The Queen of Stone_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [98]
“Wolves,” he said. “Your enemies?”
“Yes,” she said. “But they’re worse than wolves. They’re—”
“You need not explain.” He lowered his sword. “I am Harryn of Thronehold, called the Stormblade. You have an honest face, Thorn of Breland. And it seems we have a common foe.”
“Yes. That we do. And about that foe, they aren’t wolves. They’re—”
“Shapechangers.”
“Yes. Why would you guess that?”
Harryn was studying the chamber, and she could see the wheels turning in his mind. He was judging the field of battle, looking for ways to turn it to his advantage. “If two centuries have truly passed, it appears there’s been little progress. And I fear that your dagger is a poor weapon for the work that lies ahead.”
“Well,” Thorn raised her hand and summoned the myrnaxe out of the air. “We’ve made some progress.”
Harryn’s eyes widened slightly. But he had no time to discuss magic; the enemy was closing fast. They heard a woman’s voice, faint and far off, at the distant entrance to the great hall of statues.
“Spread out. Forgahn, right. Ghass, left. Farhn, guard this post. The rest of you, with me.”
The light from Harryn’s blade faded. It wasn’t entirely dead, but it wouldn’t reveal their presence. Harryn whispered, “Tell me about this place.”
“I know of only one exit to the surface,” Thorn said, pointing toward the passage. “And it sounds like it’s being watched.”
Harryn tapped a statue. “These are everywhere?”
Thorn nodded.
“Then we’ll use them.” He made his way through a column of hobgoblin soldiers. Ahead of them, vast numbers of broken statues had been piled together in heaps; the result was a series of makeshift walls formed from the shattered corpses, a hedge maze built from lost souls.
“What about Sheshka?” Thorn whispered. She didn’t plan to leave the medusa to the mercy of the wolves.
Harryn’s face was turned away, but she could see the muscles in his neck tighten. “What was she doing here?”
“She released you. I don’t know what happened between you, but it’s been two centuries, Harryn. She risked her life to save you.”
“As long as you’re Thorn, call me Stormblade,” he said. “And you’re correct. You don’t know what happened.”
Thorn opened her mouth to retort, then closed it and pointed. A light flickered up ahead—the glow of a torch. The wall of statues blocked their line of sight, but the torchlight shone through the gaps in the heap of granite goblins, flickering across frozen faces and clutching hands. Thorn studied the motion of the light, the shadows that she saw … two figures. One humanoid, holding the torch, and a wolf, sniffing for a scent they hadn’t left. She signaled Harryn, pointing at the enemy, indicating the path she planned to take. He nodded, and she stepped away.
She was finally on her own.
Sheshka was a huntress, but she was no match for Thorn. And legend or not, Stormblade was a soldier, slowed by his heavy armor; Thorn could hear him as she slipped away. If Thorn could hear it, the nearby wolf likely could as well—she had to act quickly. Her enemies were exposed by their torchlight, but Thorn was the hunter in the dark, slipping among the statues. Stormblade was leading their enemies away, backing deeper into the hall, while Thorn was closing in behind them.
Thorn slipped around a wall of stone, avoiding an outstretched hand frozen in granite. She saw them—an ogre carrying the torch, and a gray wolf padding along at his side. They moved cautiously, the wolf leading the way. It hadn’t howled yet, but that could come at any moment. Thorn leaped up onto the mass of goblins, moving soundlessly along the wall of stone corpses. The wolf and its companion crept along the wall. Thorn drew ever closer.
And then Harryn Stormblade stepped into view, blue sparks crackling around his silver blade.
The pair had been sent to hunt Sheshka. At the least, they were surprised to see the knight with the gleaming sword, and Thorn seized the distraction. She dropped down from above, the silver tip of her spear flashing in the torchlight.
The wolf never had a chance to howl. Pulling the spear free from