The Queen of stone

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Korlaak Pass Droaam Eyre 12, 998 YK

For a mad moment Thorn tried to spread her wings, to reach out and catch the howling wind. The delusion passed quickly. Her cloak was flapping around her, and jagged rock lay directly below. She had only moments before impact… plenty of time for a woman trained in the City of Towers. The spires of Sharn stretched thousands of feet into the sky, and she'd learned to leap between the bridges, descending a dozen levels in a single jump. But even the best bridge runner missed a step, and sometimes you needed to reach the ground as quickly as possible. And that's why you carried a feather token.

The wind tore at Thorn's cloak, pulling the clasp against her throat. She couldn't move her left arm. She still had strength in her right hand, enough to reach down and touch the buckle of her belt. The air grew thick around her, and Thorn's stomach heaved in protest at the sudden change of velocity. She drifted gently, cushioned by the wind. She had just enough time to shift position, landing on her hand and knees as she struck the rocky floor of the gorge. She grimaced in pain, but it was the pain of falling against cobblestones, not the deadly plummet it could have been.

Thorn rolled onto her back and stared at the bridge and the sky above. She could see figures whirling about, but she couldn't tell if they were gargoyles or harpies. Her heart pounded, and the pain she felt as she gasped for breath suggested a shattered rib. Gritting her teeth, she slapped her hand against her right thigh.

Nothing happened. Thorn didn't have the energy to curse. She had a tattoo on her leg, a mark that had been applied when she was assigned to the mission. Power was stored in the symbol, but it wasn't a form of magic she was used to; it was imported from the distant land of Riedra. "It channels the powers of the mind," the provender had said as he applied it to her skin. "It's not like drinking a potion. You have to want it to happen."

Thorn placed her hand over the symbol, and this time she silenced her thoughts, pushing the pain away and focusing only on the tattoo. "Heal me."

She felt the lines of the symbol itch as power spread through her body. Agony was swept away by soothing warmth as the energy healed flesh and bone. The healing took only seconds, and Thorn raised her left arm, carefully flexing her fingers, then rose to her feet. Cuts, bruises, even the broken rib had been restored. "I might just move to Riedra," Thorn murmured.

Corpses were scattered all around her, broken remnants of human and gnoll. The scent of blood filled the air, and the vermin were already gathering, flies and pale brood-worms burrowing into the bodies.

Thorn had seen worse sights during the war, but the carnage still gave her pause. As her gargoyle disguise faded away, she called Steel out of her glove.

I see you're still alive, he said.

"And you may have noticed that the rain of gnolls has stopped."

What resources did you consume in all this chaos?

"A feather token, a healing tattoo… a spider."

That's half your reserves. I hope you don't plan on falling again soon.

Thorn tossed the dagger in the air, then caught it. "This was never part of the plan. I don't recall a briefing that covered the delegates being killed before they reached the Crag. If I'm supposed to be Beren's aide, we need Beren."

The guards-

"Weren't having much success, from what I could see. And I like to keep my options open. Someday, the Citadel just might need a warrior of legend."

Fine. Thorn felt a faint shiver in her mind… a psychic sigh, perhaps?

"As much as I enjoy these little chats, I was wondering if you had any insight into the attack. Did the Daughters do this?"

A moment of silence lingered before Steel responded. The Daughters of Sora Kell are unpredictable. They might do such a thing without telling our gnoll companions. But it seems unlikely. The Daughters put considerable effort into arranging this summit, and the deaths of diplomats would anger the leaders of the other nations. Unless they're trying to start a war, I see no gain.

"Which means someone else is playing."

Indeed, Steel said. And if you want to stay part of it, you'd best find a way to return to the caravan.

"You think so?" Thorn smiled as she returned the dagger to its sheath and shifted her clothing to her envoy's gown. This outfit was still fresh from the coach, so Thorn smeared a little blood and dirt onto the fabric. Then she pried a dented shield from the broken arm of a dead gnoll. A few gargoyles were still circling around the bridge, and Thorn used the shield to catch the light of the sun. After a few tries, she drew the attention of the scouts.

Lured off the edge by the harpy's song, fortunate to have that souvenir from Sharn… Thorn composed the story in her mind as the gargoyles came to her rescue.

"A souvenir from Sharn?" Drego Sarhain laughed. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

Beren ir'Wynarn shook his head. "Have you been to the City of Towers, Flamebearer Sarhain? When you're walking the edge of Skyway, staring at the hard stone a mile below, you might find that peace of mind is worth a few galifars. And I'd say it was gold well spent."

"I suppose so," Drego said. "I apologize, Lady Tam. Blessings to the Flame for sparing us all."

