The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [20]
Toli was still standing. His magical shield had doubled in size and was almost the height of a man. He’d forced Beren behind it, leaving himself exposed. A spreading bloodstain darkened the fabric of his cloak, and his gritted teeth and the shaft of the arrow were mute testimonies to his devotion to his homeland.
The gnoll soldier still guarded the back of the wagon, but Thorn had no intention of sitting and waiting for the next volley of arrows. Grenn had left a wide hole in the canopy next to her. Given the horrors surrounding them, it was reasonable for the courtier to faint—and an unfortunate coincidence that she slipped into the gap in the cloth and fell through it. Thorn saw Drego Sarhain turning toward her, reaching for her, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch her.
It was a short fall, but Thorn was able to twist in the air and get her feet under her. As she landed, she took stock of the world around her.
It was worse than she’d imagined. A trio of harpy archers swept overhead, raining arrows on the blue wagon. She saw the corpses of at least half a dozen gnolls, though she took some comfort from the broken body of a harpy smashed against the bridge.
The worst part was the chaos. The gnolls that had managed to deafen themselves could resist the harpies’ song, but they couldn’t coordinate their actions. As she took in the situation, Thorn could see that the passengers weren’t the only ones threatened by the magical compulsion; the beasts of burden were equally vulnerable, and some were trying to respond to the song Thorn could no longer hear. Beyond the blue wagon, a pair of gnolls was helping a group of gnomes and halflings out of an orange-brown coach, practically throwing the small folk to the ground. Ahead of them, two more gnolls were struggling with the creatures pulling the wagon—massive horses with scaly skin and sharp teeth—while a third gnoll fought to cut the tethers binding the beasts to the vehicle. It was no use. The bizarre horses knocked the handlers aside and charged toward the edge of the bridge. A low lip was all that separated the edge of the stone span from the chasm below, and the horses leaped over the edge, the wooden front wheels shattering as the carriage was pulled after them.
This is an unwise course of action, Steel told her. Though Thorn’s ears were still ringing from the thunderstone, the voice of the dagger was perfectly clear. If you reveal your talents in front of the other delegates—or worse, the gnolls—you’ll place the entire mission at risk. Let the soldiers and the bodyguards handle this. You are a political aide, not a warrior of legend.
“Just tell me how many harpies we’re dealing with,” Thorn said, hoping Steel could hear her. She couldn’t even make out the sound of her own voice.
A gargoyle was sprawled on the ground near the blue wagon, riddled with arrows—no small feat, given the toughness of the creature’s stony hide. Thorn seized hold of a leg and dragged the corpse beneath the carriage; she expected it to be a chore, but the body was surprisingly light, as if stuffed with straw.
There are fourteen harpies in the air, Steel told her. However, in planning such an ambush, I would have placed the singers beneath the bridge, where they could be shielded from attack.
Weaving a spell proved to be a challenge. Thorn couldn’t hear her own voice, and her chosen incantation always required a little improvisation. She was afraid she might miss a syllable, dispersing the mystical energy.
Focus, she told herself. Stone and strength. Horn and wing. With her gestures and whispered words in the Draconic tongue, she painted a picture of the gargoyle, and she felt the familiar tingle as the illusion took shape around her. The wings were the weakest element. She couldn’t stretch the disguise very far beyond her own body, so her illusory wings were folded against her sides. Like her medusa guise at the Bloody Tooth, it wouldn’t hold up under close inspection, but it would serve her purpose.
“I hate this part,” Thorn muttered,