The Queen of Stone: Thorn of Breland (8 page)

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.

F
or 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.