The Queen of Stone: Thorn of Breland (38 page)

S
ora Katra studied the man before her. “I give you this final chance to change the fate of nations, Lord Beren. What is your will?”

They stood in the Great Hall of the Crag, the audience chamber of the Daughters of Sora Kell. All three of the sisters were present. They stood on a raised dais, but it held no thrones; rather, a dead tree spread its limbs above and around the sisters. The significance was lost on Thorn, unless it was supposed to be as gnarled and tough as Sora Teraza.

Lord Beren ir’ Wynarn had been chosen to speak for the surviving delegates. “Sora Katra, I am astonished that you even ask. While under your roof, my compatriots have been kidnapped, cursed, and some of them killed. If not for the graces of the noble Minister Luala, many of us would still be afflicted with lycanthropy. There are yet a few who could not be cured, and who have suffered permanent psychological damage. And you still dare to raise the question of your petition?”

Sora Maenya stood behind Katra, and her laughter was deep and troubling. She’d chosen to remain in the form of the hungry woman from Beren’s tale, but she’d let her
hands slip. Her skin was as pale and smooth as that of a noble woman, but her fingers were unnaturally long, and her cruel claws were crusted with dried blood.

“I do, Lord Beren,” Katra said, showing no signs of guilt or remorse. “We live in uncertain times. Things happen that cannot be controlled. This is one moment that you can control, and I suggest that you choose wisely. You have seen the power that we possess. Do you truly want us as an enemy?”

And there it was. The previous day, Sora Katra had claimed that the actions that had cost the lives of delegates were the work of Drul Kantar, the warlord governor of the Crag. According to Katra, none knew of Drul Kantar’s influence over lycanthropes or the army he was building in secret. Drul’s power enabled him to subvert the Warlord Zaeurl and many members of the Skullcrusher Guard.

Now that Drul Kantar was gone, Zaeurl was a trusted ally again. And since the conjunction of moons had passed with Kantar’s ritual a failure, the power of lycanthropy had returned to prior conditions. Only a few among ‘the blessed’ could spread the affliction, and the hags claimed to have no plans to craft more shapeshifters, lest it empower Drul Kantar’s mysterious overlord.

But even if the Daughters created no new lycanthropes, they had no intention of disposing of the ones already in their armies. With the defeat of Drul Kantar, the Skullcrusher Guard was once again fanatically loyal to the Daughters of Sora Kell. If war erupted between Breland and Droaam, trollbears might be tearing across the Graywall.

Lord Beren bowed slightly. “No, Sora Katra, I do not. I hope that Droaam will enjoy a long and peaceful relationship with Breland. But it takes more than military power and intimidation to earn the respect of the Thronehold nations.”

Except for Valenar … and Darguun … and some days, Karrnath
, Steel observed.

Thorn was the only one who could hear Steel’s remarks, and she struggled to keep the smile off her face as Beren continued.

“During this journey, you and your people have forced me to reconsider my views of humanity. It is all too easy for us to fear the unknown or that which is dangerous. Many of your people deserve our trust and respect instead of our fear, but that means nothing if you, as the rulers of the nation, cannot distinguish between the two. The fact that you could allow this event to occur is sufficient cause for us to decline your petition at the present time.”

“The present time is the only time, Lord Beren. There will not be another.”

“Be that as it may, Sora Katra, we have made our decision. And we will expect reparations for the losses we have suffered on this journey.”

“You and your comrades will be given safe passage to Graywall, Lord Beren. Beyond that, I offered you the chance to change the fate of nations, and you have. This will have consequences, Lord Beren. I wish you well … until we meet again.”

Sora Maenya’s laughter echoed through the hall as the gnolls escorted the delegates out.

Ghyrryn and Sheshka had both come to bid the travelers farewell.

“Few of you survive, so fewer wagons are needed,” Ghyrryn explained. “I now serve a greater need in the Crag.”

“Well, at least our loss is your gain.” Thorn produced the myrnaxe. “Do you wish to take this back?”

