The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [17]
Beyond the courage of the commoner, the priests of Thrane were true miracle workers. The people of Breland were pragmatists by nature, never fond of things they couldn’t measure or prove. The work of a wizard was based on formulas and arcane science, and the Brelish could grasp it. But the magic of a cleric was a thing of pure, trusting faith, and when it came to faith, few people could match the Thranes.
“How did you come to be in civil service, Lady … Tam, was it?” They were the first words the envoy had spoken since the trip began. “I thought I knew the sixty families of Sharn as well as the royal lines of Galifar, but I don’t recall ever hearing the name Tam.”
Thorn studied the man sitting across from her. Perfect skin, not a hair out of place, fine clothes—unusual for a nation driven by such an ascetic faith. The priestess had an aura of serenity, and her habit was far simpler than her comrade’s garb, with his glittering embroidered flames. No sign of a weapon, no wand that she could see … was he truly just a diplomat?
“My father was a soldier,” Thorn said. “In Breland, you don’t need gold or noble blood to serve the nation. And what of your lineage? I’d hate to sully your ears with my common speech.”
The man laughed. “No fear of that. I am Drego Sarhain, milady. And surely, I am as common as they come.”
Thorn glanced at his gleaming cuffs. “Rather fine work for a common man.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Your father was a soldier; my mother, a seamstress. We each have our heirlooms.” He gestured at the dagger Thorn wore on her belt. “Your father’s blade?”
Perfect!
“Yes, it’s been in my family for generations.” She drew the blade from its sheath. The eyes of the gnolls and the Thrane soldiers locked on her, but she simply laid the dagger across her legs. “I’ve always wondered what stories it could tell, if only it could talk.”
Very funny, Steel whispered in her mind. Give me a few moments and I’ll see what I can find.
“An interesting design,” Drego said, studying the dagger from across the wagon. “Balanced for throwing, yes? May I take a closer look?” He extended his hand.
“I’m afraid not,” Thorn replied. “My father was a very superstitious man, and he left strict instructions concerning treatment of the blade. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want to see me wearing your clothes, would she?”
“Probably not,” the Thrane said with a smile. “But I wouldn’t mind.”
Thorn raised an eyebrow, glancing slightly toward the priestess. “Why, Lord Sarhain, should you be saying such things in the presence of Minister Luala—a holy woman?”
“You labor under a common misconception, Lady Tam. We have our political differences, but my faith is based on defending the innocent from supernatural threats. So unless you’re some sort of disguised demon temptress, I need not shield myself from your presence. And if you must be formal, it’s Flamebearer Sarhain. But if we’re going to spend the next few days sharing a wagon, I’d prefer Drego.”
“Then it’s only fair for you to call me Nyrielle,” she replied. “So … tell me all about Drego Sarhain.”
The diplomat launched into his story—born to parents of low status, studying the courtly ways of his mother’s customers, reading romance stories in addition to the holy texts of the church, becoming an apprentice to a minstrel until his magical talents were discovered, and, much to his surprise, drawn into government service. It was a good story; some of it might have even been true. But Thorn hadn’t been listening to Drego.
Be careful, Steel said. The priestess is wearing protective charms. She’s safe from poisons, and her thoughts are protected from all divinations. Standard diplomatic warding—Lord Beren has much the same. Our guard Toli has a few tricks hidden away. And the two Thrane soldiers have spells strengthening their armor and potions of healing in those beltpouches. But your friend Drego—nothing at all.
“… so I was asked to perform for Cardinal Krozen himself,” Sarhain was saying.
“Really? How is that possible?” Thorn tapped Steel as she spoke, continuing to feign