The Queen of stone

CHAPTER SIX

The Korlaak Pass Droaam Eyre 12, 998 YK

The benches were uncomfortable, and the wagon bumpy and unsteady on the rough road. The passengers had to clutch the edges of their seats to keep from sliding or falling. Toli and Grenn had passed the first hour of the trip glaring at their Thrane counterparts. For their part, the Thranes sought to project cool disinterest, but the tension was there.

Toward the end of the war, Thrane had been one of Breland's greatest rivals. Beset on all sides and hamstrung by the betrayal of its mercenary forces, Cyre had been pushed into a desperate position, struggling to defend its remaining territory against the constant pressure of Breland, Karrnath, and Darguun. Breland had formed alliances with Aundair and Zilargo, and Karrnath was too far away to pose a true threat. Which left Thrane as the most significant danger to Brelish security.

Early in the war, the people of Thrane had turned away from the rule of royalty and fully embraced the Church of the Silver Flame, and the faith served them well in the struggle. When the conflict began, the standing army of Thrane was far smaller than that of Breland or Karrnath, and it lacked foundries to produce the weapons of war. But whereas its army was small, its civilian militias were vast. The followers of the Silver Flame were charged to fight against darkness, and villagers trained with spear and bow. Two centuries earlier, they had exterminated the werewolves and shapechangers of the western woods; that same zeal gave them the courage to defend their nation against human foes.

Beyond the courage of the commoner, the priests of Thrane were true miracle workers. The people of Breland were pragmatists by nature, never fond of things they couldn't measure or prove. The work of a wizard was based on formulas and arcane science, and the Brelish could grasp it. But the magic of a cleric was a thing of pure, trusting faith, and when it came to faith, few people could match the Thranes.

"How did you come to be in civil service, Lady… Tam, was it?" They were the first words the envoy had spoken since the trip began. "I thought I knew the sixty families of Sharn as well as the royal lines of Galifar, but I don't recall ever hearing the name Tam."

Thorn studied the man sitting across from her. Perfect skin, not a hair out of place, fine clothes-unusual for a nation driven by such an ascetic faith. The priestess had an aura of serenity, and her habit was far simpler than her comrade's garb, with his glittering embroidered flames. No sign of a weapon, no wand that she could see… was he truly just a diplomat?

"My father was a soldier," Thorn said. "In Breland, you don't need gold or noble blood to serve the nation. And what of your lineage? I'd hate to sully your ears with my common speech."

The man laughed. "No fear of that. I am Drego Sarhain, milady. And surely, I am as common as they come."

Thorn glanced at his gleaming cuffs. "Rather fine work for a common man."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Your father was a soldier; my mother, a seamstress. We each have our heirlooms." He gestured at the dagger Thorn wore on her belt. "Your father's blade?"

Perfect!

"Yes, it's been in my family for generations." She drew the blade from its sheath. The eyes of the gnolls and the Thrane soldiers locked on her, but she simply laid the dagger across her legs. "I've always wondered what stories it could tell, if only it could talk."

Very funny, Steel whispered in her mind. Give me a few moments and I'll see what I can find.

"An interesting design," Drego said, studying the dagger from across the wagon. "Balanced for throwing, yes? May I take a closer look?" He extended his hand.

"I'm afraid not," Thorn replied. "My father was a very superstitious man, and he left strict instructions concerning treatment of the blade. I'm sure your mother wouldn't want to see me wearing your clothes, would she?"

"Probably not," the Thrane said with a smile. "But I wouldn't mind."

Thorn raised an eyebrow, glancing slightly toward the priestess. "Why, Lord Sarhain, should you be saying such things in the presence of Minister Luala-a holy woman?"

"You labor under a common misconception, Lady Tam. We have our political differences, but my faith is based on defending the innocent from supernatural threats. So unless you're some sort of disguised demon temptress, I need not shield myself from your presence. And if you must be formal, it's Flamebearer Sarhain. But if we're going to spend the next few days sharing a wagon, I'd prefer Drego."

"Then it's only fair for you to call me Nyrielle," she replied. "So… tell me all about Drego Sarhain."

The diplomat launched into his story-born to parents of low status, studying the courtly ways of his mother's customers, reading romance stories in addition to the holy texts of the church, becoming an apprentice to a minstrel until his magical talents were discovered, and, much to his surprise, drawn into government service. It was a good story; some of it might have even been true. But Thorn hadn't been listening to Drego.

