrielle Tam, lost in the dark while trying to find her way back to the party, than Dark Lantern Thorn."

Surprisingly wise, Steel said. But what about your guardian ogre, who's waiting just down the hall to take you back to the party?

"As to that," Thorn said, "I thought I'd get help from a little friend."

Thorn slipped out of her room. Her clothing wasn't quite as useless as it appeared-while her boots were fashionably high and pointed, they retained their sound-dampening enchantments, and her heels made no sound when they struck the stone. An ogre waited just down the hall; her chaperone, ready to escort her wherever she might need to go. As she'd hoped, he had his back to her. There was only one way out from the Brelish quarters, and he was expecting people to come from the other direction. He made no move as she crept soundlessly across the hall.

The room she entered was even smaller than her cell, and Thorn winced as the bitter stench washed over her. A warped wooden board sat atop a stone shelf, two holes carved in the plank. A stranger might have guessed that the smaller one was for children, but Thorn knew it was made for goblins.

The privy, Steel said. Well, I suppose it's wise to empty your bowels before engaging in a dangerous task. Is that what they teach at the Citadel these days?

Thorn said nothing. Now that they were out in the open, she couldn't afford to speak. It would have been easier to turn invisible and slip past the guardian. But she'd called on the power to eliminate her odor and any trace of her passage. This spell would last for hours, as opposed to a few minutes of invisibility. Given the number of creatures in the Crag capable of tracking by scent, this was far more prudent.

Especially considering what she was about to do.

They had traveled six days to reach the Crag, and Thorn had spent a few of her evening hours reading… specifically, reading the parchments she'd found in the sack belonging to the goblin Kalakhesh. Thorn's father had fought on the eastern front and served with Darguul units. He'd taught her the goblin language between the seasons, and while she couldn't speak it well, she could read it. It had taken her a few days to crack the cipher used by the goblin spy, but she'd succeeded.

Kalakhesh had spent months at the Crag in the guise of a servant. During that time, he'd found a way to move about the fortress-via the latrines. He'd already known much about the layout of the Crag when he arrived. The original foundations of the subterranean fortress had been carved by hobgoblin architects thousands of years earlier, and Kalakhesh had access to an ancient plan. The parchments were his notes, including his initial expectations and the discoveries he'd made as he explored the mountain.

A moment's concentration sent Steel into the mystical pocket inside Thorn's glove, freeing her hands. A second thought and her gown transformed into black garments and leather armor. She'd want the gown back when she found her way out, but the dress wasn't an ideal choice for climbing.

Sifting through the pockets and pouches of her working harness, she produced two small objects. The first was an ivory clip that she pressed across her nostrils. The stench of the latrine alone was enough to make her retch, and she could only imagine how much worse it would be below.

The second object was a loop of leather cord, another object she'd found in Kalakhesh's sack. She placed it over her finger and felt a faint tingle as it tightened against the leather of her glove. Studying the makeshift ring, she pictured a spider web, imagining sticky strands reaching out and wrapping around her palms, feet, and fingers. Thought became reality, and she could feel the invisible threads against her hands. She ran her palm across the rough surface of the latrine wall and felt the threads catch on the surface.

She'd put this off as long as she could. All the preparations were made. Taking a deep breath, she sat down on the privy and lowered herself through the larger opening.

The space below was just as foul as she'd expected. She set her hands and feet against opposite walls and crept slowly down the shaft. The walls were coated with filth and fungus. Though she found herself clutching outcroppings covered in ooze, the spell she'd performed earlier kept the sewage from clinging to her clothing or hair, and it restored anything she touched to its pristine-or filthy-condition. But the spell couldn't do anything about vermin, and as she descended farther into the tunnels, the insects became larger and more numerous. Centipedes landed in her hair, beetles the size of an elf's eye crawled all around her. She'd seen worse in the sewers of Sharn, but she was sure she'd be seeing this scene again in nightmares to come.

Every major intersection bore a few scratches on the wall, letters carved by the goblin miners who gouged the sewers out of the rock. These were the keys to navigating through the fortress. Thorn wanted to locate Sheshka's quarters and evaluate the area. The medusa hadn't been at the Crag at the same time as Kalakhesh, and Thorn had no idea where to find the medusa queen. But the notes mentioned the quarters of another warlord, and the events of the feast had given Thorn an idea. She just hoped that she didn't find an ogre sitting on the exit.

