"People of foreign lands!" The gnoll who had called them out to the Roar shouted. "I will tell you what carriage to ride in. I will hear no argument, and my soldiers will prevent any battles between you. Leave your struggles in this place. I care nothing for your nations, for crimes done to you or your brood. My task is to bring you safely to the Three, and if you must be chained for your safety it will be done."
Thorn glanced around the plaza at the other delegates. The dwarves from the Mror Holds, with jewels and finery fit to rival the King of Breland. The Aundairians-but which was the wizard, and which the spy? Everyone had fallen silent, waiting for the gnoll to speak.
"Aundair! Brown coach!"
Thorn watched the delegates as they moved. Both the servants had hidden pouches and pockets woven into the lining of their cloaks. One would be carrying the many tools of arcane magic-pinches of sulfur, cat whiskers wrapped in paper, little balls of guano from which to conjure fire. The other would have poisons, weapons, lock picks, and tools… the same things Thorn had hidden on her person.
Unless, of course, they were both sorcerers and spies.
"Breland! Blue coach!"
Gray was about as close to blue as anything on the plaza, so Thorn made her way toward the gray wagon. She spotted two soldiers in the red and gold uniform cloaks of the Brelish Royal Guard, escorting a familiar figure.
"Nyrielle! There you are!" Lord Beren ir'Wynarn beamed as he caught sight of her, and his escorts turned to face her. "Gentlemen, Nyrielle is here as my aide. Nyri, meet Toli and Grenn, the worst layabouts my cousin could find. I'd say the bear was trying to kill me, but I think you and I could take on these brutes ourselves, eh?"
Thorn laughed, but it was Nyrielle who answered. "Normally, I could fight an even dozen, my lord, but I slept poorly last night. You'd be unwise to rely on me today."
"Then I suppose it falls to me," Beren grumbled, grinning behind his beard. "Good thing I'm up to the challenge. Did I ever tell you about my victory over the champion of Kalnor Pass?"
"I've had the honor of hearing the tale, Lord Beren, but I've always heard it said that your royal cousin King Boranel fought that battle."
Beren waved this aside. "Oh, I let it be spread about that way, yes. Good for morale. But you ask Boranel where the brute's axe is… and then come to my manor and see what hangs above the hearth."
Thorn liked Beren, though she doubted that she'd ever be invited to his mansion. A senator and cousin of the king, he'd spent his younger years in battle. Age was beginning to take its toll; streaks of gray snaked through his golden hair, and there were new lines in his face. But he retained strength and pride. He might not be able to fight a dozen gnolls, but he was likely a match for either of his bodyguards.
Thorn guessed that this was how he'd drawn the assignment. The Crag Summit might be an excellent opportunity for espionage, but the diplomatic goals were equally important. Breland needed someone brave enough to sit across the table from a medusa, and someone smart enough to match wits with Sora Katra herself. Beren might not be a hero of legend, but of all the senators she'd met, he was the best.
Thorn doubted Beren knew everything about her mission-especially this business with the Stormblade statue-but Zane had told her that Beren would give her a free hand. She might be attached to the delegation as his aide, but Lord ir'Wynarn was a capable man. She suspected that he wouldn't call on her too often over the course of the summit.
She considered the guardsmen as they climbed the ladder into the coach. Despite Beren's jibes, she knew Boranel wouldn't leave his cousin in the hands of fools. Grenn was a dwarf, and his ease with his armor and the notches on the hilt of his sword spoke of long service. He smiled at Thorn, but if there was any interest in his gaze, it was simple lechery. This man was a soldier, chosen for strength and courage. Thorn was certain he'd lay down his life for his charge without a second thought-provided he saw the enemy coming.
Toli was cut from different cloth. He was taller than Beren, and his dark skin hinted at Seren Islander blood. Thorn could tell that the guard's breastplate was uncomfortable for him; she hated inflexible armor herself. The true tell was his eyes. It was subtle; he was a professional. But Thorn could see him studying her, searching for concealed weapons or other threats, just as she'd done with the Aundairians. King's Shield, she thought. One of the elite bodyguards of the realm, trained to protect the king himself. Good thing, she mused. With a rescue and a kidnapping to plan, I won't have much time to keep him safe.
Toli knew his work. He stopped Beren from climbing into the wagon, carefully testing each rung himself. He disappeared into the wagon for a moment, then appeared at the door of the carriage and offered his hand to Beren. "Please enter, my lord."
The interior of the wagon confirmed Thorn's suspicions. Troop transport. The weapon racks were empty, as were the hard wooden benches. But the odor remained, and it didn't take the nose of a gnoll tracker to recognize the scents of oiled steel, sweat, and damp bugbear fur. Bugbears and gnolls were taller than humans, and the benches were too high and wide for comfort.
As they tried to settle themselves, a gnoll climbed up into the wagon. Unlike his cousins, his fur was black, with a crest of red-orange running from his forehead to the base of his spine. Like most gnolls, he had spotted fur; gray patches mottled the coarse blackness. All together, it gave the impression of a line of flame along his back, with flecks of ash blowing across his body.
Thorn could see Toli tensing, his hand slipping to the hilt of his sword. The gnoll wore a small, wedge-shaped shield on one arm. The lower end tapered to a narrow point, sharpened on either side, and Thorn could imagine it being used to disembowel a foe at close range. His other hand held a long axe with steel at both ends. One head was a heavy crescent blade. The other was a spearhead, sharpened along the edges. The ugly weapon showed as much wear as Grenn's sword; Thorn was certain this beast knew the business of war.
"Ghyrryn." The gnoll pounded his chest with the blunt edge of his shield. He spoke slowly, straining to form words in the common tongue around his snout full of sharp teeth. Nonetheless, his voice was clear and deep. "You are in my charge. Breland, this side." He gestured to his right.
"Lord Beren will sit where he chooses," Toli snapped, moving between the nobleman and the gnoll.
"We'd be happy to have Lord Beren ir'Wynarn on our side of the wagon," came a voice from the back of the carriage. The speaker had climbed up moments ago, and Thorn hadn't seen him behind the gnoll.
Toli looked as surprised as Thorn, and that made her feel a little better. It was the bodyguard's job to notice such things, after all. She took measure of the newcomer, and liked what she saw. Human, male, late twenties-the picture of a young courtier. His short brown hair was perfectly groomed. His white silk shirt was spotless and bright. Black breeches. Tall boots of oiled leather. A fine black doublet with glittering silver embroidery along the collar and cuffs, woven into patterns of silver flame. His amulet caught her eye: a small silver arrowhead with the image of a flame engraved on the surface.
"Breland, on the right," the gnoll growled. "Thrane, left."
Toli frowned. Twelve nations, seven wagons. Some of the delegates would be sharing coaches. "Lord Beren. Please sit here, between Grenn and myself."
"Oh, I'd planned to speak with Nyri during our trip," Beren said cheerfully. "I hate to leave a lady without a suitable companion, and Olladra knows the two of you are terribly dull."