The Queen of Stone: Thorn of Breland (15 page)

The oni stared at Beren, and Thorn felt a faint charge in the air … magical power? Then he grinned, and the energy faded. The grin turned into a deep belly laugh. He raised a hand to Toli, whose sword was half-drawn from its scabbard. Thorn realized that she’d already drawn Steel, hiding the blade against her arm.

“Your lord is wise,” Kantar said. “Sheathe your weapon, guardian. Yes, we seek the favor of all nations, but Breland is our neighbor and the foe we have fought before, and it is you we most hope to befriend. You are
safe here, Beren ir’Wynarn. Enjoy our hospitality, and sleep soundly this night.”

Beren gave a curt nod, and they began walking again. Thorn smiled. With the nerve to face down a giant, he’d be just fine without an aide.

The Daughters had spared no effort on the evening’s feast. The hall was a spectacle of colors and sound, an overwhelming sight after the dull stone walls of the rest of the Crag. Sparks of golden light floated in the air, fey flames that drifted just beyond the reach of guests. A team of goblins darted around a central fire pit, preparing and distributing food. After a week of eating rabbits, the rich aroma of spiced meats and vegetables set Thorn’s mouth watering. Tribex, gorgon, some sort of crustacean the size of a warhorse—there was enough food for an army, and it smelled delicious.

Long tables were set with Riedran crysteel, plates and goblets with the beauty of carved glass but the strength of iron. Music echoed through the hall, the work of a band of goblins in the far corner. The little creatures were producing a frenzied song on pipes, drums, and lute. A dancer accompanied them. Her skin was jet back, and as Thorn watched, flames seemed to dart across her flesh.

Skindancer
, Steel whispered.
Most changelings use their gifts to impersonate other living creatures, but when you can alter your body, there are many other possibilities
.

The skindancer spun in place, and her hair flowed out from her body, taking on a brilliant red hue as it did, as if a cloud of fire had suddenly burst around her. The woman spun faster and faster as the music built to its climax. On the final note, her hair shifted to black and spun in toward her. From a distance, Thorn wasn’t certain the woman was wearing clothes; it seemed that she had just painted patterns on her skin.

“We have changelings in Breland—why haven’t I seen that before?” she murmured.

Because the changelings of the Five Nations hide their abilities. You know how they’re treated, with suspicion and distrust. In a land with harpies and medusas, a shapeshifter isn’t so strange. I’d imagine the changelings of Droaam have more opportunities to explore the full extent of their powers
.

But as fascinating as it was, the dancer was just one part of the wild celebration. Tiny gargoyles darted around the curved ceiling, tossing spheres of glowing glass in a display of juggling and acrobatics. Around her, delegates spoke with the lords of Droaam. A Mror dwarf dressed in black and gold roared with laughter at the words of an armored minotaur, and Lord Beren was speaking with a woman dressed in flowing robes of white silk with bronzed leather. No … as Thorn took in the scene, she realized that the leather was the woman’s skin. The living mane that roiled around her shoulders confirmed it. This was a medusa, perhaps the very one Thorn sought. She faced Beren. Clearly, something was blocking her deadly gaze, or there’d be a statue in Beren’s place. Again, Thorn was impressed with Beren. Regardless of the setting, it took courage to stare into the face of a medusa.

This sight was enough to shake Thorn out of her reverie. The celebration was a remarkable and overwhelming event, but she had work to do. She had two missions, and she didn’t expect to find Harryn Stormblade at this party.

Drul Kantar had said that the Daughters of Sora Kell had called the most powerful warlords of the land to the Crag. Based on the encounter at Korlaak Pass, either some of the warlords had their own plans for Droaam and its relations with the east, or the Daughters were playing a game even their soldiers weren’t aware of. Tonight would be her first chance to study the lords of Droaam.

A goblin passed by with a tray of marinated meat on skewers. Thorn grabbed one of the treats as the servant
went past. Perhaps it was just her hunger, but the meat was one of the most delicious things she’d tasted; juicy, perfectly spiced, with an exotic flavor she couldn’t identify. It wasn’t until she reached the end of the skewer that she noticed the small skull wedged down at the base—charred and blackened, but still distinctly humanoid. Pixie kabobs? she wondered. Her gorge rose, and she was half-inclined to let it. Surely they wouldn’t serve intelligent creatures as food. She noticed a gnoll licking his jaws, two of the skewers in his hand. She resolved to stick to the tribex.

“Good evening, Lady Tam.” The face was familiar, but the voice was a surprise. It was Minister Luala, the Thrane envoy. She spoke softly, but somehow Thorn could hear every word. Drego Sarhain stood just behind her, with the shadow of a smirk on his face. “Now that I am able, I wish to thank you for your conduct and company on our journey.”

“I just played the hand I was dealt, minister.”

“Nonetheless, your kindness was appreciated … especially in comparison to your comrade in arms.” Her eyes flickered to where Lord Beren and his bodyguard were speaking to another oni.

“If you mean Toli, I’d be happy to let that subject drop, minister. I’m a diplomat. I choose my words with more care than my companions. But Toli lost friends and family to Thrane soldiers. Personally, I think it’s a testament to his restraint that words were all that were exchanged.”

The minister looked crestfallen. “I had hoped that we could heal the wounds between our nations—just as I sought to restore Toli to health.”

“If you want to magically mend the damage, try raising the dead of Vathirond and Shadukar.”

Drego stepped forward. “And what of the Thranes slain by Brelish soldiers? Our nations rose together when the Last War began. Are you somehow placing the blame on Thrane’s shoulders alone?”

