Read Online The Queen of Stone: Thorn of Breland by Keith Baker - Free Book Online
Authors: Keith Baker
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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 hugehorses 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.
As Thorn had hoped, the harpy didn’t even glance up as she pushed her way through the gargoyles. The creature’s eyes were half-closed, as if lost in the beauty of her own song. Thorn wondered if the harpy considered it an art as well as a weapon. The haunting melody seeped into her thoughts, and a part of her wanted to pause, to listen to the music.
A thought brought Steel into her hand, and Thorn could hear the dagger’s protests. Grabbing hold of her victim’s hair, Thorn drew the blade to the side, slashing through flesh. Steel had a supernatural edge; he couldn’t cut though iron or stone, but he tore through the harpy’s neck like soft cheese. Warm blood spattered across Thorn’s arms, and the bird woman fell from the bridge, plummeting toward the bodies of those drawn to their deaths.
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—Steel didn’t get to complete the sentence. As soon as she’d completed the stroke, the dagger was back in her glove. Thorn was just another gargoyle among the others, and she had just enough time to cast a quick spell. She could see the dawning confusion on the faces of the creatures around her, and looking toward the southern end of the bridge, she could see a distantharpy staring at her fallen sister, face frozen in shock. In a moment, the foul creature would gather her wits and begin her song anew—if Thorn gave her the chance. Trying not to think about the broken bodies that lay below her, Thorn leaped out into the space between the struts.
Thorn couldn’t fly, but anyone watching might have guessed that the gargoyle could. Her
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 hugehorses 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.
As Thorn had hoped, the harpy didn’t even glance up as she pushed her way through the gargoyles. The creature’s eyes were half-closed, as if lost in the beauty of her own song. Thorn wondered if the harpy considered it an art as well as a weapon. The haunting melody seeped into her thoughts, and a part of her wanted to pause, to listen to the music.
A thought brought Steel into her hand, and Thorn could hear the dagger’s protests. Grabbing hold of her victim’s hair, Thorn drew the blade to the side, slashing through flesh. Steel had a supernatural edge; he couldn’t cut though iron or stone, but he tore through the harpy’s neck like soft cheese. Warm blood spattered across Thorn’s arms, and the bird woman fell from the bridge, plummeting toward the bodies of those drawn to their deaths.
You might have
—Steel didn’t get to complete the sentence. As soon as she’d completed the stroke, the dagger was back in her glove. Thorn was just another gargoyle among the others, and she had just enough time to cast a quick spell. She could see the dawning confusion on the faces of the creatures around her, and looking toward the southern end of the bridge, she could see a distantharpy staring at her fallen sister, face frozen in shock. In a moment, the foul creature would gather her wits and begin her song anew—if Thorn gave her the chance. Trying not to think about the broken bodies that lay below her, Thorn leaped out into the space between the struts.
Thorn couldn’t fly, but anyone watching might have guessed that the gargoyle could. Her
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