The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [77]
“Would that work?” Thorn’s mind was racing as she spoke. She knew nothing about Sheshka’s skill with the sword, but her title of warlord was hardly encouraging in that regard. And although Szaj was a young basilisk, she’d still be outnumbered.
“No.” Sheshka was considering the situation; Thorn could hear it in her voice. Thorn knew little about Sheshka’s abilities, but the medusa knew nothing about her talents, either. The fact that she’d gotten so close to her had to concern the queen.
“Just as well,” Thorn said. “I’m acting on my own, and I neglected to bring my vast personal fortune. You couldn’t just consider this a favor?”
“I might consider a trade,” Sheshka said. “I free your friend and keep you instead. It would amuse me to keep my would-be assassin close at hand.”
“Fine. Free him, and I’ll stay with you.”
“Him? A lover, perhaps? No.” Sheshka was growing more confident. “Speak the name of this love of yours, and then open your eyes. I may grant your request, but you will never see him.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You are in no position to bargain, girl. You are at best a failed thief, at worst a would-be assassin. I am Queen of Cazhaak Draal. I will keep my word, should I give it. Who is it you wish freed?”
The medusa was barely six feet away. It would be hard to strike a nerve cluster without opening her eyes, but Thorn would have to take that chance. She traced the scene in her mind: Lunging forward, striking Sheshka with an elbow, then sweeping her blade down into Szaj’s neck. The pain should incapacitate Sheshka for at least a few moments, long enough to take her down and knock her blade away. But she needed the medusa to lower her guard.
I’ll have to tell her eventually, Thorn reasoned. “Harryn Stormblade.”
Silence settled across the room. Sheshka’s vipers became still.
Thorn leaped forward. But as she drew back her arm to strike, she realized something was wrong.
Someone else was in the room.
Her eyes still closed, Thorn had only instinct to guide her. Silk and flesh, a streak of steel—and it wasn’t aimed at her. Instead of using her elbow, Thorn slammed into Sheshka with her entire body. A razor wind nicked the back of her hood, passing through the space once occupied by the medusa’s skull.
Thorn winced as she felt three pairs of tiny fangs sink into her shoulder. No time to worry about that. Szaj was snarling and leaping at the intruder, who had drawn his long blade to deal with the threat. Thorn staggered backward, pulling free of the vipers and getting a wall against her back. Her shoulder throbbed, but she could tell that Sheshka had turned her attention to the newcomer. The clash of blade against blade echoed off the walls.
It must have been the silencer, she realized. I didn’t hear him come in. She could tell—smell?—that the stranger wasn’t a medusa, and he’d just tried to spill Sheshka’s blood.
“I’m going to pluck out your eyes and feed them to you.” The voice was deep, rough, masculine. Filled with hatred and cruel joy. It was enough to make Thorn’s eyes snap open. Medusa or not, she had to see the truth of this.
It was Toli.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Great Crag
Droaam
Eyre 19, 998 YK
Thorn saw three of them. The first stranger was a Valenar elf dressed in silk and mithral, spinning a double-bladed scimitar. Thorn opened her eyes just in time to see the blades dance across the neck of the rearing basilisk; blood spurted from the lizard’s throat, and Szaj fell backward. The elf’s face was hidden behind silk and a mask of black gauze, undoubtedly protection against the medusa’s gaze. Thorn wondered if it was Saer Vordalyn or one of his companions. Whoever hid behind the mask was a fearsome warrior.
His companion was a muscular hobgoblin, and his steel breastplate bore the fanged maw of the Gantii Vus. He was one of the soldiers who accompanied Munta the Gray. Fresh blood spattered his breastplate and his battle-axe; he’d already seen a fight that night. As the elf struck at Szaj, the hobgoblin charged forward. He roared