“Not at all,” Thorn said. She sighed. She appreciated what Luala was trying to do, but she understood Toli’s anger. “I wasn’t asking for forgiveness. I don’t expect your people to forget the deaths of those they loved in the space of a few years. I know mine won’t. I appreciate your thoughts, Minister Luala. Perhaps a time will come when our wounds can be healed. But right now, we’re here for Droaam. I suggest that you don’t try to take on too many challenges.”

“Wise advice.” A woman’s voice, low and husky.

The newcomer stood directly behind the Thrane soldier accompanying Drego and Luala. The bodyguard started in surprise and reached for his weapon, but the stranger caught his wrist in one hand and his neck in the other, pinning him in place.

“Don’t,” she said, addressing Drego and Thorn as much as her prisoner. “I’ve been told not to kill you, but no one raises a weapon against me and lives.”

She released the soldier with a sudden shove that sent him stumbling to his knees. Drego Sarhain had moved between the stranger and Minister Luala, and Thorn stepped to the side, where she could get a good view of the newcomer.

At first, Thorn thought it was the elf she’d seen back at the Duurwood Camp—the hunter with his wolves. The stranger wore the same uniform—loose black hunter’s clothes spattered with grey patterns to help blend into the shadows. Pale skin, hair the color of moonlight, the wide eyes and pointed ears of a full-blooded elf. But this was a woman. Older than the young hunter. And only one long elf ear emerged from beneath her hair; her left ear was missing, the wound hidden from view.
My mother sends her greetings
, the young elf had told the gnolls. Thorn guessed she’d just moved up the family tree.

If the son had seemed dangerous, the mother put him to shame. She wore no boots, and she stood on the balls of her
feet, arms at her sides, hands open and ready. Elves weren’t known for strength, and she wasn’t a bulky woman, but she was slender and compact—a perfectly forged rapier set next to the clumsy club of an ogre. But what impressed Thorn the most was the conviction in the woman’s large elven eyes. She had the gaze of a true predator. Thorn was certain that the woman had already sized her up and was ready to respond to any action she might take. A chill grew at the base of her spine … the same sensation she’d felt when the wolves appeared in the Duurwood.

“I am the warlord Zaeurl,” she said. “I believe you’ve met my children.”

I
beg your pardon,” Luala said, carefully studying the newcomer. “You must have us confused with some of the other delegates. I don’t know you, let alone your relatives.”

“I said my children, not my relatives.” Zaeurl was smiling, but it wasn’t a pleasant sight. An air of menace hung about this huntress; she was used to being feared, and it had become a part of her. Thorn remembered the way the gnolls had reacted to the wolf pack in the woods; a strange tension had been present then, a sense of an unspoken and deadly secret. She felt that now, mingling with the pain in her spine. “And I misspoke. You may not have seen my children, but they certainly saw you. It was my pack who watched your way for the last five days, shielding you from further attacks. And they told me about you—the silent woman with the silver flame at her throat, and her handsome toy.” She glanced at Drego. “That would be you, boy.”

“I’d gathered that,” he said.

“Warlord,” Thorn said. “What does that mean, exactly? Do you command the armies of Droaam?”

“Less formal than that,” Zaeurl said, turning her gaze
on Thorn. “I suppose you might say ‘baron’ in your lands. My fellow warlords all command military forces. Should we return to war, our Queens will guide our actions. It helps to have a commander who can see the future.”

“And your soldiers?” Drego said. Thorn could see that he was still on alert, ready to act … and it seemed like a wise decision. Zaeurl’s eyes narrowed when he spoke, and her muscles stiffened; clearly, she disliked the Thranes.

“Hunters and scouts, mostly. We know the ways of the woods better than anyone else in Droaam, man or beast.”

“And what brought you to this place?” Thorn said. “I see ogres, goblins, orcs—I haven’t seen many elves in the service of the Daughters.”

“Why, the Silver Flame led me to Droaam,” Zaeurl said.

Luala frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s twice you’ve asked,” Zaeurl said, and there was steel in her voice. “You could ask a thousand times, and you’d never receive it. Where were you two centuries ago, minister?”

“I beg—” Luala caught herself, and began again. “I served in the library of Flamekeep, tending the scrolls and teaching the young acolytes.”

“And were you involved in the war in the west?”

Thorn frowned. Until the Last War, Galifar had been a remarkably peaceful kingdom. There were a handful of uprisings and ambitious lords, but little to earn the title of
war
. Two centuries ago …

The Purge.

Drego reached the same conclusion. “Are you referring to the Silver Crusade?”

Zaeurl nodded. “Call it what you will, boy. You weren’t alive to see it.”

Eberron was a world of magic, and magic took many forms. It might be a blessing or a curse. Sometimes it was both, as in the case of lycanthropy—the force responsible
for werewolves, wererats, and other shapeshifters of legend. Thorn had never met a lycanthrope. Since the Purge, they were few and far between.

“And what is your quarrel with the crusade?” Luala studied the warlord carefully.

“Many innocents were killed in your war,” Zaeurl said. “I lost my first family at the hands of the Pure Flame.”

“Innocents were lost,” Luala agreed. “Fear, and the thirst for revenge, drove people to madness. But were you there for the beginning, Zaeurl? Again, your pardon, but you do not appear as old as I. The soldiers of the Flame did not travel to the west on a mere whim. They came in response to the cries of those dying at the hands of the werewolves and their kin.”