The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [45]
If the son had seemed dangerous, the mother put him to shame. She wore no boots, and she stood on the balls of her feet, arms at her sides, hands open and ready. Elves weren’t known for strength, and she wasn’t a bulky woman, but she was slender and compact—a perfectly forged rapier set next to the clumsy club of an ogre. But what impressed Thorn the most was the conviction in the woman’s large elven eyes. She had the gaze of a true predator. Thorn was certain that the woman had already sized her up and was ready to respond to any action she might take. A chill grew at the base of her spine … the same sensation she’d felt when the wolves appeared in the Duurwood.
“I am the warlord Zaeurl,” she said. “I believe you’ve met my children.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Great Crag
Droaam
Eyre 18, 998 YK
I beg your pardon,” Luala said, carefully studying the newcomer. “You must have us confused with some of the other delegates. I don’t know you, let alone your relatives.”
“I said my children, not my relatives.” Zaeurl was smiling, but it wasn’t a pleasant sight. An air of menace hung about this huntress; she was used to being feared, and it had become a part of her. Thorn remembered the way the gnolls had reacted to the wolf pack in the woods; a strange tension had been present then, a sense of an unspoken and deadly secret. She felt that now, mingling with the pain in her spine. “And I misspoke. You may not have seen my children, but they certainly saw you. It was my pack who watched your way for the last five days, shielding you from further attacks. And they told me about you—the silent woman with the silver flame at her throat, and her handsome toy.” She glanced at Drego. “That would be you, boy.”
“I’d gathered that,” he said.
“Warlord,” Thorn said. “What does that mean, exactly? Do you command the armies of Droaam?”
“Less formal than that,” Zaeurl said, turning her gaze on Thorn. “I suppose you might say ‘baron’ in your lands. My fellow warlords all command military forces. Should we return to war, our Queens will guide our actions. It helps to have a commander who can see the future.”
“And your soldiers?” Drego said. Thorn could see that he was still on alert, ready to act … and it seemed like a wise decision. Zaeurl’s eyes narrowed when he spoke, and her muscles stiffened; clearly, she disliked the Thranes.
“Hunters and scouts, mostly. We know the ways of the woods better than anyone else in Droaam, man or beast.”
“And what brought you to this place?” Thorn said. “I see ogres, goblins, orcs—I haven’t seen many elves in the service of the Daughters.”
“Why, the Silver Flame led me to Droaam,” Zaeurl said.
Luala frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“That’s twice you’ve asked,” Zaeurl said, and there was steel in her voice. “You could ask a thousand times, and you’d never receive it. Where were you two centuries ago, minister?”
“I beg—” Luala caught herself, and began again. “I served in the library of Flamekeep, tending the scrolls and teaching the young acolytes.”
“And were you involved in the war in the west?”
Thorn frowned. Until the Last War, Galifar had been a remarkably peaceful kingdom. There were a handful of uprisings and ambitious lords, but little to earn the title of war. Two centuries ago …
The Purge.
Drego reached the same conclusion. “Are you referring to the Silver Crusade?”
Zaeurl nodded. “Call it what you will, boy. You weren’t alive to see it.”
Eberron was a world of magic, and magic took many forms. It might be a blessing or a curse. Sometimes it was both, as in the case of lycanthropy—the force responsible for werewolves, wererats, and other shapeshifters of legend. Thorn had never met a lycanthrope. Since the Purge, they were few and far between.
“And what is your quarrel with the crusade?” Luala studied the warlord carefully.
“Many innocents were killed in your war,” Zaeurl said. “I lost my first family at the hands of the Pure Flame.”
“Innocents were lost,” Luala agreed. “Fear, and the thirst for revenge, drove people to madness. But