The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [108]
But the medusa queen had other plans.
“You heard him,” she hissed. “This Moonlord is no friend to the Daughters of Sora Kell. And Zaeurl is his slave. The Daughters were never my enemy. Someone is seeking to shatter Droaam beneath their eyes.”
“And we’re approaching that someone’s palace in the shadows right now.”
“When I thought that all in this place stood against me, I was prepared to die at your side. But the Daughters must be told.” Sheshka was too angry to close her eyes, though she was looking away. Her serpents were seething, a roiling mass of rage.
“It’s too dangerous. We’re almost at the shadow now. And we don’t know how many of the Crag Guards have been turned.”
“I told you before,” Sheshka said, “that I would fight for Droaam and Cazhaak Draal. We choose our battles. You have yours. This will be mine.”
“Your power could make all the difference,” Thorn said.
“I trust that it will,” Sheshka returned. Thorn looked at Harryn. “Do you have anything useful to add?”
The knight inclined his head, solemn as ever. “You have always chosen your own path, Queen Sheshka. I hope that you are making the correct choice this time.”
“As do I.” Sheshka’s serpents had quieted, and she closed her eyes. “Shadow hide you, Harryn Stormblade. And you, sister Thorn.”
“Aureon light your way,” Harryn said.
Thorn said nothing. She held out her hand, and for a moment, Sheshka pressed a palm to hers. Then she turned and made her way toward the moonlit city and disappeared within the ruins.
Stormblade gazed at the mire. “There it was, just waiting for the moons to rise. To think that I was so close … so long ago.”
“We’re not inside yet,” Thorn said. “This could be a clever illusion designed to trick people into wandering into the Crag’s only swamp.”
“No. I can feel the truth of it. I held the Orb of Olarune in my hand … it seems like only hours ago. The lunar orbs are close. This is where we are supposed to be.”
Lunar orbs … the final piece she’d been missing. Suddenly it all fell into place. She knew who the Moonlord was. “Drul Kantar,” she whispered.
“Look to the sky,” the knight said. “Look to the moons that have passed above the tower. They are already stained with blood.”
Thorn followed his gaze. A ruddy mist was drifting across the sky; the moons that lay above it were distorted by the crimson cloud. Thorn knew nothing about the weather of Droaam—possibly, this was a natural phenomenon, but it was certainly an ill omen. “You say you can feel the lunar orbs. Can you find the gate to this tower?”
“We shall soon see.” Sword in hand, Stormblade strode through the shadow cast by the tower. Curious, Thorn grabbed a chunk of stone from the ground, and as they drew closer, she hurled it toward the muck. She was disappointed to see it drop into the mire, scattering mud around the point of impact. At the same time, it made sense; if the tower was merely invisible, surely thousands of people would have noticed it.
They stood on the very edge of the barren land. Harryn studied it, eyes half-closed as if listening for distant music.
“Take my hand.” He set his sword against one shoulder and held out his right hand.
Thorn didn’t bother asking why.
“Close your eyes and follow me.”
He pulled her forward, and as he did, everything changed. Thanks to her ring, Thorn was perfectly comfortable with her eyes closed. Scent, sound, and vibration all combined to paint a picture. And with one single step, the picture changed. Smooth stone replaced cold mud, high walls took the place of open air. Something was awful about it, like the fading memory of a nightmare—then understanding bloomed just beyond her conscious mind. The walls are built from terror, she thought, but she didn’t know how or why. But the tower was the least of her concerns.
They were no longer alone.
A great cat was waiting when