The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [23]
The wind tore at Thorn’s cloak, pulling the clasp against her throat. She couldn’t move her left arm. She still had strength in her right hand, enough to reach down and touch the buckle of her belt. The air grew thick around her, and Thorn’s stomach heaved in protest at the sudden change of velocity. She drifted gently, cushioned by the wind. She had just enough time to shift position, landing on her hand and knees as she struck the rocky floor of the gorge. She grimaced in pain, but it was the pain of falling against cobblestones, not the deadly plummet it could have been.
Thorn rolled onto her back and stared at the bridge and the sky above. She could see figures whirling about, but she couldn’t tell if they were gargoyles or harpies. Her heart pounded, and the pain she felt as she gasped for breath suggested a shattered rib. Gritting her teeth, she slapped her hand against her right thigh.
Nothing happened. Thorn didn’t have the energy to curse. She had a tattoo on her leg, a mark that had been applied when she was assigned to the mission. Power was stored in the symbol, but it wasn’t a form of magic she was used to; it was imported from the distant land of Riedra. “It channels the powers of the mind,” the provender had said as he applied it to her skin. “It’s not like drinking a potion. You have to want it to happen.”
Thorn placed her hand over the symbol, and this time she silenced her thoughts, pushing the pain away and focusing only on the tattoo. “Heal me.”
She felt the lines of the symbol itch as power spread through her body. Agony was swept away by soothing warmth as the energy healed flesh and bone. The healing took only seconds, and Thorn raised her left arm, carefully flexing her fingers, then rose to her feet. Cuts, bruises, even the broken rib had been restored. “I might just move to Riedra,” Thorn murmured.
Corpses were scattered all around her, broken remnants of human and gnoll. The scent of blood filled the air, and the vermin were already gathering, flies and pale brood-worms burrowing into the bodies.
Thorn had seen worse sights during the war, but the carnage still gave her pause. As her gargoyle disguise faded away, she called Steel out of her glove.
I see you’re still alive, he said.
“And you may have noticed that the rain of gnolls has stopped.”
What resources did you consume in all this chaos?
“A feather token, a healing tattoo … a spider.”
That’s half your reserves. I hope you don’t plan on falling again soon.
Thorn tossed the dagger in the air, then caught it. “This was never part of the plan. I don’t recall a briefing that covered the delegates being killed before they reached the Crag. If I’m supposed to be Beren’s aide, we need Beren.”
The guards—
“Weren’t having much success, from what I could see. And I like to keep my options open. Someday, the Citadel just might need a warrior of legend.”
Fine. Thorn felt a faint shiver in her mind … a psychic sigh, perhaps?
“As much as I enjoy these little chats, I was wondering if you had any insight into the attack. Did the Daughters do this?”
A moment of silence lingered before Steel responded. The Daughters of Sora Kell are unpredictable. They might do such a thing without telling our gnoll companions. But it seems unlikely. The Daughters put considerable effort into arranging this summit, and the deaths of diplomats would anger the leaders of the other nations. Unless they’re trying to start a war, I see no gain.
“Which means someone else is playing.”
Indeed, Steel said. And if you want to stay part of it, you’d best find a way to return to the caravan.
“You think so?” Thorn smiled as she returned the dagger to its sheath and shifted her clothing to her envoy’s gown. This outfit was still fresh from the coach, so Thorn smeared a little blood and dirt onto the fabric. Then she pried a dented shield from the broken arm of a dead gnoll. A