The Queen of stone tob-1

by Keith Baker

"Sheshka?" Thorn reached down to help the medusa up the ladder. "About those numbers? I think you're going to be surprised."

  CHAPTER TWENTY — SEVEN

  The Crag's Shadow Droaam Eyre 20, 998 YK

  Thorn called forth her myrnaxe and prepared for battle. But the voices of the wolves had been carried by the winds. Thorn and Sheshka stood amidst ruins and rubble. The shattered stone face of a hobgoblin priestess regarded them with her one good eye, her mold-encrusted headdress carved into the stone of a nearby pillar. No one else appeared to be watching.

  "You're right," Sheshka said at last, four of her serpents turning to face Thorn. "Far more than twenty. Zaeurl has brought the full force of the Dark Pack to the Great Crag. But not even the pack has so many dire wolves, and I hear the bellowing of steelbone bears. The rumors are true. They've been recruiting."

  The tumult continued-the rumbling of ogres chanting in their native tongue, the piercing howls, the cries of other creatures, and the occasional heart-wrenching sound of a harpy's song-but whether celebration or ceremony, the noise was a safe distance away.

  "Are we in danger?" Thorn had set her back against a weathered wall, and she held the myrnaxe in a flexible grip, ready to strike with either spear or crescent blade. It occurred to her that she was looking directly at a medusa; if Sheshka opened her eyes, Thorn would be a statue. Time to work on peripheral vision, she thought.

  "I do not know." Sheshka strung her bow and set an arrow against the string. Her eyes remained closed, but her serpents twisted about, searching for signs of movement. "Because the assassins were wolves, we can only assume that Zaeurl is my enemy, and thus any beast may threaten us. If Zaeurl acts in the service of the Three, anyone who lives in the Crag's Shadow could turn against us."

  "Lovely," said Thorn. "At least it's not a very big city."

  "If your magic has done its work, they will be unable to track us… and I'd be surprised if word has reached the Pack yet. The skullcrushers are likely still puzzled by my absent corpse."

  "So. Now I know our enemies. Do we have allies? You said we needed to get word to your people. I hope at least some of your people are here in the Crag."

  "All too few, I am afraid. I was instructed to bring a small guard, so as not to frighten the visitors. An inconvenient request, but I have grown used to the fear of your kind."

  Just as we were told to bring only four envoys, Thorn thought. Convenient, if you're planning to seize the delegates. "Give us time."

  "How much time?" Sheshka said. She was looking away, and somehow Thorn knew that the medusa had opened her eyes. "I have dealt with your people for centuries, long before the coming of the Daughters. I have faced your crusaders and champions, crossing the Graywall to battle the monsters. Yet never did I send my soldiers against your cities."

  "Until the Last War," Thorn said. She knew that medusas had taken part in the battles along the western frontier.

  "Yes," Sheshka said, drawing out the word. "I did join my forces to the banner of Droaam. After centuries of silence, I felt it was time to speak. Now… I am still uncertain."

  A new chorus of howls rose into the moonlit sky, and this time they sounded closer.

  "As much as I enjoy discussing politics… you said you had few allies here. I'm hoping 'few' isn't 'none'."

  "Have no fear, Thorn. My people are masters of stonework; it may be the ogre's strength that shifts the blocks, but it is the medusa's eye that places them. Together we will find the foreman. His companions will be architects and artists, but even the Dark Pack will be careful about falling under their gaze. Follow me. Silence is the wisest course for the journey."

  Thorn nodded. She hated to let the medusa take the lead. This was exactly the sort of operation Thorn was trained to handle. But Sheshka knew where they were going. Thorn would have to be satisfied with staying out of sight and keeping the queen alive. To that end, she returned the axe to the space within her glove and drew Steel. If they fought a wolf, she'd pull the silver. But for now, she wanted something she could throw.

  "Lead the way," she said.

  Thorn was little more than a ghost in the moonlight. Her cloak was enchanted to gather the shadows, and her gray and black clothing blended into the broken stone. Though the surface was rough and uneven, Thorn left no trace of her passage, made no sound as she moved. She was a Dark Lantern of the King's Citadel; stealth was her armor. But Sheshka was a surprise. The medusa queen might be no match for Thorn, but she was no clumsy aristocrat. She was as comfortable in the ruins as she'd been descending the slick tunnels of the sewers. Sheshka might not be a spy, but she was certainly an accomplished huntress.