Thorn's daring attack had given the defenders the opportunity they needed to rally and destroy the remaining harpies. But three of the wagons were broken timber on the floor of the gorge. When the gargoyle carried Thorn up to the bridge, she discovered chaos. Diplomats demanded explanations from guards who couldn't hear them, and gnolls struggled to get everyone moving away from the bridge. They called a halt to regroup as soon as they were a safe distance from the span, and the deafening effects of the thunderstones finally faded.

After some animated discussion, growling, and whining, the gnolls drew the entire group off the main road and into a forest, setting up camp beneath the gnarled trees. With the camp settled, the surviving gnolls drew together and appeared to be evaluating the damage and determining how to proceed. Movement in the sky caused a stir among the travelers, but it proved to be the gargoyles bringing salvaged supplies from the shattered wagons.

Night was falling, and the light from the full moons fell through the trees. The passengers of the blue wagon sat around a crackling fire, watching one another uneasily. Jharl, the gnoll tracker who had ridden in their wagon, studied the sky silently, outside the circle, an arrow held to his bowstring. The buzz of flies filled the air, and Thorn fought to push the image of writhing broodworms out of her mind.

The old elf approached Toli. The bodyguard had bandaged his own wound, but he winced whenever he shifted his weight. The priestess reached out her hand, but Toli pulled away, glaring at her.

"Minister Luala only wishes to tend your wounds," Drego said. "She's a gifted healer. Unless you enjoy pain?"

"I'll take the pain over the touch of a Thrane," Toli said, glaring across the bonfire.

"In this, she acts not as an emissary of Thrane, but as a servant of the Silver Flame," Drego said, and the old woman nodded gravely. "We both lost comrades in this attack, and you fought to defend us all. The light of the Flame touches any brave heart, regardless of your nation or your faith. Let us ease your pain."

The minister reached out again, and this time Toli pushed her hand aside. "I saw the light of your Flame at Vathirond, Thrane. I wasn't defending you, and I don't want your help."

Thorn said nothing, watching as the silent priestess returned to the other side of the fire. She understood his anger. The city of Vathirond lay on the border with Thrane and what had once been Cyre. Few Brelish towns had suffered as much during the war, and it took more than a few years of peace to ease the tensions of a century of war.

Soon a gnoll hunter arrived, carrying a brace of large rabbits. Jharl prepared them over the flame, quartering them with his knife and passing chunks out to the travelers. With no spices and only water to wash it down, it wasn't a meal worthy of the Twilight Palace, but it was better than nothing. Beren and Drego took turns asking for explanations of the attack, but all Jharl would say was, "Wait."

At last, the black-furred gnoll emerged from the deepening shadows around their camp. Jharl rose and bowed his head to Ghyrryn, and the larger gnoll addressed the travelers.

"No delegate is dead," he said. There was no hint of apology in his stance or his voice. "You travel in the morning."

Beren was on his feet. "I'll need a better explanation than that, lad. Who did this? How do we know you weren't involved?"

"You are alive," the gnoll growled.

He's got a point, Thorn thought. Despite her earlier doubts, if the gnolls had turned on the travelers on the bridge, it would have been a bloodbath.

"Then who was responsible? Will they come after us again?"

"We will know by morning. Before we travel." Everything Ghyrryn said was a statement. If he had any doubts, he didn't show them. "A messenger is sent ahead. Troops from the Crag will secure the way."

"And they couldn't have done that sooner?" The silver embroidery on Drego's doublet glittered in the firelight.

"No need was seen. No delegate is dead."

The bear was the symbol of Breland, and in his anger, Beren had the menace of an angry bear. Although he was a diplomat, he spoke with the authority of a man who believed he served the most powerful nation in Khorvaire. "One of my men is dead," he growled. "A man I chose myself. You tell me why he died."

"You knew the danger of this land, or you would not have guards," Ghyrryn said, speaking more clearly than usual. "We promised your protection. We do not protect the others."

Both Drego and Beren began to protest, but the gnoll snarled and straightened his back, towering over the humans. His eyes gleamed in the firelight. He didn't raise his weapon-he didn't need to. This was no guardsman to be ordered about by angry aristocrats. He was a creature of the wild, a predator, and when he showed his teeth, the humans fell silent. Toli rose to his feet, sword in hand, and Thorn moved closer to Beren. But silence was all the gnoll wanted.

"Your enemy will suffer when found. Know this and be satisfied. It is the only answer you will have from me. Now sleep. We will protect you in the night." He took a step backward, his eyes locked on Toli, then turned and stalked into the woods.

