Toli was still standing. His magical shield had doubled in size and was almost the height of a man. He'd forced Beren behind it, leaving himself exposed. A spreading bloodstain darkened the fabric of his cloak, and his gritted teeth and the shaft of the arrow were mute testimonies to his devotion to his homeland.
The gnoll soldier still guarded the back of the wagon, but Thorn had no intention of sitting and waiting for the next volley of arrows. Grenn had left a wide hole in the canopy next to her. Given the horrors surrounding them, it was reasonable for the courtier to faint-and an unfortunate coincidence that she slipped into the gap in the cloth and fell through it. Thorn saw Drego Sarhain turning toward her, reaching for her, but he wasn't fast enough to catch her.
It was a short fall, but Thorn was able to twist in the air and get her feet under her. As she landed, she took stock of the world around her.
It was worse than she'd imagined. A trio of harpy archers swept overhead, raining arrows on the blue wagon. She saw the corpses of at least half a dozen gnolls, though she took some comfort from the broken body of a harpy smashed against the bridge.
The worst part was the chaos. The gnolls that had managed to deafen themselves could resist the harpies' song, but they couldn't coordinate their actions. As she took in the situation, Thorn could see that the passengers weren't the only ones threatened by the magical compulsion; the beasts of burden were equally vulnerable, and some were trying to respond to the song Thorn could no longer hear. Beyond the blue wagon, a pair of gnolls was helping a group of gnomes and halflings out of an orange-brown coach, practically throwing the small folk to the ground. Ahead of them, two more gnolls were struggling with the creatures pulling the wagon-massive horses with scaly skin and sharp teeth-while a third gnoll fought to cut the tethers binding the beasts to the vehicle. It was no use. The bizarre horses knocked the handlers aside and charged toward the edge of the bridge. A low lip was all that separated the edge of the stone span from the chasm below, and the horses leaped over the edge, the wooden front wheels shattering as the carriage was pulled after them.
This is an unwise course of action, Steel told her. Though Thorn's ears were still ringing from the thunderstone, the voice of the dagger was perfectly clear. If you reveal your talents in front of the other delegates-or worse, the gnolls-you'll place the entire mission at risk. Let the soldiers and the bodyguards handle this. You are a political aide, not a warrior of legend.
"Just tell me how many harpies we're dealing with," Thorn said, hoping Steel could hear her. She couldn't even make out the sound of her own voice.
A gargoyle was sprawled on the ground near the blue wagon, riddled with arrows-no small feat, given the toughness of the creature's stony hide. Thorn seized hold of a leg and dragged the corpse beneath the carriage; she expected it to be a chore, but the body was surprisingly light, as if stuffed with straw.
There are fourteen harpies in the air, Steel told her. However, in planning such an ambush, I would have placed the singers beneath the bridge, where they could be shielded from attack.
Weaving a spell proved to be a challenge. Thorn couldn't hear her own voice, and her chosen incantation always required a little improvisation. She was afraid she might miss a syllable, dispersing the mystical energy.
Focus, she told herself. Stone and strength. Horn and wing. With her gestures and whispered words in the Draconic tongue, she painted a picture of the gargoyle, and she felt the familiar tingle as the illusion took shape around her. The wings were the weakest element. She couldn't stretch the disguise very far beyond her own body, so her illusory wings were folded against her sides. Like her medusa guise at the Bloody Tooth, it wouldn't hold up under close inspection, but it would serve her purpose.
"I hate this part," Thorn muttered, still unable to hear her own words. The next incantation was shorter and simpler, but the spell required a certain talisman to trigger its effect. As she completed the final gesture, Thorn felt the mystical potential building around her. She pulled a box from a hidden pocket, a tiny container too small for even a ring. Flipping it open, she inhaled quickly, drawing a little spider into her mouth. She swallowed before it could start to crawl. Damned spiders.
With a thought, she drew her rapier out of the magical pocket in her right palm and let it fall to the ground. She'd need Steel for the work that lay ahead, and until then she'd need both hands. Each glove could hold only one object, and she wasn't about to leave the magical book on the ground.
What are you-Steel's words were cut off as Thorn drew him into her glove. With all her preparations in place, she leaped out from beneath the wagon.
The battle on the bridge raged around her. Gnoll archers had killed a few harpies and injured a handful, but another wagon was teetering on the edge of the bridge. The remaining harpies targeted the gnolls who were working to control the coaches, and it was a deadly game. The gnolls fought viciously, and a few of the foreign soldiers and even delegates were scattered among them. One of the gnomes Thorn had seen earlier was pointing a wand of pale wood at the sky, unleashing bright bursts of mystical energy that chased his harpy foe no matter how she ducked or swooped. Another gnome lay stretched out in a pool of blood.
Thorn darted along the span and then over the edge of the bridge. To anyone watching, the sight was ordinary-a gargoyle joining the fight, leaping off the bridge to take to the air. But Thorn didn't jump from the bridge-she slipped over the stone lip and set her hands against the sheer surface of the outside wall. Using the energy of her second spell, she crawled down the bridge like a spider.
Though her clothing was hidden by the illusion, Thorn could feel it moving against her skin, the cloak falling over her shoulders as she descended head-first down the wall. Deafened as she was, her world was reduced to sight, smell, and touch. An unconscious glance down into the gorge revealed the corpses scattered along the riverbed far below. It was a discomforting sight, but Thorn was a gifted climber even without the aid of magic. She shook off her concerns and proceeded carefully.
It took only moments for Thorn to reach the lower edge of the bridge, and she peered under the stonework. Steel's theory was accurate. Three harpies were perched on the struts below the bridge-the closest less than twenty feet from Thorn. A handful of gargoyles was clustered around the creatures, and for a moment Thorn was mystified. Then she realized that the harpies were still singing, even though she couldn't hear them. The gargoyles had been drawn to the object of their fascination, and they listened to the song, blissfully unaware of anything around them. The harpies ignored the gargoyles, and that would make her job all the easier. She would appear to be just one more victim, slowly making her way toward certain death.
As Thorn reached the nearest strut, another of the huge horses tumbled off the side of the bridge, plummeting hundreds of feet. It had been cut free from its harness, but the loss of any of the beasts was surely a problem for the caravan. She needed to act quickly, but without alerting her prey.
For the moment, her slow pace gave her time to consider her target. The harpy had the torso of a human woman, her skin weathered and deeply tanned, her hair wild and windblown. Dark leathery wings sprouted from her shoulders, and as she sat in repose, these were folded against her back. Her legs were those of a bird of prey, with long talons clutching the stone. A host of possibilities ran through Thorn's mind, but she most wanted a swift kill.