The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [7]
“A story.”
“Well, I’m no Phiarlan sage-singer, but—”
The beast laughed again, the rumble echoing around her. “No,” he said. “It is your story that I wish to hear. A tale of my choosing, a truth from your past.”
Thorn’s doubt was echoed by the shard of crystal embedded in her neck. As her eyes narrowed, the stone grew warm and shivers of pain flowed along her spine. Did the beast know her true profession? Did it want some secret of the Lanterns?
“Very well,” she said at last. “But it must be my story, and mine alone. I will not reveal any secrets that could harm my friends.”
“Acceptable,” the manticore said. He had cleaned the blood from his fur and face. He rose and stretched his front legs. His movements revealed powerful muscles—a sinuous grace in his leonine limbs, a touch of draconic majesty in his outstretched wings. He knelt before her. “Mount, lady. I will not harm you on this journey.”
“And when we reach our destination?”
“You will not feel my sting under the light of these moons, little one,” he replied. “You are safe until I have my story, and there will be another time for that.”
Hardly a reassuring answer. But the image of Xorchylic still lingered in her mind, and the memory of the pale white eyes of the flayer drove Thorn onto the creature’s back.
The manticore rose to his feet, and Thorn sank her fingers into his fur. She was already beginning to regret the decision. The Mror riders had saddles and stirrups.
“Before I take to the air, I should know where you wish to land.”
“The Calabas,” she said. “Someplace quiet. I don’t want to cause a disturbance, especially at this hour.”
“Of course.” Thorn could feel the manticore’s rumbling laughter shaking his sides. Then the beast leaped forward and rose sharply into the air, and suddenly laughter was the least of her worries.
Thorn didn’t speak as they flew over the streets of Graywall. The wind drowned out all other sound. Thorn twisted on the creature’s back, shifting her balance to keep from falling. Was this all a cruel game? The manticore promised that he wouldn’t harm her, but that left Thorn free to kill herself.
Balancing on the creature’s back took most of her concentration, but Thorn was able to take in the view of Graywall stretched below her.
Humans typically built cities on flat land, clearing obstacles from their way. Graywall was built in a mountain pass, a valley choked with tors and chunks of stone, but the city absorbed and assimilated them. Buildings merged into the edges of cliffs. Stonework was bound to hills that had served as lairs for gnolls and gargoyles long before the architects came. Beyond this blend of raw stone and artifice, the city had the same bizarre traits she’d noticed on the ground.
At a glance, the buildings seemed rough, functional, almost perfectly uniform. The roofs were an odd design—wide slabs of stone interlaced like a deck of cards, presumably supported by plaster or pillars below. The stone had the same subtle patterning she’d seen on the alley walls, and the faint shadows seemed to ripple in the moonlight, like the surface of a quiet pool. It was bright enough to discern each building under the light of the three moons, but the appearance would be quite different on a dark or cloudy night, when the moons hid their faces from the world.
The Calabas was something else entirely. It might have been plucked from another land and dropped into Graywall as punishment. This was the foreign quarter, home to merchants, explorers, exiles, and others who dared deal with the savage creatures of the west. Built by the architects of the dragonmarked House Tharashk, it was designed for the comfort of humans and their kin. Coldfire lanterns spread light across the streets. Ogres or trolls would have to crouch to fit through the doorways of most buildings, and many of the hostels and taverns had painted walls and windows of glass—sharp contrast to the stark stone of the city proper.
True to his word, the manticore descended in a quiet spot behind a Tharashk warehouse. Most of the