one raises a weapon against me and lives.'
She released the soldier with a sudden shove that sent him stumbling to his knees. Drego Sarhain had moved between the stranger and Minister Luala, and Thorn stepped to the side, where she could get a good view of the newcomer.
At first, Thorn thought it was the elf she'd seen back at the Duurwood Camp-the hunter with his wolves. The stranger wore the same uniform-loose black hunter's clothes spattered with grey patterns to help blend into the shadows. Pale skin, hair the color of moonlight, the wide eyes and pointed ears of a full-blooded elf. But this was a woman. Older than the young hunter. And only one long elf ear emerged from beneath her hair; her left ear was missing, the wound hidden from view. My mother sends her greetings, the young elf had told the gnolls. Thorn guessed she'd just moved up the family tree.
If the son had seemed dangerous, the mother put him to shame. She wore no boots, and she stood on the balls of her feet, arms at her sides, hands open and ready. Elves weren't known for strength, and she wasn't a bulky woman, but she was slender and compact-a perfectly forged rapier set next to the clumsy club of an ogre. But what impressed Thorn the most was the conviction in the woman's large elven eyes. She had the gaze of a true predator. Thorn was certain that the woman had already sized her up and was ready to respond to any action she might take. A chill grew at the base of her spine… the same sensation she'd felt when the wolves appeared in the Duurwood.
'I am the warlord Zaeurl,' she said. 'I believe you've met my children.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Great Crag Droaam Eyre 18, 998 YK
I beg your pardon,' Luala said, carefully studying the newcomer. 'You must have us confused with some of the other delegates. I don't know you, let alone your relatives.'
'I said my children, not my relatives.' Zaeurl was smiling, but it wasn't a pleasant sight. An air of menace hung about this huntress; she was used to being feared, and it had become a part of her. Thorn remembered the way the gnolls had reacted to the wolf pack in the woods; a strange tension had been present then, a sense of an unspoken and deadly secret. She felt that now, mingling with the pain in her spine. 'And I misspoke. You may not have seen my children, but they certainly saw you. It was my pack who watched your way for the last five days, shielding you from further attacks. And they told me about you-the silent woman with the silver flame at her throat, and her handsome toy.' She glanced at Drego. 'That would be you, boy.'
'I'd gathered that,' he said.
'Warlord,' Thorn said. 'What does that mean, exactly? Do you command the armies of Droaam?'
'Less formal than that,' Zaeurl said, turning her gaze on Thorn. 'I suppose you might say 'baron' in your lands. My fellow warlords all command military forces. Should we return to war, our Queens will guide our actions. It helps to have a commander who can see the future.'
'And your soldiers?' Drego said. Thorn could see that he was still on alert, ready to act… and it seemed like a wise decision. Zaeurl's eyes narrowed when he spoke, and her muscles stiffened; clearly, she disliked the Thranes.
'Hunters and scouts, mostly. We know the ways of the woods better than anyone else in Droaam, man or beast.'
'And what brought you to this place?' Thorn said. 'I see ogres, goblins, orcs-I haven't seen many elves in the service of the Daughters.'
'Why, the Silver Flame led me to Droaam,' Zaeurl said.
Luala frowned. 'I beg your pardon?'
'That's twice you've asked,' Zaeurl said, and there was steel in her voice. 'You could ask a thousand times, and you'd never receive it. Where were you two centuries ago, minister?'
'I beg-' Luala caught herself, and began again. 'I served in the library of Flamekeep, tending the scrolls and teaching the young acolytes.'
'And were you involved in the war in the west?'
Thorn frowned. Until the Last War, Galifar had been a remarkably peaceful kingdom. There were a handful of uprisings and ambitious lords, but little to earn the title of war. Two centuries ago…
The Purge.
Drego reached the same conclusion. 'Are you referring to the Silver Crusade?'
Zaeurl nodded. 'Call it what you will, boy. You weren't alive to see it.'
Eberron was a world of magic, and magic took many forms. It might be a blessing or a curse. Sometimes it was both, as in the case of lycanthropy-the force responsible for werewolves, wererats, and other shapeshifters of legend. Thorn had never met a lycanthrope. Since the Purge, they were few and far between.
'And what is your quarrel with the crusade?' Luala studied the warlord carefully.
'Many innocents were killed in your war,' Zaeurl said. 'I lost my first family at the hands of the Pure Flame.'
'Innocents were lost,' Luala agreed. 'Fear, and the thirst for revenge, drove people to madness. But were you there for the beginning, Zaeurl? Again, your pardon, but you do not appear as old as I. The soldiers of the Flame did not travel to the west on a mere whim. They came in response to the cries of those dying at the hands of the werewolves and their kin.'
'Propaganda,' hissed the warlord. 'Your leaders were only interested in spreading the influence of the Church throughout Aundair. You gave the people something to fear, and then you saved them from a force that was never a threat.'
'I cannot claim to know the heart of the Keeper of the Flame,' Luala said. 'I cannot know if his motives were pure. But I know that it was a time of horrors. The wolf's curse has always been feared, and rightly so. It transforms its victims in mind as well as body. One of my childhood friends tore out the throats of his wife and children after succumbing to the touch of the Rat, before we knew what it truly was.
'Back then, in the midst of the eighth century, whatever power it held was magnified a hundredfold. Even in Thrane, we heard the tales. Wolves that walked like men, slaughtering entire villages. A single bite was enough to turn a man into a monster. If the soldiers of the Silver Flame hadn't responded, the curse would have swept across Aundair and Breland, and then it would have been unstoppable.
'There were casualties, yes. It was a war, and the infected cared nothing for the lives of others. They did everything possible to mislead our soldiers, to trick them into spilling innocent blood. The tide only turned when the power of the curse itself faded-when it became more difficult for the infected to pass on their affliction. But by then, the people of Aundair were hungry for revenge. And that's when they began to turn on each other, torturing and burning their own in the name of destroying every last shapeshifter.'
'I've read the records,' Drego said. 'It's a blot on the soul of the church. But it was the madness of war. You can't judge the Silver Flame on the actions of zealots who embraced the faith in search of vengeance.'
'Don't tell me what I can do,' Zaeurl said. 'My people were driven from our homeland, burned out of the woods that had sheltered us for generations. My father was butchered before my eyes, and it was the Mockery's luck that allowed me to escape.'
'So why didn't you return?' Drego said. 'The madness ended long before I was born. The zealots of the Pure Flame are still strong in Aundair, but you'd never see such things happen today.'
'I have neither forgiven nor forgotten what was done to me and mine.' Zaeurl's eyes burned, and Drego took a step back; though she held no weapons, the woman felt dangerous. 'My family was slaughtered by your kind. And you say it's over? You've spent the last century killing one another. How many years do you think it will be before you start again?' She drew back her lips, and Thorn was certain she heard a growl. 'This is a dangerous place I have chosen as my lair, but it is an honest one. My children are treated with the respect they deserve… and if they aren't, blood is shed. If I ever return to your so-called civilized world, it will be to take vengeance of my own. Perhaps I'll see you there, minister.'
Zaeurl kept her eyes fixed on Luala's as she took a step back, and there was death in that gaze. Then she turned and strode into the crowd. Thorn found that she'd been holding her breath, and she slowly released it.
