The leaves were sharp and bitter, and Thorn grimaced. Harryn was bandaging the rat bite on her shoulder, which was the worst of her injuries.
"What is this?" she said.
"Wolfsbane."
She spat it out. Time to go back to Fharg, she thought. "That's poisonous!"
Harryn looked at the leaves. "Don't worry. It's a small risk, but it's better than the alternative."
"He speaks the truth," Sheshka said.
Harryn returned to his work, examining the scratches on Thorn's leg. "The rats, the wolves. You've been bitten, and that means the curse was likely passed to you. The wolfsbane should drive it out of your blood."
"So I could turn into a rat?"
Sheshka said "No," just as Stormblade said "Yes."
Thorn looked at Sheshka. "You first."
"Only a few of the Children of Zaeurl have the power to pass on their 'blessing,' and even then, it needs time to take root. Even if you were infected, you would not change until tomorrow, if then."
Thorn glanced at Harryn. "Now you, poisoner."
"What she says would be true, any other time. But not beneath these six moons. If the Wild Heart truly stirs-and if the moons are in the sky-the curse is stronger than it has been in over a century. Any of the cursed can pass on their affliction with a bite, and only those with tremendous will can resist its power. Those who fall to the curse will become subjects of the Feral Master, driven to spill the blood of those they once loved. Under the light of these moons, the change could occur within moments." He had finished his work, and he slung his pack across his back and picked up his sword. "I have done all that I can. Battle calls."
Thorn was troubled. As they made their way to the surface, she moved closer to Sheshka. "Do you believe what Stormblade says?"
A few serpents turned to regard her. "I do. I told you of the skinchangers who came to this land before Zaeurl and her children. They were a dangerous breed, and those they touched turned on their own kind. The greater horrors came after the Stormblade left us. Perhaps, if I'd remained at his side… things would have been different."
"But it doesn't make sense," Thorn murmured. "You said that Zaeurl wasn't like those others… and that she was loyal to the Daughters of Sora Kell. Why would they want their people to become subjects of the Wild Heart?"
"I do not know. But Zaeurl cannot be acting alone. The skullcrushers and the war ogres are the troops of the Great Crag."
Thorn shook her head. "Perhaps. But it still doesn't feel right."
The moonlight was dazzling as they emerged from the mouth of the Ossuary. All around them, stone hobgoblins stood ready for battle, waiting for a war that ended thousands of years before. Ahead of them, they could still hear the shouts, drums, and howls of the revelers. Drul Kantar had told the truth; the welcoming feast was nothing next to the excitement of the Midnight Dawn.
"Stormblade, tell me more about the Moonlord," Thorn said as they climbed over the ruined walls of the fortress. "Do you suppose someone's taken his place this time? You said he was a tiger-could this be a woman with the soul of a wolf?"
"I know little about the Moonlord," Stormblade replied. "He claimed to be chosen by the Feral Master himself. He had power over those who were touched by the wild. He could drive them to madness or force them to do his bidding. But I don't know if these were gifts of his own, or tied to the orbs."
"Orbs?"
"The lunar orbs. Crystal spheres, relics of the first age. I know even less about them than I do about Drukan. I know only that there was one for each moon, and that Drukan sought them all."
"Silence upon you," Sheshka whispered. "We approach the city."
"This time I know where we're going," Thorn said. "I'll take the lead."
After the battle in the Ossuary and the rats in the tower, Thorn was expecting resistance. But it seemed that the Aundairian and her troops were all that the mysterious Moonlord deemed necessary to deal with the medusa queen. Goblin children chased one another through the outer ruins, and once Thorn was disturbed to meet the gaze of a rat in the shadows. The rodent appeared ordinary, but a stroke of Steel made it a moot point.
They reached the strange pool of darkness, and she stepped into it. It was as she'd remembered-a massive patch of gloom that defied the light of the moons above. Looking at it with Harryn's tale in mind, she could see it for what it was-the shadow of a vast, strange building, a structure that could not be seen. She studied it more closely, tracing the walls down to where its foundation should be. But there was a large plot of open ground, dark and wet, a patch of mire in the midst of the city-poor ground to build on, certainly. Ironweed and chunks of sharp stone rose up from the muddy surface. The swampy soil was reason enough for it to be left barren, but Thorn guessed there was another reason.
She made her way to Sheshka and Stormblade. The two had paused near a crumbling wall covered in goblin graffiti-scrawled words that might have been written in dried blood.
"I've found our shadow," she said.
Neither of them responded. They were breathing, but aside from that, neither one had moved since she returned. Even Sheshka's snakes were frozen in place. As this registered in her mind, Thorn caught a familiar scent in the air. She turned, placing her back against the ancient wall.
"What are you doing?" she said.
"I think your answer to that question must be more interesting than mine, Lady Tam. I'm pursuing the interests of my people. You appear to be working with a medusa warlord. And a changeling with a disturbing fixation on Harryn Stormblade."
The voice was as familiar as the scent-Drego Sarhain.
"You don't know what's going on here, Drego." "So tell me. You know how much I enjoy our moonlit talks."
"They're not nearly as pleasant when I'm talking to the air."
"True," he said, and then he was beside her.
If he'd truly been there all along, his skills with concealment had improved considerably. Scent and sound told Thorn he was nearby, but she hadn't been able to pinpoint his location. Yet everything else about him seemed the same. He was dressed in black and silver, his hair shone in the moonlight, and there was laughter in his eyes. But something about him was different. Like his scent, it had always been there, but she hadn't been aware of it until then.
Familiarity.
It was something in his eyes, the way he spoke, his laughter… she'd seen him before Droaam. Spoken with him. But she couldn't remember where; the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a dream. But she felt as if she knew him… and he seemed to feel the same way about her.
He smiled at her. "So what is this, Nyrielle?"
"The warlord Zaeurl is about to unleash chaos on the Five Nations. Zaeurl was the traitor all along."
Drego laughed. "That's ridiculous."
"I know it seems that way, but it's the truth. She's a werewolf, Drego-"
He placed his hand over hers, gently brushing his fingers across her skin. "I know."
Then she saw it all. Toli. The Aundairian. Steel flashed into her hand, and she let the point dig in just below his chin. "You're one of them."
He smiled and slowly raised his chin, just enough so he could open his mouth. "You're wrong. And you should know."
"And how's that?"
"You have a stone at the base of your spine, a crystal shard."
Thorn let the dagger touch his throat again. "How do you know that?"
He ignored the threat and the question. "When we were in the woods that night and the wolves approached-did you feel something in the stone? A chill, perhaps?"
She said nothing.
"And when you saw Zaeurl at the Great Crag?"
"I felt that same chill all day yesterday," she said.
"Yes… when you were with your comrade Toli, I suspect. But do you feel it now?"