  Sheshka seemed to find every shadow, clinging to cover wherever it could be found. All too soon, they stumbled upon the revelers. Thorn had seen the people of Droaam at play in Graywall when ogre fought minotaur in the pit of the Bloody Tooth. Compared to the Midnight Dawn, the scene at the Bloody Tooth had been as calm as a noble's picnic.

  Gargoyles darted through the sky, striking at each other with feathered rods. A trio of changeling skindancers was spinning around, flesh shifting with every step, accompanied by frenzied orc drummers. Goblins leaped through rings of fire. Trolls wrestled, using full force of tooth and claw. These beasts healed at an astonishing rate, and most of their wounds were sealed as soon as they were opened. They possessed terrifying strength; a roar went up as Sheshka slipped past a fighting ring, and Thorn saw the victor brandishing the arm of his opponent over his head.

  Farther on, several giants were flinging chunks of rubble at one another. The rock-throwing seemed a sport, and the brutes had a knack for snatching stones out of the air just before they struck. The scent of blood was strong, and Thorn soon saw a giant clutching his shattered arm; apparently the game was just as dangerous as it appeared.

  Trolls, ogres, giants, goblins, orcs, harpies, gargoyles… and wolves. Wolves were everywhere, in all shapes and sizes. Some were the gray wolves Thorn expected to see preying on the sheep of Eldeen farmers. But there were black wolves. Dire wolves the size of horses, with thick hides and fearsome claws. Wolves seemed to be speaking to others around them. Other beasts were in the streets, but a wolf lurked in every shadow, snarling or howling at the moons.

  Thorn felt sweat bead on her skin as they slipped through the city. Time and again a wolf raised its head to taste the air as she moved past. Yet time and again, luck, skill, and magic saw her through.

  But luck never lasts, skill can be matched, and magic fades away. They were finally moving away from the celebration when they passed under a strange shadow.

  This doesn't make sense, Thorn thought. With all the moons in the sky, no darkness was terribly deep; buildings were casting shadows in all directions. But they'd crossed into a patch of darkness that was simply too wide and too deep for the structures around it; this was a pool of gloom.

  Sheshka noticed it as well, and paused to study the ground. Then they heard the snarl behind them.

  "Good fortune for me," the voice said, the growl of a beast twisted into words. The wolf was the size of a pony. The night was warm, but its breath steamed as it spoke, and its pure white fur was rimed with frost. "I sense you are no member of the Pack, little half-elf. I will freeze your blood before-"

  It turned to white marble. Except for its eyes, it was hard to tell the difference.

  "You could have let it finish its threat," Thorn said, trying to cover her surprise with a smile. She would need some time to get used to that.

  "I suspect it was going to crack your bones and suck out the marrow," Sheshka said, stepping into an alley. "I've heard it before."

  They were almost at the edge of the city, and the sounds of revelry had fallen behind them. A few goblins were clustered around campfires, eating rats and beetles roasted on sticks, but wolf and ogre seemed to have been set apart.

  "Your people seem to like their solitude," Thorn murmured.

  "There is a reason they chose this place," Sheshka said. "But you are c
orrect. It is not in our nature to share our lives with other creatures. As with the Children of Zaeurl, so it is with us-our power is also our curse. It is difficult to live among creatures so fragile that one angry glare can bring death."

  "But you can restore those you turn to stone," Thorn said. A tower surrounded by scaffolding stood up ahead; Thorn guessed it was their destination.

  "It's not as simple as it seems." Sheshka's hand brushed against the silver collar that hung around her neck. "I am Sheshka, the Queen of Stone. To you, that may seem an arrogant title, an affectation of a woman who governs a city smaller than your Wroat or Passage. But it is not just a title of nobility. It is a statement of fact. I am the Queen of Stone. I hear the whisper of marble and granite. I have the power to release those who meet my gaze, if I so choose. For others of my kind, this takes skill with the arts of magic. Few possess such talents. Most of the time, the prison of stone is final."

  Fascinating, Steel whispered. The dagger had kept silent, not wanting to distract Thorn, but for now the danger seemed to have passed. Zane will want to know about that.

