The Queen of stone

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Great Crag Droaam Eyre 19, 998 YK

Goblins stared at Thorn as she and Ghyrryn made their way through the hallways of the Crag, but a snarl from the black-furred gnoll was enough to send the servants scurrying. Ghyrryn needed only a few minutes to find a squad of gnoll soldiers. Thorn couldn't understand their whines and chittering howls, but four of the warriors loped away following Ghyrryn's instruction; she imagined that they were going to deal with the mess they'd left behind.

The other two helped Ghyrryn and Thorn reach a dormitory held by the Znir Pact. At least twenty gnolls filled the long room; some were tending armor and weapons, some sparring, others playing a game that involved pitching teeth into an outline chalked on the floor. The arrival of the wounded Ghyrryn created a stir, and the pack crowded around him, hooting and crying in their strange tongue. The elderly healer pushed the others aside and forced Ghyrryn to sit on a bunk.

"You stay," Ghyrryn told Thorn. For the moment, she welcomed the chance to sit down. The pain in the crystal shards had faded to the usual faint ache, but her side was a mass of bruises and her head throbbed where she'd struck the ground.

The healer came to examine her. His fur was patchy and graying, but his green eyes were sharp and alert. Still, Thorn remembered him applying broodworms to open wounds in the Duurwood camp, and she wasn't eager to trust her health to a gnoll medicine man. She held up her hand, keeping the healer at bay.

Ghyrryn snarled at the old gnoll and a debate ensued… or so it seemed to Thorn. Perhaps they were discussing the weather, but if so, the gnoll language was quite dramatic. Then Ghyrryn turned to Thorn. "Please." It was the first time she could recall him saying something that wasn't an order. "This is Fharg. Let him help."

Well, I've come this far, she thought. She stretched out on the bunk, her bruised muscles resisting the movement. "Very well. But you tell him-no worms."

Thorn had been treated by halfling healers, which was strange in its own way. Seen in blurred or peripheral vision, a halfling was much like a human child, and it was strange to wake up surrounded by children who appeared to be playing the healer.

Working with Fharg was something else entirely. She'd spent the better part of a week in the company of gnolls, but something was disturbing about having a creature with such bestial features sniffing at her wounds. She trusted Ghyrryn, but a primal part of her was afraid that Fharg would suddenly take a bite out of her.

His treatment was surprisingly effective. Fharg rubbed a numbing oil into her bruised skin, then applied a salve to her wounds. She felt her skin tingling beneath the greasy lotion, a sensation she recognized from the healing potions of House Jorasco; she realized that Fharg used a magic tonic. Then she understood the argument between Ghyrryn and Fharg; the gnolls undoubtedly had a limited supply of such goods, and the healer would be reluctant to use his stores on a human.

Fharg had little interest in conversation. He was quick and efficient, surprisingly so for his age. He paused when he discovered the two crystals embedded in her flesh. "Hurt?" he said, running a finger across a shard and the scarred flesh around it.

Nothing your salves can help, she thought. The memory of that mission flashed through her mind. Hundreds of dragonshards had orbited the eldritch core of Far Passage, serving both to empower the mystical weapon and to prevent Thorn and her companions from reaching it. The pain she felt still was nothing compared to the agony when those shards had torn into her flesh-crystal shrapnel ripping through leather and cloth. When she finally woke from her coma, the healer had removed most of the shards from her flesh… all but these two, which had fused to bone and nerve. At least they were stable; the halfling assured her that she wasn't in any danger.

Mayne hadn't been so lucky. He was the only one who'd remained conscious after the explosion, and Mayne had dragged Thorn to safety. He wasn't hit as hard, but the damage was worse in the end. The shard that lodged in his flesh didn't stay in one place-it burrowed deeper and deeper until it reached his heart. The healers couldn't reach it, and he was dead long before Thorn had risen from her coma. She'd never had the chance to thank him. He would have told her it wasn't necessary. He was just doing his job, and she'd have done the same thing. But Mayne had risked his life to save hers. And she was alive, and he wasn't.

