The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [87]
“How many of these blessed ogres do you think we’re talking about?” Thorn said. They’d reached a ladder, and Thorn began to climb. The Great Crag was surrounded by the ruins of an old goblin city, which the Daughters were reclaiming. Kalakhesh’s notes were sketchy, but if they spoke the truth, this opening would let them exit at the inner edge.
“From what I’ve heard, it’s just an experiment,” Sheshka said. “I’d be surprised if there were more than a score of them.”
A stone lid appeared at the top of the ladder. Thorn pushed hard against it, and it finally shifted. Light spilled down onto them, and for a moment Thorn thought it was day. Then she realized that it was the light of the full moons. Looking through the hatch, she could see two gleaming orbs in the sky above. She reached up and pulled herself onto the surface. She saw four more moons in the sky, far brighter than the Ring of Siberys. And she heard voices, chanting and shouting. And more than that. The roar of beasts. Bears, perhaps? And the howling of wolves, echoing off ruined walls.
Hundreds of wolves. All around them.
“Sheshka?” Thorn reached down to help the medusa up the ladder. “About those numbers? I think you’re going to be surprised.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Crag’s Shadow
Droaam
Eyre 20, 998 YK
Thorn called forth her myrnaxe and prepared for battle. But the voices of the wolves had been carried by the winds. Thorn and Sheshka stood amidst ruins and rubble. The shattered stone face of a hobgoblin priestess regarded them with her one good eye, her mold-encrusted headdress carved into the stone of a nearby pillar. No one else appeared to be watching.
“You’re right,” Sheshka said at last, four of her serpents turning to face Thorn. “Far more than twenty. Zaeurl has brought the full force of the Dark Pack to the Great Crag. But not even the pack has so many dire wolves, and I hear the bellowing of steelbone bears. The rumors are true. They’ve been recruiting.”
The tumult continued—the rumbling of ogres chanting in their native tongue, the piercing howls, the cries of other creatures, and the occasional heart-wrenching sound of a harpy’s song—but whether celebration or ceremony, the noise was a safe distance away.
“Are we in danger?” Thorn had set her back against a weathered wall, and she held the myrnaxe in a flexible grip, ready to strike with either spear or crescent blade. It occurred to her that she was looking directly at a medusa; if Sheshka opened her eyes, Thorn would be a statue. Time to work on peripheral vision, she thought.
“I do not know.” Sheshka strung her bow and set an arrow against the string. Her eyes remained closed, but her serpents twisted about, searching for signs of movement. “Because the assassins were wolves, we can only assume that Zaeurl is my enemy, and thus any beast may threaten us. If Zaeurl acts in the service of the Three, anyone who lives in the Crag’s Shadow could turn against us.”
“Lovely,” said Thorn. “At least it’s not a very big city.”
“If your magic has done its work, they will be unable to track us … and I’d be surprised if word has reached the Pack yet. The skullcrushers are likely still puzzled by my absent corpse.”
“So. Now I know our enemies. Do we have allies? You said we needed to get word to your people. I hope at least some of your people are here in the Crag.”
“All too few, I am afraid. I was instructed to bring a small guard, so as not to frighten the visitors. An inconvenient request, but I have grown used to the fear of your kind.”
Just as we were told to bring only four envoys, Thorn thought. Convenient, if you’re planning to seize the delegates. “Give us time.”
“How much time?” Sheshka said. She was looking away, and somehow Thorn knew that the medusa had opened her eyes. “I have dealt with your people for centuries, long before the coming of the Daughters. I have faced your crusaders and champions,