The Queen of stone tob-1

by Keith Baker

  "Wait," Thorn said. She heard an ogre moving behind her. "Toli-"

  "Take his hands." Sheshka walked around the table. As she moved closer, Thorn could see that the queen was wearing a headband beneath her serpent mane; copper and silver disks glittered in the torchlight as she approached. "If he strikes at me again, I will snap off his arm and feed it to Szaj."

  Beren said nothing; he merely glowered at the medusa. Thorn took hold of Toli's wrists. Then Sheshka bent alongside the petrified man. Her lips brushed the surface of his neck for a moment, then she stepped back. Her serpents hissed and the basilisk trotted to stand at her side.

  Nothing happened, and Thorn wondered if this was all a game; she felt a fool clutching the arms of a statue. Then the stone grew warm beneath her touch, softened, and color flowed across the dark stone like the sunrise against a deep night. The instant his consciousness returned, Toli threw his strength against Thorn, struggling to break free of her grip. His lips drew back in a snarl, and it was all she could do to contain him.

  "Toli!" she cried. His eyes were wild, and he gave no sign that he had heard her. She couldn't risk releasing his sword hand, but she let go of his other hand and slapped him across the cheek. "Toli!"

  "Stop." Beren's voice was firm and steady, and it brought Toli back to himself. His breath came in deep, ragged gasps, and his eyes darted wildly about the room. "We are leaving. Sheathe your weapon."

  Toli shook with rage when he caught sight of Sheshka, and his head darted to the side. Her eyes were closed, but the bodyguard wasn't taking any chance. He managed to slow his breathing, and Thorn released his sword. He turned to Beren, who nodded, and Toli slowly sheathed his sword.

  "Take us away from here," Beren told the ogre. "Our business is done."

  Thorn took one glance back at Sheshka, preparing to turn away at even the hint of an open eye. The medusa watched them, eyes closed, idly stroking the head of her basilisk. She was a cold one, and Thorn couldn't tell if Sheshka was disappointed in this outcome, or if it was what she had anticipated all along.

  Well, at least one thing came of this, she thought as they returned to the hall. I know she can restore her victims. Now I just need to find the right one…

  Beren's mood grew darker as the day wore on. In the final meeting of the day, Drul Kantar opened the floor to demands, hearing what the envoys of the east expected in exchange for alliance. Many of the delegates had conditions or concerns. Minister Luala wanted assurances of full religious freedoms for the people of Droaam, including a pledge to erect a shrine to the Silver Flame in the Great Crag itself. Lord Tharsul of Karrnath wanted to know which ruler the Daughters believed held the greatest right to the throne of Galifar. Kantar laughed off both of these, telling Luala that religious freedom was why there wasn't a Temple of the Flame in Droaam, and that the Daughters weren't asking for an alliance with Galifar; they sought a place among the Thronehold nations.

  Beren ir' Wynarn said nothing. Thorn was certain that he'd been sent with a list of demands; Breland was Droaam's closest neighbor, and Beren's story of Sora Maenya was just a taste of the Brelish blood that had been spilled over the years. Yet he maintained a grim silence.

  After the session, he opened up slightly. "I apologize for my behavior, Nyri. I… I'm not feeling well. I barely slept last night, and I don't think the food here suits me."

  "Should we find a healer?" The thought of Fharg examining Beren brought a faint smile to her lips in spite of her concern. Surely the Daughters would be prepared to care for the needs of their guests-all the more so given the dangers of the region.

  "I can examine him," Toli said. He might not be an adept of House Jorasco, but Thorn had seen Toli's talents when he bound his own wound in the Duurwood.

  "Then I think we'd best retire," Beren said. "I'm trusting you to represent Breland at dinner, Thorn. This is a time for charm, and I don't have that in me."

  The evening meal was interminable. The medusa Sheshka was notably absent, and Thorn yearned to set her mission in motion, to match wits with the medusa queen. But Beren's orders were equally important. She might be a Lantern, but she was also an agent of Breland-and at the moment, her country needed her charisma as well as her blade. And so she laughed with the gnomes over the soup, discussed the aerial races of Sharn with the ambassador from the Mror Holds while enjoying a course of braised boar, and heard about the troubles with the Q'barran lizardfolk while considering the dessert.

