The Queen of stone

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Korlaak Pass Droaam Eyre 12, 998 YK

The song was the most beautiful sound Thorn had ever heard, but it was too far away for her to make out the words. She needed to move closer, to find a place where she could hear the lovely song. Then a second voice chimed in, and a third, a chorus coming from all around her.

The first scream came within moments, and it didn't come from a human throat. It was a wailing howl, a gnoll's cry of terror, and it faded too quickly for comfort. The scream snapped Thorn free from her reverie and into chaos.

With each passing moment, a new scream rose outside the wagon, but Thorn was more concerned with the situation within. The dwarf Grenn had drawn his sword and began cutting a hole in the canvas covering the wagon. A dreamy, distant look filled his eyes, and Thorn remembered the urge to follow the exquisite music, to reach its source. The effect had completely taken hold of Grenn. And he wasn't alone. One of the gnolls had leaped out the back of the wagon. Drego Sarhain was holding onto the old priestess while the two Thrane soldiers were cutting their own holes in the canvas. Toli wrestled with Lord Beren, struggling to keep the diplomat inside.

Harpies, Steel whispered, confirming Thorn's thoughts. She could imagine the scene outside the wagons. Harpies beyond the bridge, calling out in their beautiful voices… and gnolls and guards leaping to their deaths in a doomed quest to reach the miraculous sound.

What can I do?

Someone else had an answer. Ghyrryn dropped his axe and drew an object out of a pouch on his belt-a round stone about the size of a human eyeball. He threw it to the floor and a thunderous explosion shook the wagon. There was no flame-just an immense boom that replaced both song and screams with a dull ringing.

Thorn shook her head, catching her bearings. Grenn was missing, but the deafening blast had shattered the harpy's seductive power, and the others were clutching their heads and gathering their wits. Three gnolls were still in the wagon-Ghyrryn, the archer Jharl, and a halberdier who hadn't spoken during the journey.

Ghyrryn snatched up his axe and struck the flat against the canopy to attract attention. Once all eyes were upon him, he made a sweeping gesture encompassing the passengers, then pointed at the floor. The meaning was plain enough-stay here! He turned and jumped off the wagon, accompanied by the archer. The halberdier moved into the center of the coach, lowering his weapon to block the passage.

Toli pushed Beren back onto the bench. The lord's hand was on the hilt of his sword, and his lips were drawn back in a scowl. Toli was right-as a diplomat, Beren needed to stay out of danger. But the soldier in him surely wanted to take the fight to the enemy. Thorn knew the feeling intimately.

The canvas of the coach offered no sanctuary. Deafened as she was, Thorn didn't hear the arrows tearing through the cloth, or the cries as they bored into flesh. Toli staggered under the impact of an ash shaft that drove through his breastplate and into his shoulder. Bad as it was, he was still alive; one of the Thranes wasn't so lucky. Younger than Thorn, she wouldn't see another season; an arrow passed fully through her throat, and two more lodged in her chest. She collapsed against the edge of the wagon, leaving a trail of blood as she slid down. The old priestess pushed Drego aside and bent over the young woman, and silver fire blazed around her wizened hands. But whatever sacred powers she possessed, it was too late for the Thrane; the flames sealed the flesh, but she could not catch her spirit.

Toli was still standing. His magical shield had doubled in size and was almost the height of a man. He'd forced Beren behind it, leaving himself exposed. A spreading bloodstain darkened the fabric of his cloak, and his gritted teeth and the shaft of the arrow were mute testimonies to his devotion to his homeland.

The gnoll soldier still guarded the back of the wagon, but Thorn had no intention of sitting and waiting for the next volley of arrows. Grenn had left a wide hole in the canopy next to her. Given the horrors surrounding them, it was reasonable for the courtier to faint-and an unfortunate coincidence that she slipped into the gap in the cloth and fell through it. Thorn saw Drego Sarhain turning toward her, reaching for her, but he wasn't fast enough to catch her.

It was a short fall, but Thorn was able to twist in the air and get her feet under her. As she landed, she took stock of the world around her.

It was worse than she'd imagined. A trio of harpy archers swept overhead, raining arrows on the blue wagon. She saw the corpses of at least half a dozen gnolls, though she took some comfort from the broken body of a harpy smashed against the bridge.

