The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [15]
Toli was cut from different cloth. He was taller than Beren, and his dark skin hinted at Seren Islander blood. Thorn could tell that the guard’s breastplate was uncomfortable for him; she hated inflexible armor herself. The true tell was his eyes. It was subtle; he was a professional. But Thorn could see him studying her, searching for concealed weapons or other threats, just as she’d done with the Aundairians. King’s Shield, she thought. One of the elite bodyguards of the realm, trained to protect the king himself. Good thing, she mused. With a rescue and a kidnapping to plan, I won’t have much time to keep him safe.
Toli knew his work. He stopped Beren from climbing into the wagon, carefully testing each rung himself. He disappeared into the wagon for a moment, then appeared at the door of the carriage and offered his hand to Beren. “Please enter, my lord.”
The interior of the wagon confirmed Thorn’s suspicions. Troop transport. The weapon racks were empty, as were the hard wooden benches. But the odor remained, and it didn’t take the nose of a gnoll tracker to recognize the scents of oiled steel, sweat, and damp bugbear fur. Bugbears and gnolls were taller than humans, and the benches were too high and wide for comfort.
As they tried to settle themselves, a gnoll climbed up into the wagon. Unlike his cousins, his fur was black, with a crest of red-orange running from his forehead to the base of his spine. Like most gnolls, he had spotted fur; gray patches mottled the coarse blackness. All together, it gave the impression of a line of flame along his back, with flecks of ash blowing across his body.
Thorn could see Toli tensing, his hand slipping to the hilt of his sword. The gnoll wore a small, wedge-shaped shield on one arm. The lower end tapered to a narrow point, sharpened on either side, and Thorn could imagine it being used to disembowel a foe at close range. His other hand held a long axe with steel at both ends. One head was a heavy crescent blade. The other was a spearhead, sharpened along the edges. The ugly weapon showed as much wear as Grenn’s sword; Thorn was certain this beast knew the business of war.
“Ghyrryn.” The gnoll pounded his chest with the blunt edge of his shield. He spoke slowly, straining to form words in the common tongue around his snout full of sharp teeth. Nonetheless, his voice was clear and deep. “You are in my charge. Breland, this side.” He gestured to his right.
“Lord Beren will sit where he chooses,” Toli snapped, moving between the nobleman and the gnoll.
“We’d be happy to have Lord Beren ir’Wynarn on our side of the wagon,” came a voice from the back of the carriage. The speaker had climbed up moments ago, and Thorn hadn’t seen him behind the gnoll.
Toli looked as surprised as Thorn, and that made her feel a little better. It was the bodyguard’s job to notice such things, after all. She took measure of the newcomer, and liked what she saw. Human, male, late twenties—the picture of a young courtier. His short brown hair was perfectly groomed. His white silk shirt was spotless and bright. Black breeches. Tall boots of oiled leather. A fine black doublet with glittering silver embroidery along the collar and cuffs, woven into patterns of silver flame. His amulet caught her eye: a small silver arrowhead with the image of a flame engraved on the surface.
“Breland, on the right,” the gnoll growled. “Thrane, left.”
Toli frowned. Twelve nations, seven wagons. Some of the delegates would be sharing coaches. “Lord Beren. Please sit here, between Grenn and myself.”
“Oh, I’d planned to speak with Nyri during our trip,” Beren said cheerfully. “I hate to leave a lady without