Fortunately for Thorn, no one was in the privy when she arrived. The room was almost identical to the one she'd left behind… just a little larger, designed to accommodate ogres and trolls. The walls were rough stone, marred by a few faint inscriptions long faded with time. Thorn couldn't make out any of the messages. Scandalous rumors? Insulting comments about a hated officer, or professions of unrequited love? The creatures of Droaam might be hideous and fearsome, but the fact that they left messages on the privy walls made her smile. Perhaps Sora Katra was right; perhaps they weren't so different.

She removed the leather cord from her finger, breaking the climbing enchantment. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled the clip from her nose; the scent of sewage was so strong that she nearly gagged. She quickly restored her fine clothing and drew Steel from her gauntlet. As she held the dagger against her wrist, the puffy sleeves of the gown helped hide him from view; if necessary, she could send him back into the glove with just a thought. She gestured toward the door and the hallway beyond.

No magical auras, Steel said. And no one watching through magical means. That's all I can promise.

So, you've wandered away from the party, Thorn thought to herself. You've accidentally bypassed dozens of guards without being seen. And you've found your way into the latrine. Perfectly logical. Everyone needs to use the privy sometime.

She slipped around the doorway and into the hall beyond.

The corridor was taller and wider than the guest quarters a few levels up, so multiple ogres or bugbears could walk side by side. She froze as she heard footsteps pounding against the stone. A moment later a goblin sprinted past her, running as if his life depended on it. This being Droaam, perhaps it did. If he even saw Thorn, he gave no sign of interest.

A good start.

Most of the creatures of Droaam were comfortable in the darkness of the tunnels, but few could see very far in pitch blackness, and even then, they saw the world in shades of gray. Because she had an innocent excuse-the poor, drunken foreigner who'd wandered away from the party-Thorn chose passive stealth. The goblin had proved it-she didn't look like a threat, and they ignored her.

She kept close to the wall and walked at a slow and steady pace, doing nothing to attract attention. Catching sight of a large figure at the edge of her vision, Thorn froze in place. A moment later, a troll strode into full view. Trolls were usually savage, brutal beasts, but this one was drawn right out of Sora Katra's illusions. His rubbery hide was covered with armor; a halfling's skull was set into his steel breastplate; and a crest of spikes ran down the center of his helmet. A troll could tear a man apart with his bare hands, but this warrior carried a heavy battle-axe whose blades were notched and worn.

Thorn shivered at the thought of fighting such a brute, and she felt the familiar throb of the shard at the base of her skull, the faint pain returning once more. She remained as still as a statue and the troll walked past her, the claws on his wide, flat feet scraping against the stone. She waited until the sound faded before she moved again.

As she approached her destination, she saw something she hadn't considered: light. Cold fire torches were set in sconces along the walls of the tunnel. It was a good sign. If she'd read Kalakhesh's notes correctly, Thorn was entering the territory of the warlord Zaeurl. The goblin's records described the location of the barracks used by the hunters, and Thorn intended to steal one of the black and gray uniforms they wore. Her gown might serve as an alibi that night, but posing as one of Zaeurl's children would be considerably more useful once the party was over… especially if they were all treated with the same respect that the gnolls had shown in the Duurwood.

Even as the thought of the Duurwood crossed her mind, she heard a sound that had become familiar-the whining speech of a gnoll, emerging from an open doorway just ahead of her. A single tooth lay in a pool of blood by the doorway-a fang likely torn from the mouth of the creature she heard.

She slid closer to the doorway and heard the thud of flesh against flesh, and a body striking a stone wall. Then came laughter, and the clear voice of a young man. "I told you we'd be watching. You should have listened to my brother when you had the chance."

The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. But the next voice she knew well. It was Ghyrryn, the gnoll who escorted her from Graywall. His speech was slurred with pain.

"I would rather die than receive your blessing."

The man laughed, and Thorn knew where she'd heard his voice. He was the young elf from the Duurwood… the child of Zaeurl.

"Fortunate for us both, because your death is what we have in mind. I'm just not sure which to eat first-your arms or your legs."

Thorn wore a mithral bracelet on each wrist, hidden beneath the cuffs of her gown. She clicked them together and they unfolded along her forearms, becoming armored bracers.

What are you doing?

Steel whispered. Saying nothing, she stepped into the room.