  Sora Katra chose not to make an appearance that evening, and Drul Kantar was the master of ceremonies. He moved from table to table, talking with envoys about the issues raised at the final debate. The oni paused at Thorn's table, where she was talking with the Q'barrans. "Is Lord Beren in need of assistance?" he asked.

  "He slept poorly last night," Thorn said. "All he needs is rest."

  "Good advice." Drul smiled, revealing his tusks and pointed teeth. He was still wearing his robe of stars and necklace of moons, and the crystal spheres seemed to pull in the light. "I fear the people of the east have no stomach for the ale of Droaam. Perhaps we went too far with last night's festivities."

  It was as good an explanation as any, for Beren wasn't alone in his absence; a number of delegates and their guards were missing from the hall. Drul chuckled, and there was something about his tone that bothered Thorn.

  "What's funny?"

  "Tonight is a special night for the people of Droaam, Lady Tam. The Midnight Dawn."

  Right-the convergence of the moons. Hence, the necklace. "And?"

  "The celebration on the streets of the Crag this evening will outshine last night's gathering as a full moon does the new moon. I was simply imagining how you easterners might take to the celebration of the Midnight Dawn, if you couldn't even stomach our welcome." He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled again. "Please, Lady Tam, I meant no disrespect. I hope that we will someday share a meal in the palace at Wroat. Then you can show me how the Brelish enjoy themselves."

  "Let us hope so, Drul Kantar. And with that in mind, I think it's time for me to take my leave," Thorn said, rising from the table. She smiled at the Q'barran delegation and curtsied to the oni. "Good night to you all."

  Drul Kantar assigned a guardian ogre to escort her back to the Brelish dormitories. Walking alone through the corridors with the massive brute brought back unpleasant memories of the previous night, but this creature was peaceful enough; he was simply slow and ponderous, perhaps frustrated that he should be shepherding a little half-elf when he could be dancing beneath the moons. Thorn had to restrain the urge to run ahead of him, but eventually she was back in her chamber and alone.

  "Sunset?" she said, drawing Steel.

  You are not being observed through magical means.

  A smile spread across Thorn's face. "Then let's prepare for our audience with the queen."

  CHAPTER TWENTY — TWO

  The Great Crag Droaam Eyre 19, 998 YK

  Thorn spread her tools out on the bed. If everything went as planned, she'd be leaving the Great Crag tonight in the company of Harryn Stormblade. She had to take everything she'd need with her, but she wanted to leave enough behind for her disappearance to seem truly mysterious. As they'd been warned many times, the Great Crag was a dangerous place. Thorn wanted her hosts to believe that she'd wandered off the path and fallen prey to one of the lurking threats. So she was leaving behind a locket with images of someone's family, and a diary chronicling recent events in the life of a young diplomat named Nyrielle Tam.

  Thorn considered the equipment laid out before her. She was wearing the black and gray uniform of the hunter that she'd stolen the night before. She studied her hands. Her bracers were fully extended, the interlocking plates of blackened mithral unfolded to cover her forearms. Ghyrryn's axe was hidden within her right glove, and the mystical book was in her left. Thorn still wasn't sure what she'd need it for, but until she found Harryn, she couldn't leave it behind.

  She wound a coil of lightweight silk rope around her
waist. She expected to leave through the latrines, and in all the stories she'd heard of Harryn Stormblade, none had involved descending down sewers; she guessed that he'd need all the help she could provide. Next she fastened her dark cloak over her doublet, brushing her hand across the hidden pockets to make sure everything was in place. Thunderstone, poisons, darts, the bottled spiders and other oddities she needed to work her spells… the basic necessities of life.

  Sitting on the bed, Thorn picked up Kalakhesh's notes and studied them again, making sure she memorized the proper path. She'd made Jharl take her to a latrine when they'd passed Sheshka's quarters, not because she needed to use the privy, but so she could identify it-placing it within the context of the goblin's sewer map.

