The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [29]
She reached out and placed her hand against the chest of the invisible man, gently pushing him away. She raised a single finger to her lips, then pointed at the ground, hoping he’d get the message. You’re too noisy. Stay here.
No such luck. As Thorn crept closer to the four officers, she heard him moving behind her. She stopped, looking over her shoulder to glare at him.
“You need me.” The whisper was quieter than his footsteps, which was worth something. “You can’t understand them.”
In such a situation, Thorn always sought to avoid all unnecessary sound and motion. She didn’t shrug, didn’t sigh in resignation, didn’t nod her head. But all of those thoughts passed through her mind as she started forward again. It’s just four gnolls, she told herself. Probably the most skilled soldiers in the camp, but just four gnolls. Surely, if it comes to a fight, the two of us can handle four gnolls.
The officers muttered to one another, and none of them seemed to hear Drego as he and Thorn drew closer. A thicket of ghoulbriar grew on the edge of the grove, and Thorn dropped to one knee behind it. The brambles weren’t too dense and allowed a good view of the gnolls. If they were discovered, Thorn hoped any pursuers would charge into the briar without recognizing their danger.
A minute later, the others arrived.
A dark shape emerged on the far side of the grove, a shadow the size of a pony with eyes that glowed in the moonlight. It was a wolf, the largest Thorn had ever seen. Its fur was dark as Khyber, and its teeth gleamed. For a moment Thorn thought the gnolls would fight the beast, but they fell silent and turned to face it. The gnoll leader, the armored officer who’d addressed them on the Roar, raised his weapon to salute the beast. Thorn could feel a faint breeze against her skin, and she gave thanks that she was downwind from this creature.
Other newcomers followed the massive wolf. A young and handsome elf with silver hair and pale skin. A large man whose muscles and gray skin spoke of orcish heritage, with a heavy bundle thrown over a shoulder. Both wore loose clothing dappled in patterns of black and gray, along with harnesses bearing a wide assortment of weapons and tools.
Something wasn’t quite right. When Thorn first laid eyes upon them, a chill passed through the crystal shard at the base of her spine, and that faint sensation lingered as the strangers approached the gnolls.
Two more wolves arrived. While fierce in demeanor, these were the sort Thorn was accustomed to—strong and better fed than those she’d seen in the King’s Forest, but no match for the beast that led this pack into the grove. Despite their mundane appearance, Thorn felt the chill again as one of the wolves passed her hiding place.
“My mother sends her greetings, brother Gharn.” The elf spoke. His voice was soft and clear, and Thorn heard a hint of menace in his tone. It was clear that he held himself above the gnolls.
The armored gnoll inclined his head. “The children of Zaeurl are welcome in this place. Reveal our enemy.” Like Ghyrryn, Gharn spoke in statements, never asking a question. He was almost three feet taller than the elf. Yet instead of barking out orders as he had on the plaza in Graywall, he was almost polite.
The half-orc threw his burden to the ground, and the wrappings fell away. It was a harpy—or the remains of one. Her wings were fractured in multiple places, her feathers were soaked with blood, and Thorn could see pale bone protruding from flesh. Her broken wings were wrapped around her body like a cloak and bound with heavy rope. Her face was bruised, her chin stained crimson, and Thorn thought she was dead. Then her eyes opened. The harpy stared right at Thorn. Yet even if the harpy had seen Thorn, her eyes were empty. She was broken, little better than dead.
“Wind Howlers,” the elf said, placing his heel on one of the broken wings and grinding his foot against it. “As expected. Callain couldn’t resist such choice prey, not with the