The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [79]
Then he changed.
His eyes were the first thing she saw. They weren’t human eyes anymore; they turned orange and black, the eyes of an animal. His jaws lengthened, pushing forward from his skull, sharp fangs gleaming in the light. Then he seemed to burst, his human skin and clothing falling to the floor to reveal a creature standing in his place.
A wolf.
He recovered his strength during the transformation and leaped at Thorn in a blur of fur and fang. But Thorn’s muscles were still singing from the surge of energy. For her, the wolf seemed to move in slow motion; it was a simple matter to roll out of its way and rise to her feet. The beast skidded against the stone floor, snarling and spitting. Whatever this was, it wasn’t Toli, and Thorn didn’t hesitate; she drove Steel into the creature’s neck.
The blow didn’t stop the wolf; instead, he twisted his head and snapped at her wrist. He was surprisingly strong and knew how to use his weight to his advantage; in an instant, he’d pulled Steel from her grip. The dagger buried in his neck didn’t seem to bother him, and Thorn saw only a tiny trickle of blood.
Wolf. Steel doesn’t hurt him. Shapechanger …
It all became clear. As the wolf leaped at her, Thorn held her ground and raised her hands. Ghyrryn’s axe flashed into her grasp, and Thorn lodged the haft between the jaws of the beast. She used her training, spinning and slamming the beast to the ground. As the wolf gasped for air, she raised the gnoll’s weapon and drove the spearhead into the beast’s exposed belly, aiming for the heart. The wolf howled, and blood flowed out in a dark fountain. The spear had a cutting edge, and Thorn placed her foot on the wolf and drew the blade toward her, slashing deeper into its chest. The howl faded, and the room went silent.
Caught up in the frenzy of battle, a few moments passed before Thorn realized what that silence meant. As she pulled her weapon free from the bloody wolf, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. A blade made of black marble. The blade that had belonged to the Valenar elf. The only sound in the chamber was the furious hissing of Sheshka’s vipers … directly behind her. She felt the point of a sword pressing against her back, and the touch caused more pain than mere steel could account for.
“About that deal …” Thorn said.
“You hold a myrnaxe,” Sheshka said. Her voice was cold but steady. “Where did you get it?”
“It was a gift,” Thorn said.
“From whom?” For a woman who’d just been surprised by assassins twice in one night, Sheshka was disturbingly calm. She might have been discussing the price of tribex.
“A friend.”
Thorn winced as the point of the blade dug into her back. Though it was just a single motion, it felt as if Sheshka were carving into her flesh and pouring salt into the wound. Steel had warned her about this sword; apparently, it was as dangerous as he’d claimed.
“Enough games. Tell me why you are here. Who sent you? And what do you know of these others?”
“Yes. About that—”
Thorn never got to finish her sentence. The silencing mist was still effective, and she’d heard nothing from the hall. But she saw a flash of motion. A woman in the archway, wearing a dark cloak fastened with a blue pin. Hands outstretched before her, fingers twitching … magic. War magic.
Fire filled the room, sweeping everything away in a wave of light and heat.
The air was scalding, and the smell of scorched flesh was overpowering. Thorn pushed past the nausea and fought to overcome the pain … only to realize that there was no pain to overcome. Her flesh, her clothes—the fire hadn’t touched her. She’d felt the blazing heat, but she wasn’t burned; her hair wasn’t even singed.
Illusion?
No. The damage to the room around her was real. Her intuition told her that Sheshka was crumpled on the ground behind her, and