The stone throbbed as the gnoll's hand passed across wounded flesh, and Thorn silently asked Olladra why she'd been the one to survive. She'd asked the question a thousand times before, and she received no new answers this time.

"It's fine," she said.

Ghyrryn seemed more concerned about Thorn's health than his own. He'd ordered Fharg to use his healing salves on her, and she felt almost as good as new. He was still battered and bloody when Thorn rose to her feet, but he didn't want her to waste any time.

"You will go now. We return you to your place."

"You need rest," she said.

"Another will lead you." He whistled and whined, and a familiar figure emerged from the pack around her, carrying a rough cloak of brown wool.

"Jharl!" Thorn said. It was the tracker who'd ridden in her wagon-the hunter who'd cooked rabbit for six days straight.

The gnoll whined in return, then spoke in the common tongue. "Ghyrryn has explained. Put this on and follow me."

Thorn looked back at Ghyrryn.

"Go," he said. "We are done."

It seemed that sentimental farewells weren't a gnoll tradition, so she took the cloak from Jharl and followed him into the hallway. It had been made for a gnoll, and on her smaller frame, the hem dragged along the ground. But none of the passing creatures paid any attention to the hooded figure or her gnoll escort.

Jharl spoke first. "You have befriended the wind," he said.

"Hmm?"

"It does not carry your scent."

Well, at least that's still working, she thought. It seemed unlikely that Zaeurl could learn of her involvement in the fight, unless she forced it out of the gnolls. The protective spell had even kept the wolf's blood from staining her clothes. "It's good to have friends," she said.

Jharl was silent for another hundred paces, then he spoke again. "Ghyrryn told me that you were searching for the statue of the warrior."

"A statue of a warrior, yes. I imagine there are others."

"I do not know where it has been moved. But the medusa queen spent much time with that one. It has meaning for her."

"Meaning?"

Jharl cocked his head for a moment; from what Thorn had learned over the last week, this was much like a human shrugging his shoulders. "Perhaps it is her trophy, as we keep the memories of the fallen. She has spent time with it, watching."

"I see. I appreciate you telling me."

"It is no secret."

"What about Ghyrryn? Why did Zaeurl's children attack him? And the ogre-"

Jharl came to an immediate halt. He turned toward her and made the same horizontal hand gesture she'd seen from Ghyrryn. "It is not our place to speak of this. Our Pact was here long before the coming of the Three and the call to the Crag. This is a time of change. We will remain. You do not fight the storm. You wait for it to pass."

"What are you saying?" Thorn said. "The Daughters are placing Droaam in danger?"

"The Daughters are Droaam," Jharl said. "Droaam is change. There is opportunity, and there is danger."

"But what do you want?"

Jharl indicated a passage to his left. "This tunnel leads to the abode of the medusa Sheshka. She sets guardians at the gate when she rests. We cannot go closer."

Thorn stared at the archer for a few moments, but he said nothing more.

"Fine." Thorn studied the tunnel. "By the way, do you mind if we stop at the nearest latrine? It's embarrassing, but these things happen."

Jharl saw her safely back to the guest wing, then returned to his duties. Thorn glanced through the crack in Beren's door, but the envoy's bed was empty. Quite the party, Thorn thought.

She returned to her chamber and sat on the bunk. Curious, she drew the axe Ghyrryn had given her out of her glove and examined it, testing the balance and considering how to effectively use both blades. The long crescent was forged steel, but the spearhead was a different metal; it was lighter in color and weight, and the edge wasn't quite as sharp. Some sort of silver alloy?

She lay the axe on the bed. Enough stalling. She drew Steel from his sheath and sighed. Let's get this over with.

Explain your actions. The dagger's voice was even colder than usual.

"Why?" Thorn said.

You endangered this mission, and I would like to know your reasons.

"I endangered the mission? Without me, there is no mission." She set the dagger down on the bunk next to her. "Perhaps you'd like to accomplish it on your own."

She waited a minute, then picked up the dagger again. She heard his voice the moment she touched the hilt.

