The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [21]
With a thought, she drew her rapier out of the magical pocket in her right palm and let it fall to the ground. She’d need Steel for the work that lay ahead, and until then she’d need both hands. Each glove could hold only one object, and she wasn’t about to leave the magical book on the ground.
What are you—Steel’s words were cut off as Thorn drew him into her glove. With all her preparations in place, she leaped out from beneath the wagon.
The battle on the bridge raged around her. Gnoll archers had killed a few harpies and injured a handful, but another wagon was teetering on the edge of the bridge. The remaining harpies targeted the gnolls who were working to control the coaches, and it was a deadly game. The gnolls fought viciously, and a few of the foreign soldiers and even delegates were scattered among them. One of the gnomes Thorn had seen earlier was pointing a wand of pale wood at the sky, unleashing bright bursts of mystical energy that chased his harpy foe no matter how she ducked or swooped. Another gnome lay stretched out in a pool of blood.
Thorn darted along the span and then over the edge of the bridge. To anyone watching, the sight was ordinary—a gargoyle joining the fight, leaping off the bridge to take to the air. But Thorn didn’t jump from the bridge—she slipped over the stone lip and set her hands against the sheer surface of the outside wall. Using the energy of her second spell, she crawled down the bridge like a spider.
Though her clothing was hidden by the illusion, Thorn could feel it moving against her skin, the cloak falling over her shoulders as she descended head-first down the wall. Deafened as she was, her world was reduced to sight, smell, and touch. An unconscious glance down into the gorge revealed the corpses scattered along the riverbed far below. It was a discomforting sight, but Thorn was a gifted climber even without the aid of magic. She shook off her concerns and proceeded carefully.
It took only moments for Thorn to reach the lower edge of the bridge, and she peered under the stonework. Steel’s theory was accurate. Three harpies were perched on the struts below the bridge—the closest less than twenty feet from Thorn. A handful of gargoyles was clustered around the creatures, and for a moment Thorn was mystified. Then she realized that the harpies were still singing, even though she couldn’t hear them. The gargoyles had been drawn to the object of their fascination, and they listened to the song, blissfully unaware of anything around them. The harpies ignored the gargoyles, and that would make her job all the easier. She would appear to be just one more victim, slowly making her way toward certain death.
As Thorn reached the nearest strut, another of the huge horses tumbled off the side of the bridge, plummeting hundreds of feet. It had been cut free from its harness, but the loss of any of the beasts was surely a problem for the caravan. She needed to act quickly, but without alerting her prey.
For the moment, her slow pace gave her time to consider her target. The harpy had the torso of a human woman, her skin weathered and deeply tanned, her hair wild and windblown. Dark leathery wings sprouted from her shoulders, and as she sat in repose, these were folded against her back. Her legs were those of a bird of prey, with long talons clutching the stone. A host of possibilities ran through Thorn’s mind, but she most wanted a swift kill.
As Thorn had hoped, the harpy didn’t even glance up as she pushed her way through the gargoyles. The creature’s eyes were half-closed, as if lost in the beauty of her own song. Thorn wondered