The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [32]
“The Wind Howlers.”
“Yes,” Thorn said. “I believe so.”
“So it seems that we’re bait,” Drego said. “The Daughters invite delegates to the Great Crag, ostensibly to negotiate full recognition as a sovereign nation. Death of a delegate at the hands of monsters would be an embarrassment at best—at worst, a cause for war. If any of these warlords wants to challenge the Daughters, all they need to do is kill the delegates. Small wonder your gnoll friend isn’t promising to keep the rest of us alive. I imagine they’ll have their paws full as it is.”
“There’s more to it,” Thorn said. “That elf … he said that Callain couldn’t resist the opportunity because of the ‘approaching storm.’ What did he mean? And what did Ghyrryn say that made those hunters so angry?”
“That was odd,” Drego said. “The worg warned the gnoll leader about speaking to ‘the blessed.’ Then our friend said … what’s the best way to put this?” He closed his eyes for a moment, running his fingers along the back of Thorn’s hands as he considered it. “Less blessed by the day. Less? Or … a blessing more common? It’s not an easy translation.”
Thorn mulled things over. “So the Daughters don’t trust their vassals, and they’re probably using us to draw out traitors. All this against the backdrop of a coming storm and a fading blessing.” Her eyes widened. “Could they be talking about House Tharashk?”
Drego frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Think about it. Those people in black were trackers. One was a half-orc. We know House Tharashk has dealings with Droaam, and the half-orcs of House Tharashk carry the Dragonmark of Finding—the perfect tool for a bounty hunter, and the pillar of their house. What if that ‘blessing’—their dragonmark—is fading away?”
“That seems far-fetched. One of the hunters was an elf, but that doesn’t mean Aerenal is involved.”
“You’re right.” Thorn sighed. “And I’ve never heard of Tharashk having a great love of wolves. Blessings and wolves … no clever ideas?”
“I’m afraid not,” Drego replied. But Thorn saw a flicker in his eyes—a moment of doubt.
“What?”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
“Don’t hold back on me now,” she said. “There’s still time for me to return that wedding dress.”
“No,” he said. “Really, it’s nothing. I don’t know what this is about. But it sounds like something may be afoot in the Crag that concerns both our nations after all. I suggest we get some rest. Perhaps the sun will shed new light on this.”
“You’re wise beyond your years,” Thorn said. “Until the morning, then.” She began to stand, then paused. Drego was still holding her hand.
“I said that we should get some rest,” he said, a slight smile on his lips.
“I see,” Thorn said. “And would you like to come to my pavilion? I’m sure my friend Toli would be happy to see you.”
“With you at my side, I would need no tent but the sky, no blanket but the grass,” he said. She looked down at him. He was a handsome man, with cheekbones a kalashtar would envy, and piercing eyes. Even after their adventure in the woods, his skin was flawless, his hair perfect. She considered Steel’s words … he’s attracted to you, and we can use that.
“Not tonight, Flamebearer Sarhain,” she said, pulling her hand free. She smiled at him. “You’ll have to convert me first.”
He slid down to the ground, placing his hand over his heart and giving a heavy sigh. Thorn turned her back on him and walked toward the Brelish pavilion.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Duurwood Camp Droaam
Eyre 13, 998 YK
The brilliant light of the moons made it difficult to sleep. Thorn remembered seeing four full moons in the sky when she was a child, marveling at the multihued light they cast across the land. The moons waxed and waned at different rates, and now Dravago and Nymm were growing wider and brighter. Within a few nights, six of the twelve moons would be full.
While Thorn had little interest in history and the academic significance of such