I have worked with thirty-two Lan-

She dropped the dagger and the voice faded. "Thirty-two Lanterns. I know. And I'm just one of them. Zane told me that you would advise me, and you've been a great help so far. But I don't answer to you, Steel. Sometimes I'm going to follow my own instincts. And I believe I did the right thing."

She waited a few minutes, then picked him up again. This time, a few seconds passed before he spoke. His voice was softer.

Please explain your decision, Lantern Thorn.

"You've worked with many Lanterns, Steel. But I've worked with people. I spent six days with Ghyrryn. I watched him fight. I saw him dealing with the hunters. I believe that he's a man… gnoll… of his word."

Reports suggest that the Znir Pact has long been a neutral force within Droaam, Steel acknowledged.

"We need allies. I was confident that Ghyrryn would stand by someone who saved his life, and I still am. He wasn't willing to reveal all the secrets of Droaam, but I don't think that he'll tell any of the warlords about me."

That's all?

"I think it's enough. I've learned where Sheshka's quarters are. I know she has guards that frighten the gnolls. And I know that Harryn's statue was recently moved at the request of one of the warlords… and that Sheshka is fascinated by the statue."

You think Sheshka had the statue moved to her quarters?

"It seems like a logical assumption," Thorn said. "Sheshka shows up for this gathering, gets her room set up, asks to borrow her favorite toy to add a little color to the place." She glanced around her barren cell. "Olladra knows this place could use it."

Yes. Another moment passed, then Steel spoke again. I apologize. I have known you for less than a month, and I was told… I was told that you might be unstable as a result of your last mission. I should not have questioned your judgment.

"You can question it all you want," Thorn said, flipping the blade in the air and catching it in her left hand. "I never said I was stable. But I told you before: I don't take orders from a dagger. If you want to be partners, that's different."

Perhaps you won't die on me, she thought, trying to ignore the pain of that image.

Very well. Steel's mental voice was calm and quiet. What do you intend to do now?

"I know you hate it when I do these rash, crazy things, but I was considering sleep." She stretched out on the cot, feeling the hard stone beneath the blanket. "On the other hand, with a bed like this, considering it might be as close as I'll get." She remembered the axe. "What can you tell me about this?"

She passed Steel over the axe Ghyrryn had given her.

It is difficult to say with absolute certainty, but it appears to be an axe, Steel said. Albeit an unorthodox design.

Thorn rapped Steel's hilt against the bed. "I know that. Tell me about the enchantments."

It's not enchanted.

"I don't understand," Thorn said. "I struck the wolf with you-a solid blow-and it kept coming. Ghyrryn stabbed it with the spearhead and it fell. And he insisted I take the weapon. There has to be something unusual."

Nothing that I can perceive.

"Could you be mistaken? And I've already heard about the thirty-two Lanterns, so spare me."

Of course I could be mistaken, Steel said. Magical auras can be concealed. If that's the case, however, I can't help you. I suggest you stab something and see what happens.

"What about the metal? The two blades are made from different alloys."

That could be relevant, Steel said. There are creatures or spirits who can heal from wounds inflicted by mundane metals, yet can be hurt by unusual alloys. Droaam is the primary source of an ore known as byeshk, which is effective against certain monsters found in the underworld of Khyber. And there are the tales of the lycanthrope and its vulnerability to silver…

Steel's voice trailed off. "What is it?" Thorn asked.

The wolf. Its body. Did anything happen when it died?

"Other than the bleeding? No. It fell on top of me, but it acted like you'd expect a dead wolf to act. Why?"

A pause-Steel was thinking. Thorn hated that the dagger had no expression, no face she could study for clues.

Most shapeshifting creatures revert to their natural forms when they're killed, he said at last. It's supposed to be true of werewolves.

"I thought all lycanthropes were exterminated by the Church of the Silver Flame. As I recall, that was the subject of our entertaining party chat."

And given that our dead wolf was just a dead wolf-if strangely difficult to kill-that still seems to be the case. I'm afraid I don't have an answer. I suggest you get some sleep.

"I don't take orders from daggers," Thorn said. Then she smiled. "But I suppose I can take your advice."