The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [57]
Thorn shivered at the thought of fighting such a brute, and she felt the familiar throb of the shard at the base of her skull, the faint pain returning once more. She remained as still as a statue and the troll walked past her, the claws on his wide, flat feet scraping against the stone. She waited until the sound faded before she moved again.
As she approached her destination, she saw something she hadn’t considered: light. Cold fire torches were set in sconces along the walls of the tunnel. It was a good sign. If she’d read Kalakhesh’s notes correctly, Thorn was entering the territory of the warlord Zaeurl. The goblin’s records described the location of the barracks used by the hunters, and Thorn intended to steal one of the black and gray uniforms they wore. Her gown might serve as an alibi that night, but posing as one of Zaeurl’s children would be considerably more useful once the party was over … especially if they were all treated with the same respect that the gnolls had shown in the Duurwood.
Even as the thought of the Duurwood crossed her mind, she heard a sound that had become familiar—the whining speech of a gnoll, emerging from an open doorway just ahead of her. A single tooth lay in a pool of blood by the doorway—a fang likely torn from the mouth of the creature she heard.
She slid closer to the doorway and heard the thud of flesh against flesh, and a body striking a stone wall. Then came laughter, and the clear voice of a young man. “I told you we’d be watching. You should have listened to my brother when you had the chance.”
The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. But the next voice she knew well. It was Ghyrryn, the gnoll who escorted her from Graywall. His speech was slurred with pain.
“I would rather die than receive your blessing.”
The man laughed, and Thorn knew where she’d heard his voice. He was the young elf from the Duurwood … the child of Zaeurl.
“Fortunate for us both, because your death is what we have in mind. I’m just not sure which to eat first—your arms or your legs.”
Thorn wore a mithral bracelet on each wrist, hidden beneath the cuffs of her gown. She clicked them together and they unfolded along her forearms, becoming armored bracers.
What are you doing?
Steel whispered. Saying nothing, she stepped into the room.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Great Crag
Droaam
Eyre 18, 998 YK
Ghyrryn had been badly beaten. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his fur was matted and stained with blood. He’d lost more than one tooth since Thorn had seen him. He was being held against the wall by an ogre, whose snarl revealed a maw filled with long, yellowed teeth. The ogre pressed his forearm against Ghyrryn’s throat, and he held the gnoll a foot above the floor. Ghyrryn was gasping for breath, his snout and nostrils flecked with bloody saliva.
The room was a barracks, with bunks for a dozen soldiers. Fortunately for Thorn, only two other creatures were in the room, and all eyes were focused on the ogre and his prey. A young man stood between Thorn and the gnoll—a man in black and gray. He was the elf from the Duurwood, as she’d suspected; he held a curved steel blade in one hand, and the scimitar’s tip was stained with blood. The other occupant of the room walked on four legs—a lean gray wolf, sniffing at the captive gnoll.
Thorn gasped in horror, raising her hand to cover her mouth and bringing her other arm up to her chest, keeping Steel hidden against her bodice. “What … what is going on?”
All eyes were upon her. The ogre snarled, and for an instant Thorn thought his teeth were growing, but it was surely a trick of the light. The elf spun to face her, lowering his sword and raising a hand to admonish the ogre. “Don’t!” he snapped at his companions. “You have your orders!”
“Who are you?” Thorn said, filling her voice with shock and terror.
“This is not your concern,” the elf said, taking a step toward her. The wolf padded over to stand