The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [73]
Thorn could see the truth in this. She could feel the presence of the door and the bed. She’d known the location of the invisible man, and that might help her fight a medusa. But the details were limited. She might be able to feel the presence of a shelf of books, but she’d never be able to tell one book from the next. And Drego had been nearby when she’d noticed him. This might be enough for close work, but it was no substitute for sight. Still, close work was what lay ahead.
“Very well,” Thorn said. Sheathing Steel, she removed the hood and tucked it into her belt. She’d need to see the markings on the walls to find her way to the medusa’s chambers. She sorted through her belongings one last time, gathering her remaining tools and tucking the goblin’s notes in a pocket. Finally, she produced the vial of dark liquid, unsealed the top, and swallowed it.
Everything seemed to fall away from her. For a moment, Thorn was afraid that she’d lost her clothing and gear. But looking at her hand, she could see the leather glove, mithral bracer over her wrist—and she could see through them. When she moved her arm, there was no muscle tension, no sensation of skin against cloth. With her expanded senses she could feel the slightest shift in the air, but little more.
Rather than trying to walk, she imagined her body flowing toward the door, thinking of herself as a simple gust of wind. She focused on the narrow crack beneath the door, and then she was drifting down, the mist that was her body compressing to pass through the narrow opening. The ogre guard was looking away from her room, and Thorn glided across the hall and into the privy chamber.
Her journey through the sewers was far simpler this time. They were designed to channel gases and odors, and she flowed down through the maze. The only challenge was that she couldn’t refer to Kalakhesh’s notes; they were made of vapor, and her hand passed through them. She had only her memory to guide her through the foul labyrinth, and she couldn’t even brush aside the scum covering the wall markings, or the insects crawling across every surface.
Patience and caution prevailed. It was easy to spot the newer stonework splitting off from the old; the walls were smooth, lacking the layers of scum built up over the centuries. The inscription on the wall was clear; the narrow path ahead would take Thorn to her final destination. She rose up through the narrow passage, through the opening of the latrine itself, and into the chambers of the medusa queen.
She emerged slowly, keeping her eyes tightly closed until she was certain there was no one around her. Opening her eyes, she examined the room. The brass mirror on the wall came as a surprise. It was a common myth that a medusa could be petrified by its own reflected gaze … then again, it would be difficult for a species to survive if they turned one another to statues. It made far more sense for the medusa to be immune to its deadly power. The only other feature of the chamber was a pit filled with fine, dark sand.
Does she bathe in it? Thorn wondered. But she discovered a greater concern—the faintest ripple in the air above the floor around the latrine, a whine just on the edge of hearing. Sheshka had considered the danger posed by the sewers; a mystical ward lay on the surrounding floor. Odds were good that the field rose from floor to ceiling, and even in her gaseous state, Thorn was likely to set it off.
I can’t work like this, she thought. Thorn imagined a great weight spreading over her, lead flowing across her body. It was a trigger, a way to break the enchantment of the potion. As she contemplated the idea, vapor returned to flesh and blood. Her feet were set on either side of the latrine, and she struggled to maintain her balance in the wake of the disorienting sensations. Within a moment, the vertigo passed.
Kneeling carefully on the edge of the privy, Thorn studied the floor, watching for the shiver in the air that indicated the presence