across from it, rearing up on stone legs. Thorn had seen this tableau before… the picture on the last page of the golden book.
And there, standing in front of the griffin, was the figure of a man in armor, his arms at his sides. Thorn couldn't see his features, but she already knew it was the Knight of Storms.
Sheshka recognized him as well. 'There!' she cried. She started to run forward, but Thorn tackled her after only a few steps, taking her down to the ground. A serpent snapped at Thorn's face, but this time she was ready. She batted the snake aside with her open hand.
Sheshka whirled to face her, and Thorn snapped her eyes shut; she could feel the queen's anger. 'What are you doing?' she hissed.
'Possibly saving your life. Again,' Thorn replied. She'd seen it just in time. A faint ripple in the air-the telltale sign of a magical ward, and a powerful one at that. 'Whoever carried the statue down here didn't leave him unprotected.'
Thorn slowly stood up, drawing Steel from his sheath. 'What can you tell me?'
'I know nothing of such things,' Sheshka replied. 'I have never encountered a ward down here before.'
Thorn ignored her; it was Steel's analysis that she wanted.
This is no simple alarm, he said. This is strong offensive magic. Poetic. It's set to petrify anyone who crosses the boundary. Seek a statue, become one yourself.
Thorn sighed. She hated being right. A pinch of silver dust gave a momentary glimpse of the shape of the ward… a mass of wavering glyphs floating in the air like snowflakes, whirling around the Stormblade statue. It was one of the largest she'd seen; whomever had woven this trap had tremendous mystic skill. Sora Katra? Sora Teraza? Did they send Thorn expecting that she'd join the stone army?
Thorn considered her tools-the picks, powders, and oils that she used to disrupt magical energies. She let a few drops of nightwater fly across the boundary. They evaporated instantly.
It was too powerful, too well woven. She considered the pattern again; it was flawless. It had no gaps to exploit. She couldn't break it.
But she had another option.
Tucking her tools into her cloak, Thorn stood up. 'Sheshka?'
The medusa seemed to know what she was thinking. 'This is not an ending.'
Thorn stepped forward, across the line of the ward. For an instant she saw the glyphs shimmering around her. Then she felt the touch of magic, chill tendrils spreading through her bones.
And then she felt nothing at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY — NINE
The Ossuary Droaam Eyre 20, 998 YK
She found no darkness, because she had no eyes to see. Neither pain nor the lack of pain; she had no nerves or muscles. She couldn't even give form to these ideas, for she had no mind to channel her thoughts. All she could truly feel was a sense of loss, that everything had been stripped away from her… even though she could no longer explain what 'everything' had been.
She felt no sense of time. Years might have passed, or seconds. She couldn't trap memories in the stone pathways of her mind; she knew only that once it had been different.
Then something changed. A thousand sensations passed over her in an instant, along with the awareness that there were such things. Pain. Cold. Fear. And then Thorn was back in her body, struggling to stand on legs that were suddenly able to bend.
A stone knight stood before her, his open hands spread at his sides. He was a large man, tall and muscular. He wore no helmet, and his features were rough, but handsome. His was a face that had seen many battles, hardened by fire and steel. He was dressed in plate mail, and it was the armor of a soldier on the battlefield, not the ornate gear of a jousting knight. The only adornments on the armor were the dents and scars from the hundreds of blows it had turned aside. That the man could fight in such heavy armor was a testament to his strength. The only decoration he wore was the symbol on his tabard, barely visible on the statue. The cloth was torn, but Thorn could see the outline of a shield on his chest, bearing a simple silhouette of a crown. The Shield of the Crown.
Harryn Stormblade.
Memory followed sensation, flowing back into Thorn's mind. With this came the realization that Sheshka stood directly behind her; a serpent was brushing against the back of her head. 'Help him! Quickly!'
In studying the trap, Thorn realized that she couldn't disable it. But she could sense the power within the ward, and that it would take time to rebuild its energy after being discharged. Only a living creature could trigger the effect; she couldn't have thrown a rock through the field. Knowing that Sheshka had the ability to restore her flesh had given her the answer. Her sacrifice had drained the ward. They had only seconds to act before the magical field was restored.
Sheshka leaned close to the petrified knight. It was the image Thorn had seen on the last page of the golden book-the knight standing before the griffin, the hydra with its heads coiled above the medusa. Sheshka pressed her lips against Harryn's neck, and stone became metal and flesh.
Thorn waited. The instant she saw the change, she grabbed the man's arm, pulling him out of the petrifying trap. He followed, confused, staggering in his heavy armor.
'Sheshka!' Thorn shouted.
The petrification glyphs have been restored, Steel said.
Thorn spun around, barely remembering to close her eyes. Sheshka tumbled into her, and the two fell to the ground. Although she'd lost her balance, she was still flesh and blood. The medusa's snakes hissed and snapped at the air. Steel scolded her for trusting their fate to Sheshka's hands. Caught between them, eyes squeezed shut, Thorn found herself laughing… something she'd had little opportunity to do in Droaam. She continued to chuckle as Sheshka pulled free, struggling to regain her footing and her dignity. To her surprise, the medusa queen extended a hand and helped pull Thorn to her feet.
'Thank you,' she told the medusa. 'You could have just left me-you promised only to restore Harryn.'
'You have spilled the blood of my enemies. You called to me when I stood on Dolurrh's doorway. You were not born in my egg-clutch, and I offer nothing to your nation. But you are my sister, Thorn.' Her voice was weary, and the motions of her vipers were sluggish. It seemed that the act of restoration was an effort for her.
Thorn pulled back her hood and drew down the mask covering her lower face. 'It's Nyrielle,' she said. 'Nyrielle of Breland.'
If Sheshka was surprised, she gave no sign of it. 'I am honored by your trust, Nyrielle Tam. But it is as Thorn that you saved my life. And it is Thorn who must face the road ahead. You have your prize. Now you must decide what to do with him.'
It seemed strange that the knight had remained silent throughout her conversation with Sheshka. On the other hand, he didn't know her, and he was undoubtedly confused. She turned to speak to him, but her voice died before it left her tongue.
Harryn Stormblade stood before her. At least, his body did. His face was as blank and expressionless as it had been when it was cast in stone. His eyes were unfocused, staring vaguely ahead.
Thorn took a step toward him, gently waving a hand before his face. No reaction. 'Harryn?' she said. 'Lord Stormblade, can you hear me?'
Nothing. He stood up straight, and he'd followed when Thorn had pulled his arm. But there was nothing to suggest that a single conscious thought floated in his head.
'You said a few centuries wouldn't hurt him,' Thorn said as she drew Steel, holding him out toward the placid warrior.
'I said that mere centuries of imprisonment would leave no mark on the soul,' Sheshka said, and there was true sorrow in her lovely voice. 'It has not. You see him as I saw him last, so many years ago.'
'What are you talking about?'
'The Stormblade and I… we knew each other for a time. Centuries ago. I was young, and I sought adventure