“You will not return a gift,” Ghyrryn said, surprised. “We are brothers. And you may need it again.”

“I suppose I may.” It saddened her to think that they might meet again on opposite sides of a battlefield. “Good hunting, brother.”

Sheshka waited nearby, her eyes closed. She touched her palm to Thorn’s. “Trust a gnoll to see a brother when one clearly has a sister,” she said.

There was little more to say that had not already been said, and Beren, Stormblade, and Thorn climbed aboard their wagon. Sheshka, Thorn, and Stormblade had spent much of the previous night talking and sampling the strange liquors of Cazhaak Draal.

In light of her service, the Daughters had offered Sheshka the title of Warlord General, a position second only to the Three. While she had always had doubts, and a desire to rule a greater territory alone, Sheshka found that she had come to believe in Droaam. She might find a sister in Thorn, or a friend in Stormblade, and they would always be welcome in Cazhaak Draal. But her people would always be feared in the world beyond. In Droaam they had the chance to create something magnificent. Thorn could feel the tension that remained between Sheshka and Harryn, but whatever lingered there, it was something neither intended to discuss openly.

As for Harryn Stormblade, the news of the Last War and the fall of Galifar was a great blow. But he believed that the kingdom would rise again, and given his experiences in Droaam, he was likely to see Breland’s claim in a positive light, which was exactly what the Citadel wanted. If and when the war began anew, having the Shield of the Crown as Boranel’s champion would be a powerful propaganda tool. The challenge, of course, would be to keep Harryn from realizing just how he was being used. For the moment, he was a handsome and upstanding man, he owed Thorn a considerable debt, and they had a week’s wagon ride to Graywall ahead. She looked forward to seeing what developed.

But all of these—drinking with Sheshka, sparring and joking with Harryn—were just ways to ignore the things that were truly bothering her. So much about that final day made no sense. Clearly, Sora Teraza had known about Drul Kantar’s plot. Presumably, she’d known that this would result in the failure of the summit. Had she truly withheld this information from her sisters? Or had Sora Katra known how things would turn out from the very beginning?

And the ring.
Never a gift at all
. After dwelling on this, Thorn had no doubt: her enhanced senses had nothing to do with the ring. Even with the ring in the palm of her hand, her eyes could still pierce the deepest shadows, and she could feel the slightest shift of the wind against her skin. Both Zane and Steel had told her the ring was the source of this power. She’d received the ring before she’d crossed paths with Steel, so perhaps he knew as little as she. Or perhaps both of them were lying to her. Why? What was happening to her?

And what of the dragon?

After waking up in the mud, she’d pushed the battle from her mind, forced herself to complete her mission. Part of her wanted to believe that it had simply been a moment of madness, some strange effect of the tower of Drulkalatar. No one had seen her change; perhaps it was just a strange living nightmare. But as much as she wanted to believe that, she knew it was a lie. For a moment, she’d been a dragon … and it had felt so natural, so true. The feel of fire flowing from her throat, of her wings spreading around her—it was more real than any dream, and every time she thought back to the battle, she felt small and empty.

Sarmondelaryx, the demon had said. The name from her dream, and one she knew from stories. The Angel of Flame, a terror from the dawn of Galifar. But what did it have to do with her?

Whatever had happened, it might as well have been a dream. She’d tried to become the dragon again. She’d even picked a fight with an ogre, to see if it was something triggered by combat. She had no success. Perhaps it was just madness, the crystal shard digging into her brain. But she was haunted by the memory of fire flowing through her vein, and the recognition in Drulkalatar’s eyes when he looked at her.

What is it like to swim the river twice?

She felt a thought pressing its way into her mind, and she let it in. She felt the mental signature of her handler, Zane.

Thorn—Situation in the Eldeen. Griffin and provender will be waiting at Twilight Palace. Expect immediate briefing and transport
.

Too many mysteries filled the world. Too many unanswered questions. But she had a job to do. A country that needed her. And perhaps, she’d find her answers along the way.

“King and country,” she said, passing her hand along Steel’s hilt.