The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [50]
Beren and Jen Dorian attempted to draw out the giant. Though still sullen, the warlord’s mood had improved as he filled his stomach. “My tale begins in Xen’drik,” he rumbled, “far across the Thunder Sea.”
Thorn was sure it was a fascinating tale … but it was also an opportunity. All attention was focused on the giant. Dropping her hand beneath the table, she carefully drew Steel.
Confirm: the envelope at your seat is addressed to Thorn?
She tapped the blade once with her forefinger.
We’re in luck, then.
The warlord Gorodan was explaining how he’d violated a taboo of his people, something he considered to be a foolish, primitive superstition. Thorn used the opportunity. “I’m not sure I understand—could you elaborate on that?”
Sora Teraza is an oracle. It’s difficult to determine the full extent of her power—like all the Daughters, the truth is tangled with centuries of legend. We’ve lost agents in Droaam before due to her prescience. It’s not surprising that she’d know your identity. The point is that they know who you are, and you’re still alive.
Meaning what? There was a chance they’d have me killed? She had no way to ask this question without raising eyebrows, so she waited for an appropriate moment in Gorodan’s story and said, “That is very interesting.”
The Daughters had to know the nations would send spies. They’re probably counting on it. They want to make sure that whatever happens here is heard across Khorvaire. So they know who you are and what you are. But if they knew about your secondary mission, they’d probably have taken direct action by now. Have you looked inside the envelope?
Looked inside? She tapped the blade twice. It hadn’t even occurred to her. But Steel was right. They weren’t just place cards—there was little reason to use an envelope if not to put something inside.
Obviously you shouldn’t open it now, since it’s not addressed to you. But you’d best take it with you. In any case, about your companions—
Steel’s speech and Gorodan’s story were both cut off as the floating lights flared and then dimmed, drawing together to create a single pool of light between the tables. A single figure was silhouetted by the spotlight.
Sora Katra. Mistress of the Mires. The crone who wove curses on her loom. Subject of a hundred stories … all of which ended badly.
“Let us begin,” she said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Great Crag
Droaam
Eyre 18, 998 YK
Though Sora Katra stood below the light, it didn’t touch her. It was more than a trick of illumination. Thanks to her ring, Thorn could see in darkness as clearly as day, yet the figure remained in shadow. Sora Katra’s voice was equally mysterious. It was firm, clear, commanding. Feminine. Authoritative. The voice of a queen, of a matriarch who has dominated a family for generations. And yet, the moment she stopped speaking, Thorn had trouble remembering the precise sound of that voice. Surely she had the voice of an old woman—but when Thorn looked back on the evening, she heard a younger voice—a voice she’d always associated with her mother.
But when Sora Katra spoke, all questions vanished. Hers was a voice that could not be ignored.
“None of you have met me before. Yet all of you know me. I was with you in your bed when you first heard the tale of Lord Koltan and the story of the Stone Tree. I spent my youth in the Shadow Marches, but I also moved among you; whenever you told my stories, you brought me to your door.” Her shadow shifted; Thorn could almost make out her shape, but not quite. “We live in a world filled with illusions, a world of changelings and hidden fiends. I myself have worn a thousand faces and more, for each story calls for something new. We have long known each other, yet this is the first time that we truly meet, and I wish you to see who I am.”
Her shadow shifted again, and the magical lights faded further.
“So remember that first story. Remember what you feared in the night. Remember … and be welcome.”
As she finished