The Ossuary was a goblin garrison, carved into the earth by the same masons that had hollowed out the tunnels of the Great Crag. It was built for creatures that could see in the shadows, and there was no source of light in the depths. Once again, Thorn was forced to rely on the vision granted by her ring, which cast the world in shades of gray. So it took her a moment to realize why the hobgoblins and bugbears around her still hadn't reacted to her presence.
They were all made of stone.
'What happened to them?' Thorn said. Presumably, they'd been petrified, but something about the situation felt wrong. The Valenar soldier in Sheshka's quarters, the rats in the white tower-they'd been caught in the midst of battle. By contrast, no signs of fear showed on the faces of the soldiers around Thorn-no sense that they'd seen this threat approaching. One of the hobgoblins had been petrified in the middle of speaking to his comrade; he held his pike at rest, not at the ready.
'They fell in the war that destroyed the goblin empire, thousands of years ago.' Sheshka still watched the stairs, waiting for any signs of motion. 'They faced one of the lords of madness, the daelkyr Orlassk, who some say was the creator of the cockatrice and the gorgon. It was Orlassk who destroyed Cazhaak Draal so long ago; then he came south to the Crag. He rose from Khyber, from tunnels that lie deep below this very fortress, and as he drew near, his sheer presence turned the guardians to stone. He petrified thousands across the city, and his troops killed ten times as many. And then, somehow, he was defeated and driven back into the depths.'
'Petrified thousands across the city? I didn't see many statues…'
Sheshka turned away from the stairs, apparently satisfied that the rats had abandoned the chase. She began walking down the wide hallway, ignoring the frozen sentinels. 'You would have, had you been here twenty years ago. It is why the Great Crag stood empty for so many millennia. The city and the lower levels of the Crag were filled with the effigies of the fallen. People said it was cursed-that the spirits of the fallen remained trapped in the stone, crying out for vengeance.' She paused and brushed a finger across the cheek of a hobgoblin sergeant. 'Surprisingly perceptive.'
'You're saying it's true?'
'Of course it's true. You want me to restore your virtuous knight, don't you? Where do you suppose his soul has been all of these years? When you die, your soul flees your body and goes to Dolurrh, where it can rest and find peace. But our power traps the soul in stone. A few centuries may leave no mark, but these soldiers have been bound for thousands of years… and they fell in battle against one of the daelkyr, the destroyers of reason. There is no rest for their spirits. The only thing worse would be if the statues were broken.'
Thorn's foot struck an object and it skidded across the floor… the frozen face of a bugbear, fallen from its statue. Sheshka smiled.
'The storytellers spoke truly when they said the spirits were trapped and tormented. Where they erred was their assumption that these unfortunates had any power. According to the tales, their ghosts would reach out from the stone to kill those who moved among them… or they would turn the offenders to stone, drawing them into their eternal nightmare.'
'But that part's not true,' Thorn said. The image of the faceless bugbear was lingering in her mind.
'People surely died, disappeared, turned up as statues in the ruins of the Crag. But this is Droaam. Savage trolls and wild cockatrices are a far more likely explanation. Still, the tale kept people from the Crag… until the Daughters of Sora Kell chose to make it the capital of their new nation.'
'So what happened to all of the statues?'
'See for yourself.'
They'd been making their way along curving tunnels, moving deeper and deeper below the surface. As Sheshka spoke, they stepped into a cavernous chamber-a hall that stretched far beyond the scope of Thorn's mystic sight. Pillars were spread throughout the hall like trunks of enormous trees. And there, in the darkness, were the petrified guardians of the Great Crag. Hobgoblins in armor, turned to stone in the midst of battle. Goblin peasants, their faces transfixed in fear. Mighty bugbears. Savage trolls. Beasts of war and burden-dire wolves, tribex, even a small wyvern with its wings broken off. Walking forward, Thorn could see no end to the chamber or to the legions of stone. Some of the statues had been positioned with great care, arranged in military formations. Others had been stacked in heaps that rose up to touch the ceiling. Many were missing limbs, or had been disfigured in other ways by the passage of time or malicious intent.
'Here are the thousands that fell at the hand of Orlassk,' Sheshka said. 'Along with some petrified in later days. The Daughters have called on the powers of my kin in the past, and in the early days of their rule, more than a few were turned to stone to serve as warning and example, and ultimately condemned to eternity in the Ossuary. And now the Stormblade has joined them.'
'What makes you so sure? You said he could be anywhere.'
'You came to this place in search of the Stormblade, yes? And you were given a message at the welcoming feast. What did it say?'
Thorn thought back. 'Nothing lost remains lost forever, not even a bone in an ossuary.'
'There is your answer. You have come in search of something long lost to you. He has been taken from the Crag. And he is here. You should not doubt the words of Sora Teraza.'
'That's ridiculous,' Thorn said. 'If Teraza knew why I was here, why would she help me find Harryn?'
'Because she is Teraza,' Sheshka replied. 'Sora Maenya is hunger, the strength of the Three Sisters. Sora Katra is cunning, and she is their voice. But Sora Teraza… she is fate. She watches the wheels of time. She convinced me to come to the Crag, when Droaam was born. Katra's words serve the Daughters and Droaam, but Teraza serves a higher power, and she always speaks the truth.'
'This is the same woman who tried to have you killed, yes?'
A ripple passed across Sheshka's mane of vipers-was this a medusa's shrug? 'The Daughters of Sora Kell may be seeking my death, yes. And if Sora Teraza has seen it, it will come to pass. Her words to you will still be true. Harryn Stormblade is here… one more bone in the Ossuary.'
'I assume the wererats were afraid of the stone ghosts,' Thorn said. 'Is that going to last?'
'I do not know,' Sheshka said. 'But I am troubled. From what I know of the rats, they are mostly goblins. Many served on the Graywall in the recent troubles. I know that they serve the Three Sisters. But they have never been bound to the Dark Pack. They struck my cousins in the same way that I was attacked, ensuring I would have no sanctuary. They may lack the courage to follow us, but I fear they are working for another. Whether it is Zaeurl or the Daughters themselves, this place will not be a sanctuary forever.'
The task seemed hopeless. Thousands of statues filled the rooms, and the women didn't even know which hall held Harryn. Thorn was about to draw Steel, to see if the dagger had any ideas, when the answer occurred to her. She knew where Harryn was. She'd already seen him.
'You've been down here before, right?' Thorn said.
'Many times,' Sheshka replied, studying the frozen faces around them. 'But in those days, the Stormblade stood in the Great Hall of the Crag.'
'I'm not looking for the Stormblade,' Thorn said. 'I'm looking for something else. What's the largest statue down here?'
Sheshka's snakes coiled and flexed as she considered this. 'There are two giants-one to the north, and one to the south. Then there's a broken wyvern. Three griffins. But the largest would be the hydra. It must have been raised down here-I don't think it could fit through the tunnels.'
Thorn nodded. 'And is one of the griffins close to this hydra?'
A few of the vipers hissed. 'Yes. How did you know?'
'Take me there.'
As they walked, Sheshka's tales of spirits trapped in stone stuck in Thorn's mind, and she wasn't sure which disturbed her more-the soldiers who stood ready to strike, or the severed heads and broken faces scattered around the hall. Worse still was the utter lack of vermin. The hall was too clean, too quiet. What could keep even the insects away?
'There it is,' Sheshka said.
The hydra was frozen in black marble. It was an awe-inspiring sight, with eight reptilian heads coiled back and ready to strike. Thorn couldn't help but think of Sheshka and the nest of vipers twisting around her head. But the hydra was a huge creature; each of its heads was nearly as large as Sheshka was tall. A griffin had been set