  "We have arrived," Sheshka said. "Be welcome in our keep."

  The tower was a slender structure of white stone. It reminded Thorn of the trunk of a tall tree. A spiral ramp led up around the tower, and the pattern of a serpent's path was engraved into the stone.

  "Perhaps I should go first," Thorn said. "Just to make sure there's no danger."

  "And will you meet the angry gaze of my countrymen? No, this is my home, Thorn. I shall lead the way."

  Sheshka strode up the ramp, holding her bow in one hand as if it were a scepter instead of a weapon. Thorn followed, keeping Steel close against her wrist. She closed her eyes; she wanted to stay as close to Sheshka as possible, and she didn't want to end up like the white wolf. Something troubled her… a smell in the air. But she couldn't place it; she still had much to learn about her keen senses.

  A door waited at the top of the ramp, and it stood ajar. Sheshka walked beneath the marble arch. Her serpents hissed in a strange pattern, and Thorn wondered if it was some sort of language. With her eyes closed, she couldn't see through the entrance, but she had the sense that a number of small stone objects were scattered about the floor, perhaps the remnants of a sculptor's unfinished project.

  "Greetings, my cousins!" Sheshka said. "This is a dire time indeed, and I call on you for aid and sanctuary. We must-"

  Something lay on the floor in front of Sheshka. It was a granite statue of a rat… a rat the size of a small dog. The beast's snout was at least four inches long, its mouth frozen in a snarl that revealed razor teeth. One leg was raised, claws clutching the air. It was an ugly thing, pure feral rage frozen forever in stone.

  But it wasn't the statue that had silenced the medusa queen. It was the shapes in the darkness beyond, the claws and teeth tearing at flesh and bone. All too late, Thorn realized what the strange scent was.

  "Rats," she said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY — EIGHT

  The Crag's Shadow Droaam Eyre 20, 998 YK

  As Sheshka's words died in her throat, the room came to life. Thorn's intuition told her of movement in the darkness, of the creatures crawling on the shelves and tables, the huge rats gnawing on the four corpses spread across the floor. She could hear the scrape of claws against wood and stone, the click of tiny teeth, and the chittering voices of the vermin all around them. The stones scattered on the floor proved that the inhabitants of the tower had put up a fight; they'd taken many of the creatures with them. But in the end, the eyes of the medusas were no match for the numbers they had faced.

  "Back!" Sheshka hissed. She held her bow in one hand and her sword in the other. "Don't let them bite you!"

  It was too late for that. The rats were already upon them. Thorn killed the first one that leaped toward her with a single stroke of Steel, but ten more followed in its wake. The creatures were all over her, clawing and biting. Each scratch was trivial, but the pain was a distraction. As she scattered the little beasts, something heavy landed on her back, claws digging through the mystical field formed by her bracers. It was one of the larger rats, and its teeth were long and sharp. Thorn hissed in pain as the creature sank its fangs into her shoulder, but she didn't stop moving. She thrust Steel over her shoulder, simultaneously slamming her back against the nearest wall. The impact pried the rat loose, and she felt her dagger sink into its flesh. Twisting around, she flung the speared beast to the ground.

  The rat should have been crippled, if not instantly dead. Instead, it landed on its feet and scampered back toward her. Cursing, Thorn called the myrnaxe forth from her glove. She had only one hand free, and she couldn't make a true thrust; instead, she let gravity take over. As the rat darted forward, she simply dropped the axe, guiding it as best she could. The spear point slammed through the beast's back. It screeched and lay still.

  Wererats, she thought. Lovely…

  "Sheshka!" she shouted. "We need to leave!"

  The ordinary rats were all around her; the only mercy was that the sheer numbers of the smaller creatures were keeping the large wererats at bay. Sheathing Steel, Thorn set both hands against the axe and pulled it free from the corpse; the oversized rat was already shifting, transforming into a pale goblin. Next to her, she heard the crash of a stone rat striking the floor, the sound of Sheshka's sword spilling blood. But this wasn't a fight they could win.

  "Now!" Thorn cried. She swung the axe with all her might, sending rats sprawling across the room. Then she turned and charged out the door, leaping off the ramp and into the air, falling toward the ground below. Thorn spun in midair, twisting to get her feet beneath her; it was a hard landing, but she was standing within a second, searching through the pockets of her cloak.

