The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [48]
“Yes,” she said, “charming. Now I suppose we should take our places; it’s unwise to anger Sora Katra. We’ll speak tomorrow, Lord Beren.”
“My thanks for your time,” Beren said. “I hope that the interests of Breland and Cazhaak Draal lie on the same path.”
“Hope is a fine thing,” Sheshka said. “We will learn the truth of it tomorrow.” The medusa turned and walked away. A path opened before her; even the monsters of Droaam respected the queen’s deadly gaze.
“Fascinating,” Beren said, moving to join Thorn. Nearby, Toli was watching the crowd. She didn’t envy the bodyguard. It would be challenge enough to watch for weapons in such a crowd, but half the guests had claws, fearsome teeth, or magical powers. Any of them could become a threat at a moment’s notice.
“What was that about?”
“Queen Sheshka wishes to speak privately, tomorrow afternoon,” Beren said. He held out his arm and she accepted it. “She was maddeningly vague about the subject, but it seemed that she was suggesting an alliance between Breland and her people, even if we fail to come to an agreement with Droaam as a whole. I’m not sure whether to be grateful that the powers of Droaam aren’t completely united behind the Daughters, or worried about getting drawn into some sectarian conflict.”
An envelope lay next to each place setting, labeled with a name. This was as formal as a royal gala in Wroat. They found their places at a long table.
“Let’s see,” Beren said. “Here I am … Toli, on my left, good. It looks like they have already accounted for Grenn’s death.” He sighed, and Thorn remembered that he’d hand-picked the guard. “Nyri, this looks like a mistake. They’ve put a ‘Thorn’ on my right. I don’t see you at the table at all.”
Thorn felt a chill as she looked at the envelope. It was her code name as a Dark Lantern. Who’d written this? Was it a warning? She couldn’t help but wonder what name was listed on Drego’s envelope.
“I’d rather not be separated, Lord Beren. Why don’t I sit here—if this ‘Thorn’ shows up, we’ll worry about it then.”
Beren nodded. “Yes, a fine thought. ‘Thorn’ … considering where we are, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s some sort of spiny ogre, and Arawai knows that’s the last thing I need at my shoulder.”
Thorn forced a smile and took her seat at the table.
“Well met!” the hobgoblin ambassador struck the table with a fist. “I am Munta the Gray, lord of the Gantii Vus, and—in this place—voice of Haruuc of the Crimson Blade! Who are my companions this evening?”
The Brelish weren’t alone at their table. In the wagons, they’d been paired with the Thranes; tonight they’d been seated with the delegates from Darguun and the gnomes of Zilargo. Munta the Gray had surely been a fierce warrior in his youth, but now he was an old man. What must have been considerable muscle was running to fat. He was dressed for war, as befit the reputation of his people; curling horns adorned a steel helm chased with brass, and a light breastplate carried the sigil of a fanged maw wreathed in flames.
“I am Councilor Jolira Jan Dorian of Korranberg.” Jolira was young, for a gnome—or so she appeared. The people of Zilargo had a talent for illusions, and there was no telling if the envoy was showing her true face. She was even smaller than a goblin, and more delicate. In many ways she seemed like a beautiful doll, a miniature dressed in lovely robes and decked with jewels. She wore no armor and carried no sword, but her hair was held back with long pins, and Thorn was certain these were charged with magical power. “My companions are Councilor Alidan Lorridan Lyrris of Trolanport and Councilor Mordan Sel Sarin of Zalanberg, together representing the Triumvirate of Zilargo. Ember is our guardian.”
This was another surprise. Most nations had sent a single ambassador accompanied by guards or perhaps an aide, but the gnomes had three envoys and a single defender—a warforged. Built by House Cannith during the Last War, the warforged were wood and steel constructs given life through magic. Ember was an impressive