The Queen of stone

CHAPTER TWENTY — SEVEN

The Crag's Shadow Droaam Eyre 20, 998 YK

Thorn 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.

"Your people seem to like their solitude," Thorn murmured.

"There is a reason they chose this place," Sheshka said. "But you are correct. It is not in our nature to share our lives with other creatures. As with the Children of Zaeurl, so it is with us-our power is also our curse. It is difficult to live among creatures so fragile that one angry glare can bring death."

"But you can restore those you turn to stone," Thorn said. A tower surrounded by scaffolding stood up ahead; Thorn guessed it was their destination.

"It's not as simple as it seems." Sheshka's hand brushed against the silver collar that hung around her neck. "I am Sheshka, the Queen of Stone. To you, that may seem an arrogant title, an affectation of a woman who governs a city smaller than your Wroat or Passage. But it is not just a title of nobility. It is a statement of fact. I am the Queen of Stone. I hear the whisper of marble and granite. I have the power to release those who meet my gaze, if I so choose. For others of my kind, this takes skill with the arts of magic. Few possess such talents. Most of the time, the prison of stone is final."

Fascinating, Steel whispered. The dagger had kept silent, not wanting to distract Thorn, but for now the danger seemed to have passed. Zane will want to know about that.

"We have arrived," Sheshka said. "Be welcome in our keep."

The tower was a slender structure of white stone. It reminded Thorn of the trunk of a tall tree. A spiral ramp led up around the tower, and the pattern of a serpent's path was engraved into the stone.

"Perhaps I should go first," Thorn said. "Just to make sure there's no danger."

"And will you meet the angry gaze of my countrymen? No, this is my home, Thorn. I shall lead the way."

Sheshka strode up the ramp, holding her bow in one hand as if it were a scepter instead of a weapon. Thorn followed, keeping Steel close against her wrist. She closed her eyes; she wanted to stay as close to Sheshka as possible, and she didn't want to end up like the white wolf. Something troubled her… a smell in the air. But she couldn't place it; she still had much to learn about her keen senses.

A door waited at the top of the ramp, and it stood ajar. Sheshka walked beneath the marble arch. Her serpents hissed in a strange pattern, and Thorn wondered if it was some sort of language. With her eyes closed, she couldn't see through the entrance, but she had the sense that a number of small stone objects were scattered about the floor, perhaps the remnants of a sculptor's unfinished project.

"Greetings, my cousins!" Sheshka said. "This is a dire time indeed, and I call on you for aid and sanctuary. We must-"

Something lay on the floor in front of Sheshka. It was a granite statue of a rat… a rat the size of a small dog. The beast's snout was at least four inches long, its mouth frozen in a snarl that revealed razor teeth. One leg was raised, claws clutching the air. It was an ugly thing, pure feral rage frozen forever in stone.

But it wasn't the statue that had silenced the medusa queen. It was the shapes in the darkness beyond, the claws and teeth tearing at flesh and bone. All too late, Thorn realized what the strange scent was.

"Rats," she said.