  Sheshka was just behind her, and she leaped from the ramp with the grace of a trained acrobat. A half-dozen rats clung to the medusa's armor and scales, but her serpents were snapping at the vermin even while Sheshka was falling. Thorn saw a viper sink its fangs into a rat and tear the creature loose. The medusa rolled out from the impact, rising next to Thorn.

  "Follow me," she said, breaking into a run.

  It was one thing to outpace a normal rat, but the shape-shifters had speed to match their size. When Thorn glanced back, she could see the massive rats pouring out of the tower, loping across the ground with the speed of hounds. The fugitives had a head start, but it wouldn't last.

  Thorn held a wooden vial in her left hand. She pulled at it with her teeth, prying off the lid to reveal a delicate glass tube inside. With one sharp motion, she dashed it to the ground, never breaking her stride. The instant the glass shattered, the magical effect began spreading out behind her. This one temporarily transformed earth and bare stone into thick, sloppy mud, and Thorn heard a surprised screech as the first rat stumbled into the muck.

  It bought them time, nothing more. The rats would soon make their way through the bog. But every second was valuable, and Sheshka seemed to have a destination in mind. They had left the heart of the city behind, but a building stood up ahead, a ruin painted in the multicolored light of the moons. It was a stockade made from stone-a few defensive walls set together to form a barricade, presumably an outer watch post for the old city. The walls were crumbling and shattered in places, but Thorn could see the silhouettes of guardians standing on the walls, the shapes of halberds and arbalests set against the night. No one was challenging Sheshka's approach; it seemed that she had friends after all.

  Thorn could hear the rats screeching behind them, claws tearing at the earth. The mud had slowed them down, but they were closing in once more. The women would reach the barricade before the rats, but then it would come down to battle. Thorn hoped Sheshka's allies were good at their work. They gave no indication of being interested in the situation; the archers weren't firing, and the halberdiers were standing steady.

  A great gap yawned in one of the walls, and Sheshka leaped over the broken stone and into the compound. "Follow!" she h
issed. Thorn saw that the structure wasn't a fortress at all; rather, the walls were raised around a wide staircase that descended into the earth. Soldiers stood around them-hobgoblins and bugbears in full armor-but none of them moved or spoke as Sheshka darted through the troops and down the stairs.

  The passage stretched down for at least thirty feet, and Thorn struggled to keep from tripping on the steep, curving steps. They reached a wide tunnel. Once, a gate had sealed the passage, but it had been knocked from its hinges long ago; all that was left were fragments of rusted metal and splinters of ancient wood. Soldiers stood around, but as before, they showed no interest in the intruders.

  Sheshka spun around, gazing up the stairs. Thorn caught a brief glimpse of her glowing golden eyes as she turned, but it wasn't enough to cause harm. Sheshka had sheathed her sword, and her bow was drawn back, one arrow to the string, two more clutched in her fingers. Thorn didn't know what was going on, but she took a position at Sheshka's side, ready to thrust with the tip of the silver spear.

  "Wererats?" Thorn said. "Wererats?"

  "I told you there were rats in the Crag," Sheshka said. "I doubt they'll have the courage to follow, but we should wait a few moments to make sure."

  "The courage?" Thorn said. "What is this place?"

  "This is the Ossuary," Sheshka replied, her eyes fixed on the stairs above. "And we're here to look for a bone."

  The Ossuary was a goblin garrison, carved into the earth by the same masons that had hollowed out the tunnels of the Great Crag. It was built for creatures that could see in the shadows, and there was no source of light in the depths. Once again, Thorn was forced to rely on the vision granted by her ring, which cast the world in shades of gray. So it took her a moment to realize why the hobgoblins and bugbears around her still hadn't reacted to her presence.

  They were all made of stone.

  "What happened to them?" Thorn said. Presumably, they'd been petrified, but something about the situation felt wrong. The Valenar soldier in Sheshka's quarters, the rats in the white tower-they'd been caught in the midst of battle. By contrast, no signs of fear showed on the faces of the soldiers around Thorn-no sense that they'd seen this threat approaching. One of the hobgoblins had been petrified in the middle of speaking to his comrade; he held his pike at rest, not at the ready.