The worst part was the chaos. The gnolls that had managed to deafen themselves could resist the harpies' song, but they couldn't coordinate their actions. As she took in the situation, Thorn could see that the passengers weren't the only ones threatened by the magical compulsion; the beasts of burden were equally vulnerable, and some were trying to respond to the song Thorn could no longer hear. Beyond the blue wagon, a pair of gnolls was helping a group of gnomes and halflings out of an orange-brown coach, practically throwing the small folk to the ground. Ahead of them, two more gnolls were struggling with the creatures pulling the wagon-massive horses with scaly skin and sharp teeth-while a third gnoll fought to cut the tethers binding the beasts to the vehicle. It was no use. The bizarre horses knocked the handlers aside and charged toward the edge of the bridge. A low lip was all that separated the edge of the stone span from the chasm below, and the horses leaped over the edge, the wooden front wheels shattering as the carriage was pulled after them.

This is an unwise course of action, Steel told her. Though Thorn's ears were still ringing from the thunderstone, the voice of the dagger was perfectly clear. If you reveal your talents in front of the other delegates-or worse, the gnolls-you'll place the entire mission at risk. Let the soldiers and the bodyguards handle this. You are a political aide, not a warrior of legend.

"Just tell me how many harpies we're dealing with," Thorn said, hoping Steel could hear her. She couldn't even make out the sound of her own voice.

A gargoyle was sprawled on the ground near the blue wagon, riddled with arrows-no small feat, given the toughness of the creature's stony hide. Thorn seized hold of a leg and dragged the corpse beneath the carriage; she expected it to be a chore, but the body was surprisingly light, as if stuffed with straw.

There are fourteen harpies in the air, Steel told her. However, in planning such an ambush, I would have placed the singers beneath the bridge, where they could be shielded from attack.

Weaving a spell proved to be a challenge. Thorn couldn't hear her own voice, and her chosen incantation always required a little improvisation. She was afraid she might miss a syllable, dispersing the mystical energy.

Focus, she told herself. Stone and strength. Horn and wing. With her gestures and whispered words in the Draconic tongue, she painted a picture of the gargoyle, and she felt the familiar tingle as the illusion took shape around her. The wings were the weakest element. She couldn't stretch the disguise very far beyond her own body, so her illusory wings were folded against her sides. Like her medusa guise at the Bloody Tooth, it wouldn't hold up under close inspection, but it would serve her purpose.

"I hate this part," Thorn muttered, still unable to hear her own words. The next incantation was shorter and simpler, but the spell required a certain talisman to trigger its effect. As she completed the final gesture, Thorn felt the mystical potential building around her. She pulled a box from a hidden pocket, a tiny container too small for even a ring. Flipping it open, she inhaled quickly, drawing a little spider into her mouth. She swallowed before it could start to crawl. Damned spiders.

With a thought, she drew her rapier out of the magical pocket in her right palm and let it fall to the ground. She'd need Steel for the work that lay ahead, and until then she'd need both hands. Each glove could hold only one object, and she wasn't about to leave the magical book on the ground.

What are you-Steel's words were cut off as Thorn drew him into her glove. With all her preparations in place, she leaped out from beneath the wagon.

The battle on the bridge raged around her. Gnoll archers had killed a few harpies and injured a handful, but another wagon was teetering on the edge of the bridge. The remaining harpies targeted the gnolls who were working to control the coaches, and it was a deadly game. The gnolls fought viciously, and a few of the foreign soldiers and even delegates were scattered among them. One of the gnomes Thorn had seen earlier was pointing a wand of pale wood at the sky, unleashing bright bursts of mystical energy that chased his harpy foe no matter how she ducked or swooped. Another gnome lay stretched out in a pool of blood.

Thorn darted along the span and then over the edge of the bridge. To anyone watching, the sight was ordinary-a gargoyle joining the fight, leaping off the bridge to take to the air. But Thorn didn't jump from the bridge-she slipped over the stone lip and set her hands against the sheer surface of the outside wall. Using the energy of her second spell, she crawled down the bridge like a spider.

Though her clothing was hidden by the illusion, Thorn could feel it moving against her skin, the cloak falling over her shoulders as she descended head-first down the wall. Deafened as she was, her world was reduced to sight, smell, and touch. An unconscious glance down into the gorge revealed the corpses scattered along the riverbed far below. It was a discomforting sight, but Thorn was a gifted climber even without the aid of magic. She shook off her concerns and proceeded carefully.

