The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [39]
Lighting in the complex ranged from dim to completely dark. The oni provided each of them with an enchanted light—a rod suffused with cold fire, providing constant, pale blue illumination. The delegates and their servants were expected to take these everywhere, including their private quarters; only a few chambers or halls had permanent fixtures. It made a certain amount of sense—the tunnels within the Crag had been built by creatures whose eyes could see in the deepest darkness.
Thorn was sure it was a power play. The Daughters of Sora Kell wanted the delegates to be disoriented, to reinforce the power they wielded. The darkness didn’t trouble Thorn—if anything, it would be useful when she attempted to explore the subterranean palace. But the ring that allowed her to see in the dark was a tool of her trade, and she needed to be careful not to reveal it; there was no reason for a simple aide to have such an object. She took care to cling to her torch and to stumble occasionally in the dim light.
“Do you need any help?” Thorn wasn’t sure where to put Beren’s belongings, but she was there to assist him. It seemed the least she could do.
“No need, Nyri. I’m sure you have preparations of your own to attend to.” Beren snapped his fingers, and his bag opened of its own accord. Clothes drifted up onto the bunk, where an invisible force carefully folded them. “After one too many jobs where my aide lacked the skills for domestic tasks, I learned a few tricks of my own. You’d be surprised how far you can get with just three spells. For example,” he gestured again, and Thorn felt a tingle against her skin as magical energy wiped away the dirt and sweat of the road. The ambassador passed his hand over his own clothes, and stains vanished. “There we are … ready for the feast. Not the easiest thing to master, but I wish I’d picked it up long ago. I do believe I spent a year covered in mud and grime when I was fighting on the western front.”
“Have you met Sora Katra before?” The thought had lingered in her mind ever since she’d heard that the hag would be attending the feast. Thorn had dealt with her share of princes, and she’d spoken with King Boranel on three separate occasions. But the Daughters of Sora Kell weren’t just the rulers of some savage land. Each was a legend in her own right, the stuff of nightmares and children’s tales.
Thorn’s father had told her a dozen stories of Sora Katra, the clever hag whose gifts always turned on the hero who sought her aid. And her brother Nandon had loved to tell her about Sora Maenya, whispered tales in the dark about the hag who would consume entire villages, the giantess who had—according to Nandon—developed a special taste for tender Khoravar girls. This inevitably resulted in ‘Sora Maenya’ grabbing her in the middle of the night, though the monster typically chose to tickle her instead of devouring her. As she’d grown older, she’d set these stories aside, along with the legends of the Lady of the Plague, the Lord of Eyes, and the other monsters of youth.
But a decade ago the Daughters of Sora Kell emerged from myth and laid claim to Droaam. And tonight she’d be dining with one of them … sitting in the same hall as the Mistress of the Mires, Lord Koltan’s Doom, the Spinner of Gold and Lies. And where there was one sister, could the others be far away? Nandon’s midnight tales echoed in her mind. Maenya eats the flesh and drinks the blood, but she saves the soul, binding it forever to the bones of her victim. She sleeps on a bed made from the skulls of children, and their ghostly cries ring through the cavern, now and until the end of time …
“I’ve never met Sora Katra,” Beren said, drawing her from her reverie. “Sora Maenya … that’s a different story. When I was just a lad, younger than you are now, I was stationed at Lherenstan, one of our