  With a little deduction, she'd found a line that led directly into the medusa's private chambers. This luxury was a relatively recent addition to the network, and according to Kalakhesh's notes, it was too small even for a goblin to crawl through.

  Luckily for Thorn, he'd provided another solution. She'd found a few glass vials wrapped in the rags in his sack. Between Steel's analysis and the goblin's notes, Thorn concluded that drinking the liquid would transform her into a ghostly, mistlike form-allowing her to pass through the pipes as if she were pure gas. The effect wouldn't last for long, but it would be enough to reach the medusa's lair. This was powerful magic, and it was a lucky find for Thorn. Kalakhesh had been saving these supplies for a desperate situation. But Thorn couldn't imagine a greater need… and she wouldn't have to justify using the potion to some goblin quartermaster.

  Thorn picked up Steel. "So, faithful advisor. You told me before that you could offer protection against the gaze of a medusa. What's the secret?"

  You'll need your masking bag, Steel said.

  "This doesn't sound like the magical solution I was hoping for," Thorn said. She reached into a pocket of her cloak and produced a black silk bag. The hood was used to restrain prisoners; it was placed over the head and then secured with drawstrings, preventing the captive from observing his surroundings.

  Steel's next words confirmed her fears. When you have subdued Sheshka, you can use the masking bag to eliminate the threat of her gaze.

  "Yes… but I was hoping for something that would protect me from medusas and basilisks while I was subduing her."

  Steel's voice was a calm metal whisper. For the first stage of the mission, you will wear the masking bag yourself.

  "Because…"

  If you cannot meet the medusa's gaze, her power cannot affect you.

  Thorn laughed. She couldn't help it. All the tension that had been building over the last day burst out of her. The sight of the basilisk chewing on a fleshy finger, the tension with Drego, the disturbing encounter with Sora Katra… for a moment, she let it all float away.

  Eventually, the stream of mirth slowed to a trickle and stopped completely. "So," she said. "What's the plan?"

  For the first stage of the mission you will wear the masking bag yourself.

  Thorn had taken Steel's calm statement to be part of the joke; it was the voice of the straight man telling the perfect punch line. But it wasn't as funny the second time, especially when Steel still didn't see any humor in it.

  "But won't that make me blind?" she said. Perhaps she was missing something.

  Of course. That is the purpose of the bag.

  "Set aside fighting here-how am I supposed to find Sheshka if I'm blind?"

  She felt a faint buzz in the back of her mind… Steel's sigh. How have you found your way through the tunnels of the Crag when there have been no lights?

  "My ring allows me to see through darkness." Thorn couldn't see the connection.

  And how did you locate Drego Sarhain when he was following you in the Duurwood?

  "I… don't know."

  Try.

  "I heard him moving," Thorn said. "I felt his presence. I felt the motion in the air."

  Place the masking bag over your head.

  Thorn sighed. Trust the advisor, I suppose. She pulled the black cloth over her face and the world fell into darkness.

  Now throw me into the corner of the room, Steel said. Then get up and find me.

  "How-"

  Do it.

  Fine. Thorn was happy to throw the dagger away. She heard it clatter against the stone and hoped that the sound wouldn't wake Beren. Part of her was tempted to leave the dagger on the floor, to forget this mad mission and go to sleep. But the shards still burned in her back, and she remembered the voice of her father. Why do you go to war? she'd asked him. What makes it worth the risk? His words had been the light that had brought her down this path; she wouldn't let him down.

  She stood up, spreading her fingers and holding her hands out low at her sides. The layout of the room was strong in her mind; it was barely large enough to hold the bed, with little floor space to speak of. She knew how she'd thrown Steel, the trajectory and the force she'd used. It wasn't hard to calculate where he should be… and when she bent down, she found the dagger exactly where she'd guessed.

  "Memory won't help me in a room I don't know."

  It's not your memory, Steel replied. Your memory wouldn't have found the invisible sorcerer in the Duurwood. The ring doesn't just sharpen your eyesight. It provides a tighter focus for all of your senses.

