The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [114]
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Lord Beren and I will not finish our business this year. Now bring your wounded knight and come with us. We are grateful … at least for today.”
The old woman released Thorn’s hand and accompanied the younger woman as the ogres gathered up the delegates. Thorn helped Harryn to his feet.
“Can you walk?” she said. “It seems that Sheshka was successful. Unless they’re just bringing us back for a public execution.”
Harryn was weak and had to lean on her. “Were … we successful? Drulkan—is he dead?”
“Look at the moons,” Thorn said. “It seems that all is well. At least, as well as it will ever be in Droaam.”
Harryn nodded and focused on walking, leaving Thorn alone with her thoughts. Harryn didn’t see the defeat of Drulkalatar. And Thorn … could she trust her own memories? Could it have been a dream? If not, what did it mean? What is it like to swim the river twice?
She still clenched her fist around her unknown gift. She glanced down and opened her hand.
It was her ring—the magic ring she’d been given just before her mission to Far Passage. The ring that allowed her to see in the dark and sharpened her other senses. But she wasn’t wearing it, and she could still smell Harryn’s scent, feel the motion of air and the vibrations of every footfall.
Never a gift at all, you see. This was not the gift you were given, and what you were given was not a gift.
What did it mean?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The Great Crag
Droaam
Eyre 21, 999 YK
Sora 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