It took only moments for Thorn to reach the lower edge of the bridge, and she peered under the stonework. Steel's theory was accurate. Three harpies were perched on the struts below the bridge-the closest less than twenty feet from Thorn. A handful of gargoyles was clustered around the creatures, and for a moment Thorn was mystified. Then she realized that the harpies were still singing, even though she couldn't hear them. The gargoyles had been drawn to the object of their fascination, and they listened to the song, blissfully unaware of anything around them. The harpies ignored the gargoyles, and that would make her job all the easier. She would appear to be just one more victim, slowly making her way toward certain death.

As Thorn reached the nearest strut, another of the huge horses tumbled off the side of the bridge, plummeting hundreds of feet. It had been cut free from its harness, but the loss of any of the beasts was surely a problem for the caravan. She needed to act quickly, but without alerting her prey.

For the moment, her slow pace gave her time to consider her target. The harpy had the torso of a human woman, her skin weathered and deeply tanned, her hair wild and windblown. Dark leathery wings sprouted from her shoulders, and as she sat in repose, these were folded against her back. Her legs were those of a bird of prey, with long talons clutching the stone. A host of possibilities ran through Thorn's mind, but she most wanted a swift kill.

As Thorn had hoped, the harpy didn't even glance up as she pushed her way through the gargoyles. The creature's eyes were half-closed, as if lost in the beauty of her own song. Thorn wondered if the harpy considered it an art as well as a weapon. The haunting melody seeped into her thoughts, and a part of her wanted to pause, to listen to the music.

A thought brought Steel into her hand, and Thorn could hear the dagger's protests. Grabbing hold of her victim's hair, Thorn drew the blade to the side, slashing through flesh. Steel had a supernatural edge; he couldn't cut though iron or stone, but he tore through the harpy's neck like soft cheese. Warm blood spattered across Thorn's arms, and the bird woman fell from the bridge, plummeting toward the bodies of those drawn to their deaths.

You might have-Steel didn't get to complete the sentence. As soon as she'd completed the stroke, the dagger was back in her glove. Thorn was just another gargoyle among the others, and she had just enough time to cast a quick spell. She could see the dawning confusion on the faces of the creatures around her, and looking toward the southern end of the bridge, she could see a distant harpy staring at her fallen sister, face frozen in shock. In a moment, the foul creature would gather her wits and begin her song anew-if Thorn gave her the chance. Trying not to think about the broken bodies that lay below her, Thorn leaped out into the space between the struts.

Thorn couldn't fly, but anyone watching might have guessed that the gargoyle could. Her recent spell enhanced her momentum when she jumped, allowing her to cover great distances. Even so, a standing jump to a narrow beam was a terrible risk.

She'd hoped for a safe landing on the strut, for the chance to fight the harpy on her own terms. Instead, Thorn slammed into the creature itself, sending them both tumbling off the beam. The harpy was at home in the air, but Thorn had the advantage of surprise. Before her enemy could shake her free, Thorn wrapped her legs around the harpy's waist and dug fingers into the tough flesh of the creature's throat. The harpy's wings beat against the air as it struggled to push her away; fortunately, the claws on its fingers weren't as long or as sharp as the talons on its feet.

Above them, Thorn saw gargoyles swarming over the third harpy under the bridge. If it had managed to continue its song, it hadn't captured the minds of the gargoyles in time. Thorn had achieved her goal-the only question was whether she'd survive.

The two spun through the air, the harpy beating her wings wildly to counter for the unbalanced weight of her enemy. Her chest heaved from the exertion, and her fingernails dug furrows in Thorn's stomach. But Thorn kept her hands locked around the creature's throat, denying her air.

The creature was desperate, weaving erratically through the sky. Thorn squeezed harder and felt the harpy's throat collapsing under the pressure. Then an unexpected impact forced the air from her lungs. The harpy had smashed into the wall of the gorge, ramming Thorn into the rough stone. Sharp rocks tore at her flesh, and her right leg slipped from the harpy's waist. She just needed a second to catch her breath, to regain her grip…

She didn't have time. The harpy was mad with pain and only wanted to take its foe with it into the darkness. Thorn saw a rocky outcropping rushing toward her, and then the world went white. When her vision cleared, she caught a glimpse of the harpy crumpled against the ledge above her, blood smeared around her crushed skull. Thorn's head throbbed, and her left arm was in agony. Was it broken? Dislocated? Distracted by the pain, it took her an instant to realize the greater concern.

She was falling. And the bottom of the gorge was only seconds away.