Perhaps it amused the Daughters of Sora Kell to put Thrane and Breland in the same wagon, but even the hags didn't force them to share a tent. Jharl and the gnolls set up pavilions made from stitched hides. Each was built to shelter four persons, and as Thorn entered the tent for her group, the extra space was a painful reminder of Grenn's death.

Beren fell asleep as soon as he bedded down, but to Thorn's dismay, Toli remained awake, glaring at the Thrane tent. Thorn wondered what horrors the man had seen at Vathirond, and when he quietly rose from his bedroll, she feared that he might seek vengeance. Moving quickly, she bunched her blanket around her traveling bag. It wouldn't fool anyone under close inspection, but at a distance in the moonlight, it would serve.

Toli was careful and quiet, but he was a bodyguard by trade. A Dark Lantern lived and died by the art of stealth. The light of the moons was almost a match for the sun, and the trees broke the light into deep shadows. Thorn clung to this darkness. Her nightclothes were another version of her shiftweave wardrobe-though her blacks were a better choice for such work, she wanted to play the part of the innocent aide if she were discovered creeping about the camp.

She needn't have worried. Murder wasn't what the bodyguard had in mind-he sought only a secluded place to empty his bladder. A few moments later, he returned to the pavilion.

Thorn had other plans. She shifted to her dark outfit. An enchantment woven into the black cloth drew the shadows around her, helping her blend into the gloom. She raised her hood and drew her mask up over her face; even if she ran afoul of a gnoll guard, it was unlikely that he'd recognize the Brelish lady. The bracelets she wore on her wrists were multiple overlapping sections, and she drew them back to cover her forearms, activating the defensive magic bound within. She drew Steel, turning the blade against her wrist and keeping him close to her body as she slipped into the woods.

Is there a reason for this late night stroll?

Thorn spoke in a low whisper. "I want to learn about the attack. The gnoll said he'd know by morning. That means they're doing something now-and I want to eavesdrop."

A valid concern.

"I'm glad I have your approval," Thorn said. "Given the size of gnoll ears, I don't think I should be whispering to my dagger while I'm trying to avoid them. If you notice anything interesting, let me know. Otherwise, let the Lantern do her work, yes?"

Understood.

Thorn made her way through the woods, staying just beyond the light of the campfires. The halflings of the Talenta Plains had brought their own sentry-a large lizard that stood on two legs and glared into the woods, sniffing the air and flashing inch-long teeth. If the beast detected Thorn, it made no move.

Although the gnolls were spread out among the various campsites, the creatures also had a camp of their own. As she made her way toward it, she paused to avoid a pair of gnolls… and became aware of a problem. In the absence of any humans, the two were speaking in their own tongue. It was difficult for her to recognize that the hooting and whining was actually communication; it sounded like the noise of wild beasts.

Steel was able to identify a few key words. The gnolls were waiting for someone to arrive. Thorn decided to wait and learn the identity of the newcomer. But if it was another gnoll, she might not be able to understand much.

As she moved closer to the gnoll camp, she heard a sound in the woods behind her. It was no rabbit; it was the crack of a foot snapping a fallen twig. Thorn slid around the trunk of a gnarled oak, taking cover while searching for the source of the sound.

I sense no magical emanations, Steel said. Most likely another sentry.

Thorn wasn't so sure. The gnolls were larger and heavier than humans; the snap had sounded like the work of a smaller creature. Reluctantly, she abandoned her position, moving deeper into the shadows of the forest. A moment later, she heard the rustle of an arm brushing against bark. She glanced toward it… and saw nothing. The magic of her ring let her see clearly in the gloom, but she saw only empty air.

And yet… she knew something was there. She'd always had sharp eyes and keen ears, and now she felt a presence in the woods-more by instinct than anything else. Though her eyes denied it, she knew someone had slipped around the tree ahead of her.

Thorn couldn't ask Steel's opinion without warning her prey. But she wasn't about to let this stranger escape. She had come to find out about the attack-and some invisible creature was skulking around the perimeter. She carefully closed the distance to her target.

Focusing her thoughts, Thorn spun around the tree. She saw nothing, but she knew where her target was, and she rammed her forearm into the place where a man's throat might be. Her bracer struck a soft target, what felt like flesh. She raised Steel, ready to drive the blade into her hidden foe.

Finding the invisible man was challenge enough. Predicting his movement was something else entirely. His kick caught her off guard and knocked her backward, just enough to put her out of reach. His invisibility had the same limit as her own magic; his hostile action shattered the enchantment. The air rippled as Drego Sarhain appeared before her, his hands wreathed in silver fire.

"Well, Lady Tam," he said quietly. "It seems we have something in common."