  It seemed impossible, but she had been able to sense Drego's presence in the woods. And earlier that day, she'd known exactly where Sheshka was from the sound of her serpents. "Vague impressions aren't a substitute for my eyes."

  It can be more. You've only touched a fraction of this ability. You need to let your instincts guide you. Scent, sound, the pressure of air on your skin-let these paint a picture of your surroundings. Stop trying to see, and allow yourself to feel.

  "And how do I do that, exactly?" Thorn turned in place. Stop trying to see. She opened her eyes. She'd been holding them closed behind the hood, and that alone was a distraction. With her eyes open, there was still nothing around her but darkness. She turned around. The room's too small, she thought. How can I not know what's inside it?

  Thorn spun around, faster and faster, until she felt the touch of vertigo. She stopped moving, trying not to stumble; she didn't want to touch any surface. She'd play Steel's game until she could show that it was madness.

  But it wasn't.

  As the dizziness faded, she knew where the door was. She could feel the faint flow of air around the frame, and the scent of the latrine across the hall painted a clear outline. As she moved forward, she could feel the wall ahead of her. It was hard to take hold of any one sense, to seize on the sensations and analyze them. But if she just acted, her instincts told her what was nearby. It wasn't a new sensation; in the Duurwood, she'd scoffed at Drego's flawed invisibility, thinking how his noisy footsteps gave his presence away. Now she realized that Drego wasn't an amateur; she hadn't known the power she possessed.

  Anger flared inside her. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" She'd been given the ring just before she was sent to Far Passage. If she'd known about it then…

  The ability to see in darkness is a simple thing. There's nothing simple about this. Your mind needed time to adjust to it, for it to become instinct before you tried to force it.

  "I would have liked to know about it before my staring contest with the basilisk."

  Steel didn't apologize. Beren and Sheshka will remember your fear. Should Sheshka survive, that will be important. Furthermore, as useful as this gift can be, it has many limitations.

  Thorn could see the truth in this. She could feel the presence of the door and the bed. She'd known the location of the invisible man, and that might help her fight a medusa. But the details were limited. She might be able to feel the presence of a shelf of books, but she'd never be able to tell one book from the next. And Drego had been nearby when she'd noticed him. This might be enough for close work, but it was no substitute for sight. Still, close work was what lay ahead.

  "Very well," Thorn said.
Sheathing Steel, she removed the hood and tucked it into her belt. She'd need to see the markings on the walls to find her way to the medusa's chambers. She sorted through her belongings one last time, gathering her remaining tools and tucking the goblin's notes in a pocket. Finally, she produced the vial of dark liquid, unsealed the top, and swallowed it.

  Everything seemed to fall away from her. For a moment, Thorn was afraid that she'd lost her clothing and gear. But looking at her hand, she could see the leather glove, mithral bracer over her wrist-and she could see through them. When she moved her arm, there was no muscle tension, no sensation of skin against cloth. With her expanded senses she could feel the slightest shift in the air, but little more.

  Rather than trying to walk, she imagined her body flowing toward the door, thinking of herself as a simple gust of wind. She focused on the narrow crack beneath the door, and then she was drifting down, the mist that was her body compressing to pass through the narrow opening. The ogre guard was looking away from her room, and Thorn glided across the hall and into the privy chamber.

  Her journey through the sewers was far simpler this time. They were designed to channel gases and odors, and she flowed down through the maze. The only challenge was that she couldn't refer to Kalakhesh's notes; they were made of vapor, and her hand passed through them. She had only her memory to guide her through the foul labyrinth, and she couldn't even brush aside the scum covering the wall markings, or the insects crawling across every surface.

  Patience and caution prevailed. It was easy to spot the newer stonework splitting off from the old; the walls were smooth, lacking the layers of scum built up over the centuries. The inscription on the wall was clear; the narrow path ahead would take Thorn to her final destination. She rose up through the narrow passage, through the opening of the latrine itself, and into the chambers of the medusa queen.