"… so I was asked to perform for Cardinal Krozen himself," Sarhain was saying.
"Really? How is that possible?" Thorn tapped Steel as she spoke, continuing to feign interest in Drego's story.
Either he has the same sort of training you do-in which case he's very good-or he's using some sort of tool to protect himself from my examination. Either way, it means that he has something worth hiding. He's not just a simple envoy. The question is whether he's an envoy at all.
"That's fascinating," Thorn said to both Steel and Sarhain, and the Thrane beamed at her. Whatever he was hiding, he certainly had an enchanting smile. She examined him more closely. No gloves. No cloak. Not even a backpack or a satchel. Only the silver amulet around his neck and an unmarked copper band around one finger. What secrets was he protecting?
"And what of you?" he asked her, having reached the end of his long tale. "What does Nyrielle Tam have to say for herself?"
"Nothing so interesting," she replied with a shy smile. "I thought I'd follow my father to war, but you know how it is. I'm just not cut out for bloody work."
Oh, you're a lamb, Steel said.
"Honestly, I'm not even sure why I carry this," she said to Sarhain, returning the dagger to its sheath. "I'll probably end up hurting myself." She looked down the bench. "Lord Beren! I'm sure Flamebearer Sarhain would love to hear about your deeds at Kalnor Pass."
"Ah!" Beren cried, leaning out to look past his guards. "A man after my own heart, always keen to hear a tale of blood and battle. Now tell me, lad, have you ever faced an ogre in battle?"
Thorn continued to deflect further inquiries from Drego Sarhain, turning the conversation toward his companions or the difficulties of the journey. This was complicated by the fact that the Thrane priestess-Minister Luala-had taken a vow of silence, saving her words and her wits for the business at Flamekeep. Surprisingly, the gnolls proved to be more loquacious than the Thranes. Thorn noticed that each of them wore cords around their necks or wrists, with bits of metal, hair, or cloth, bound by leather. Their leader, Ghyrryn, explained that gnolls of the Znir Pact retained souvenirs to remember each kill.
"The Keeper takes us all," he told Thorn. "When you come to the final lands, the prey of past hunts will be waiting. Honor them in life and they will honor you in death. Let them be forgotten, and they will be hungry and filled with rage."
Ghyrryn showed her each of his totems-links of chain mail, knots of hair, claws, fangs. Jharl, the archer sitting across from her, was a tracker; he carried strips of cloth and leather taken from his victims' clothes or skin. He seemed especially intrigued by Thorn's scent, sniffing her hand and hair a few times. Thorn also noticed that he paid a great deal of attention to Drego Sarhain. The interest was subtle, but when the Thrane envoy looked away, the gnoll would breathe deeply, tasting the air around him.
Hours passed, and the well of conversation ran dry. Thorn was considering lying down on the floor to try to get some sleep when the gnolls rose to their feet. Ghyrryn hooted and whined.
"What is it?" she said to Ghyrryn. Around her, the soldiers of the Five Nations had hands on their weapons, ready to defend their charges.
"You are not concerned," he told her.
"Humor me."
"Korlaak Pass. Long crossing. The Pact will pass first and last, secure the bridge. You have no fear."
Thorn could hear gnolls moving around the wagon, forming into squads. Around her, the human bodyguards drew their weapons. Toli was clearly suspicious and prepared for gnoll treachery. Outside, squad leaders barked commands and Thorn heard the troops moving forward. A few moments later, the wagon began rolling again. The bumpy road beneath the wheels shifted to smooth stone. Lifting the back flap of the wagon, Thorn could see a massive span stretching across a deep gorge-an impressive piece of architecture that seemed beyond the skills of the architects of Graywall. Three more wagons rolled across the bridge behind her, surrounded by gnoll soldiers. A trio of gargoyles circled in the sky above.
The wagons continued to move forward, and Thorn let the flap close. They rolled another fifty paces, then a shriek of alarm pierced the skies-the cry of a gargoyle scout, quickly picked up by another. Toli clenched his fist and a shield appeared-an oval formed from dark energy-and he moved his arm to protect Beren. Thorn watched Drego Sarhain, but the Thrane took no action; was he oblivious, or did he have such great confidence in the Thrane guards that he had no fear? She drew Steel, keeping the blade hidden against her inner arm.
Then the song began… and moments later, the screaming.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Korlaak Pass Droaam Eyre 12, 998 YK
The song was the most beautiful sound Thorn had ever heard, but it was too far away for her to make out the words. She needed to move closer, to find a place where she could hear the lovely song. Then a second voice chimed in, and a third, a chorus coming from all around her.
The first scream came within moments, and it didn't come from a human throat. It was a wailing howl, a gnoll's cry of terror, and it faded too quickly for comfort. The scream snapped Thorn free from her reverie and into chaos.
With each passing moment, a new scream rose outside the wagon, but Thorn was more concerned with the situation within. The dwarf Grenn had drawn his sword and began cutting a hole in the canvas covering the wagon. A dreamy, distant look filled his eyes, and Thorn remembered the urge to follow the exquisite music, to reach its source. The effect had completely taken hold of Grenn. And he wasn't alone. One of the gnolls had leaped out the back of the wagon. Drego Sarhain was holding onto the old priestess while the two Thrane soldiers were cutting their own holes in the canvas. Toli wrestled with Lord Beren, struggling to keep the diplomat inside.
Harpies, Steel whispered, confirming Thorn's thoughts. She could imagine the scene outside the wagons. Harpies beyond the bridge, calling out in their beautiful voices… and gnolls and guards leaping to their deaths in a doomed quest to reach the miraculous sound.
What can I do?
Someone else had an answer. Ghyrryn dropped his axe and drew an object out of a pouch on his belt-a round stone about the size of a human eyeball. He threw it to the floor and a thunderous explosion shook the wagon. There was no flame-just an immense boom that replaced both song and screams with a dull ringing.
Thorn shook her head, catching her bearings. Grenn was missing, but the deafening blast had shattered the harpy's seductive power, and the others were clutching their heads and gathering their wits. Three gnolls were still in the wagon-Ghyrryn, the archer Jharl, and a halberdier who hadn't spoken during the journey.
Ghyrryn snatched up his axe and struck the flat against the canopy to attract attention. Once all eyes were upon him, he made a sweeping gesture encompassing the passengers, then pointed at the floor. The meaning was plain enough-stay here! He turned and jumped off the wagon, accompanied by the archer. The halberdier moved into the center of the coach, lowering his weapon to block the passage.
Toli pushed Beren back onto the bench. The lord's hand was on the hilt of his sword, and his lips were drawn back in a scowl. Toli was right-as a diplomat, Beren needed to stay out of danger. But the soldier in him surely wanted to take the fight to the enemy. Thorn knew the feeling intimately.
The canvas of the coach offered no sanctuary. Deafened as she was, Thorn didn't hear the arrows tearing through the cloth, or the cries as they bored into flesh. Toli staggered under the impact of an ash shaft that drove through his breastplate and into his shoulder. Bad as it was, he was still alive; one of the Thranes wasn't so lucky. Younger than Thorn, she wouldn't see another season; an arrow passed fully through her throat, and two more lodged in her chest. She collapsed against the edge of the wagon, leaving a trail of blood as she slid down. The old priestess pushed Drego aside and bent over the young woman, and silver fire blazed around her wizened hands. But whatever sacred powers she possessed, it was too late for the Thrane; the flames sealed the flesh, but she could not catch her spirit.