Be careful, Steel said. The priestess is wearing protective charms. She's safe from poisons, and her thoughts are protected from all divinations. Standard diplomatic warding-Lord Beren has much the same. Our guard Toli has a few tricks hidden away. And the two Thrane soldiers have spells strengthening their armor and potions of healing in those beltpouches. But your friend Drego-nothing at all.

"… so I was asked to perform for Cardinal Krozen himself," Sarhain was saying.

"Really? How is that possible?" Thorn tapped Steel as she spoke, continuing to feign interest in Drego's story.

Either he has the same sort of training you do-in which case he's very good-or he's using some sort of tool to protect himself from my examination. Either way, it means that he has something worth hiding. He's not just a simple envoy. The question is whether he's an envoy at all.

"That's fascinating," Thorn said to both Steel and Sarhain, and the Thrane beamed at her. Whatever he was hiding, he certainly had an enchanting smile. She examined him more closely. No gloves. No cloak. Not even a backpack or a satchel. Only the silver amulet around his neck and an unmarked copper band around one finger. What secrets was he protecting?

"And what of you?" he asked her, having reached the end of his long tale. "What does Nyrielle Tam have to say for herself?"

"Nothing so interesting," she replied with a shy smile. "I thought I'd follow my father to war, but you know how it is. I'm just not cut out for bloody work."

Oh, you're a lamb, Steel said.

"Honestly, I'm not even sure why I carry this," she said to Sarhain, returning the dagger to its sheath. "I'll probably end up hurting myself." She looked down the bench. "Lord Beren! I'm sure Flamebearer Sarhain would love to hear about your deeds at Kalnor Pass."

"Ah!" Beren cried, leaning out to look past his guards. "A man after my own heart, always keen to hear a tale of blood and battle. Now tell me, lad, have you ever faced an ogre in battle?"

Thorn continued to deflect further inquiries from Drego Sarhain, turning the conversation toward his companions or the difficulties of the journey. This was complicated by the fact that the Thrane priestess-Minister Luala-had taken a vow of silence, saving her words and her wits for the business at Flamekeep. Surprisingly, the gnolls proved to be more loquacious than the Thranes. Thorn noticed that each of them wore cords around their necks or wrists, with bits of metal, hair, or cloth, bound by leather. Their leader, Ghyrryn, explained that gnolls of the Znir Pact retained souvenirs to remember each kill.

"The Keeper takes us all," he told Thorn. "When you come to the final lands, the prey of past hunts will be waiting. Honor them in life and they will honor you in death. Let them be forgotten, and they will be hungry and filled with rage."

Ghyrryn showed her each of his totems-links of chain mail, knots of hair, claws, fangs. Jharl, the archer sitting across from her, was a tracker; he carried strips of cloth and leather taken from his victims' clothes or skin. He seemed especially intrigued by Thorn's scent, sniffing her hand and hair a few times. Thorn also noticed that he paid a great deal of attention to Drego Sarhain. The interest was subtle, but when the Thrane envoy looked away, the gnoll would breathe deeply, tasting the air around him.

Hours passed, and the well of conversation ran dry. Thorn was considering lying down on the floor to try to get some sleep when the gnolls rose to their feet. Ghyrryn hooted and whined.

"What is it?" she said to Ghyrryn. Around her, the soldiers of the Five Nations had hands on their weapons, ready to defend their charges.

"You are not concerned," he told her.

"Humor me."

"Korlaak Pass. Long crossing. The Pact will pass first and last, secure the bridge. You have no fear."

Thorn could hear gnolls moving around the wagon, forming into squads. Around her, the human bodyguards drew their weapons. Toli was clearly suspicious and prepared for gnoll treachery. Outside, squad leaders barked commands and Thorn heard the troops moving forward. A few moments later, the wagon began rolling again. The bumpy road beneath the wheels shifted to smooth stone. Lifting the back flap of the wagon, Thorn could see a massive span stretching across a deep gorge-an impressive piece of architecture that seemed beyond the skills of the architects of Graywall. Three more wagons rolled across the bridge behind her, surrounded by gnoll soldiers. A trio of gargoyles circled in the sky above.

The wagons continued to move forward, and Thorn let the flap close. They rolled another fifty paces, then a shriek of alarm pierced the skies-the cry of a gargoyle scout, quickly picked up by another. Toli clenched his fist and a shield appeared-an oval formed from dark energy-and he moved his arm to protect Beren. Thorn watched Drego Sarhain, but the Thrane took no action; was he oblivious, or did he have such great confidence in the Thrane guards that he had no fear? She drew Steel, keeping the blade hidden against her inner arm.

Then the song began… and moments later, the screaming.