The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [97]
Harryn’s eyes focused on the gilded sword. His hand twitched, and then he slowly raised his arm and reached for the book. The moment his fingers touched the leather, it slipped free of Thorn’s grip. It should have fallen to the ground—Harryn didn’t have a firm grip on it. Instead, it hung in midair. Mist flowed out from the pages, a gray mist lit from within by a pale blue light.
A blinding flash lit the room, and a crash of thunder sent Thorn staggering back. When her vision returned, the hall was illuminated by the shimmering blue light. But the light emanated from the furrow running down the blade of a gleaming silver greatsword. Harryn’s sword was as beautiful as his armor was plain. The blade was perfect, polished to a mirror finish, not a nick on its edge. The knight held the weapon in both hands, and his face had changed. He wore the stern expression Thorn had seen pressed into the black leather. His eyes were hard, and when they fixed on Sheshka, they flashed with anger.
“You!” he cried. Blue-white energy crackled along the blade as he drew it back. He dropped his gaze to the ground, and Thorn knew what would come next.
He lunged forward, but Thorn was ready for him. The knight had turned his back on her, and as he started his charge, she slipped behind him and tripped him, sending him tumbling to the ground.
“Sheshka, go!” she shouted. “Let me deal with this!”
The medusa was already darting away, disappearing into the silent ranks of the stone army. Harryn tried to rise and follow her, but a swift kick put him back on the ground.
This is one of the greatest warriors of old Galifar? she thought. Well, he’s been asleep for a few hundred years …
Her overconfidence was nearly her undoing. The knight had been distracted by Sheshka, but his attention shifted to Thorn. As he rose, he was ready for her kick. He caught her foot with one hand and pulled Thorn toward him; it was all she could do to keep from falling.
“What are you?” he growled. In the light of his sword, she could see his eyes, a deep and vivid blue. “Are you one of Drukan’s creatures?”
Thorn broke free from his grip and backed away. She kept her hands out before her to show that she wasn’t holding a weapon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve been cursed. I just released you from its effects.”
“More lies,” he said. She could sense his pain and confusion. He was trying to focus on her, but his eyes were glancing about the room.
“Do you know where you are?” Thorn said. She continued to back away, and he followed her. Thorn wanted to move him away from Sheshka and the petrifying ward. “Do you know how you came here?”
A flicker of doubt crossed his face, but his blade was steady, and he leveled it at her chest. If he charged at Thorn, no one could protect her. “Who are you?” he said.
“I am Thorn of Breland, Dark Lantern of the King’s Citadel.”
“The King’s Citadel.” His eyes narrowed. In Harryn’s time, the Citadel had served the king of Galifar, not the ruler of Breland, but he knew the name. “And how can I know you haven’t been corrupted by Drukan?”
“Because I don’t even know who that is,” Thorn said. She tried to project all the sympathy and sincerity she could muster. “If you are Harryn Stormblade—you’ve been petrified for over two hundred years.”
Harryn’s eyes were fixed on hers. His mouth opened to protest, but he could see the hundreds of statues all around him, mute testimony to Thorn’s tale. He stared at her, searching for the slightest hint of deception. She stared back, willing him to believe her.
A sudden sound broke the tension. The howling of wolves, and the deeper call of the dire wolf.
The Children of Zaeurl had found them.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Ossuary
Droaam
Eyre 20, 998 YK
Harryn’s eyes never left Thorn’s as the howls echoed throughout the hall. From the sound, the beasts were at the entrance to the Ossuary, still some distance away. The fact that they were announcing their presence suggested they saw this as a game, a hunt to be