The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [14]
“People of foreign lands!” The gnoll who had called them out to the Roar shouted. “I will tell you what carriage to ride in. I will hear no argument, and my soldiers will prevent any battles between you. Leave your struggles in this place. I care nothing for your nations, for crimes done to you or your brood. My task is to bring you safely to the Three, and if you must be chained for your safety it will be done.”
Thorn glanced around the plaza at the other delegates. The dwarves from the Mror Holds, with jewels and finery fit to rival the King of Breland. The Aundairians—but which was the wizard, and which the spy? Everyone had fallen silent, waiting for the gnoll to speak.
“Aundair! Brown coach!”
Thorn watched the delegates as they moved. Both the servants had hidden pouches and pockets woven into the lining of their cloaks. One would be carrying the many tools of arcane magic—pinches of sulfur, cat whiskers wrapped in paper, little balls of guano from which to conjure fire. The other would have poisons, weapons, lock picks, and tools … the same things Thorn had hidden on her person.
Unless, of course, they were both sorcerers and spies.
“Breland! Blue coach!”
Gray was about as close to blue as anything on the plaza, so Thorn made her way toward the gray wagon. She spotted two soldiers in the red and gold uniform cloaks of the Brelish Royal Guard, escorting a familiar figure.
“Nyrielle! There you are!” Lord Beren ir’Wynarn beamed as he caught sight of her, and his escorts turned to face her. “Gentlemen, Nyrielle is here as my aide. Nyri, meet Toli and Grenn, the worst layabouts my cousin could find. I’d say the bear was trying to kill me, but I think you and I could take on these brutes ourselves, eh?”
Thorn laughed, but it was Nyrielle who answered. “Normally, I could fight an even dozen, my lord, but I slept poorly last night. You’d be unwise to rely on me today.”
“Then I suppose it falls to me,” Beren grumbled, grinning behind his beard. “Good thing I’m up to the challenge. Did I ever tell you about my victory over the champion of Kalnor Pass?”
“I’ve had the honor of hearing the tale, Lord Beren, but I’ve always heard it said that your royal cousin King Boranel fought that battle.”
Beren waved this aside. “Oh, I let it be spread about that way, yes. Good for morale. But you ask Boranel where the brute’s axe is … and then come to my manor and see what hangs above the hearth.”
Thorn liked Beren, though she doubted that she’d ever be invited to his mansion. A senator and cousin of the king, he’d spent his younger years in battle. Age was beginning to take its toll; streaks of gray snaked through his golden hair, and there were new lines in his face. But he retained strength and pride. He might not be able to fight a dozen gnolls, but he was likely a match for either of his bodyguards.
Thorn guessed that this was how he’d drawn the assignment. The Crag Summit might be an excellent opportunity for espionage, but the diplomatic goals were equally important. Breland needed someone brave enough to sit across the table from a medusa, and someone smart enough to match wits with Sora Katra herself. Beren might not be a hero of legend, but of all the senators she’d met, he was the best.
Thorn doubted Beren knew everything about her mission—especially this business with the Stormblade statue—but Zane had told her that Beren would give her a free hand. She might be attached to the delegation as his aide, but Lord ir’Wynarn was a capable man. She suspected that he wouldn’t call on her too often over the course of the summit.
She considered the guardsmen as they climbed the ladder into the coach. Despite Beren’s jibes, she knew Boranel