Sheshka seemed to find every shadow, clinging to cover wherever it could be found. All too soon, they stumbled upon the revelers. Thorn had seen the people of Droaam at play in Graywall when ogre fought minotaur in the pit of the Bloody Tooth. Compared to the Midnight Dawn, the scene at the Bloody Tooth had been as calm as a noble's picnic.
Gargoyles darted through the sky, striking at each other with feathered rods. A trio of changeling skindancers was spinning around, flesh shifting with every step, accompanied by frenzied orc drummers. Goblins leaped through rings of fire. Trolls wrestled, using full force of tooth and claw. These beasts healed at an astonishing rate, and most of their wounds were sealed as soon as they were opened. They possessed terrifying strength; a roar went up as Sheshka slipped past a fighting ring, and Thorn saw the victor brandishing the arm of his opponent over his head.
Farther on, several giants were flinging chunks of rubble at one another. The rock-throwing seemed a sport, and the brutes had a knack for snatching stones out of the air just before they struck. The scent of blood was strong, and Thorn soon saw a giant clutching his shattered arm; apparently the game was just as dangerous as it appeared.
Trolls, ogres, giants, goblins, orcs, harpies, gargoyles… and wolves. Wolves were everywhere, in all shapes and sizes. Some were the gray wolves Thorn expected to see preying on the sheep of Eldeen farmers. But there were black wolves. Dire wolves the size of horses, with thick hides and fearsome claws. Wolves seemed to be speaking to others around them. Other beasts were in the streets, but a wolf lurked in every shadow, snarling or howling at the moons.
Thorn felt sweat bead on her skin as they slipped through the city. Time and again a wolf raised its head to taste the air as she moved past. Yet time and again, luck, skill, and magic saw her through.
But luck never lasts, skill can be matched, and magic fades away. They were finally moving away from the celebration when they passed under a strange shadow.
This doesn't make sense, Thorn thought. With all the moons in the sky, no darkness was terribly deep; buildings were casting shadows in all directions. But they'd crossed into a patch of darkness that was simply too wide and too deep for the structures around it; this was a pool of gloom.
Sheshka noticed it as well, and paused to study the ground. Then they heard the snarl behind them.
"Good fortune for me," the voice said, the growl of a beast twisted into words. The wolf was the size of a pony. The night was warm, but its breath steamed as it spoke, and its pure white fur was rimed with frost. "I sense you are no member of the Pack, little half-elf. I will freeze your blood before-"
It turned to white marble. Except for its eyes, it was hard to tell the difference.
"You could have let it finish its threat," Thorn said, trying to cover her surprise with a smile. She would need some time to get used to that.
"I suspect it was going to crack your bones and suck out the marrow," Sheshka said, stepping into an alley. "I've heard it before."
They were almost at the edge of the city, and the sounds of revelry had fallen behind them. A few goblins were clustered around campfires, eating rats and beetles roasted on sticks, but wolf and ogre seemed to have been set apart.
"Your people seem to like their solitude," Thorn murmured.
"There is a reason they chose this place," Sheshka said. "But you are correct. It is not in our nature to share our lives with other creatures. As with the Children of Zaeurl, so it is with us-our power is also our curse. It is difficult to live among creatures so fragile that one angry glare can bring death."
"But you can restore those you turn to stone," Thorn said. A tower surrounded by scaffolding stood up ahead; Thorn guessed it was their destination.
"It's not as simple as it seems." Sheshka's hand brushed against the silver collar that hung around her neck. "I am Sheshka, the Queen of Stone. To you, that may seem an arrogant title, an affectation of a woman who governs a city smaller than your Wroat or Passage. But it is not just a title of nobility. It is a statement of fact. I am the Queen of Stone. I hear the whisper of marble and granite. I have the power to release those who meet my gaze, if I so choose. For others of my kind, this takes skill with the arts of magic. Few possess such talents. Most of the time, the prison of stone is final."
Fascinating, Steel whispered. The dagger had kept silent, not wanting to distract Thorn, but for now the danger seemed to have passed. Zane will want to know about that.
"We have arrived," Sheshka said. "Be welcome in our keep."
The tower was a slender structure of white stone. It reminded Thorn of the trunk of a tall tree. A spiral ramp led up around the tower, and the pattern of a serpent's path was engraved into the stone.
"Perhaps I should go first," Thorn said. "Just to make sure there's no danger."
"And will you meet the angry gaze of my countrymen? No, this is my home, Thorn. I shall lead the way."
Sheshka strode up the ramp, holding her bow in one hand as if it were a scepter instead of a weapon. Thorn followed, keeping Steel close against her wrist. She closed her eyes; she wanted to stay as close to Sheshka as possible, and she didn't want to end up like the white wolf. Something troubled her… a smell in the air. But she couldn't place it; she still had much to learn about her keen senses.
A door waited at the top of the ramp, and it stood ajar. Sheshka walked beneath the marble arch. Her serpents hissed in a strange pattern, and Thorn wondered if it was some sort of language. With her eyes closed, she couldn't see through the entrance, but she had the sense that a number of small stone objects were scattered about the floor, perhaps the remnants of a sculptor's unfinished project.
"Greetings, my cousins!" Sheshka said. "This is a dire time indeed, and I call on you for aid and sanctuary. We must-"
Something lay on the floor in front of Sheshka. It was a granite statue of a rat… a rat the size of a small dog. The beast's snout was at least four inches long, its mouth frozen in a snarl that revealed razor teeth. One leg was raised, claws clutching the air. It was an ugly thing, pure feral rage frozen forever in stone.
But it wasn't the statue that had silenced the medusa queen. It was the shapes in the darkness beyond, the claws and teeth tearing at flesh and bone. All too late, Thorn realized what the strange scent was.
"Rats," she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY — EIGHT
The Crag's Shadow Droaam Eyre 20, 998 YK
As Sheshka's words died in her throat, the room came to life. Thorn's intuition told her of movement in the darkness, of the creatures crawling on the shelves and tables, the huge rats gnawing on the four corpses spread across the floor. She could hear the scrape of claws against wood and stone, the click of tiny teeth, and the chittering voices of the vermin all around them. The stones scattered on the floor proved that the inhabitants of the tower had put up a fight; they'd taken many of the creatures with them. But in the end, the eyes of the medusas were no match for the numbers they had faced.
"Back!" Sheshka hissed. She held her bow in one hand and her sword in the other. "Don't let them bite you!"
It was too late for that. The rats were already upon them. Thorn killed the first one that leaped toward her with a single stroke of Steel, but ten more followed in its wake. The creatures were all over her, clawing and biting. Each scratch was trivial, but the pain was a distraction. As she scattered the little beasts, something heavy landed on her back, claws digging through the mystical field formed by her bracers. It was one of the larger rats, and its teeth were long and sharp. Thorn hissed in pain as the creature sank its fangs into her shoulder, but she didn't stop moving. She thrust Steel over her shoulder, simultaneously slamming her back against the nearest wall. The impact pried the rat loose, and she felt her dagger sink into its flesh. Twisting around, she flung the speared beast to the ground.