CHAPTER THIRTY
The Ossuary Droaam Eyre 20, 998 YK
Harryn's eyes never left Thorn's as the howls echoed throughout the hall. From the sound, the beasts were at the entrance to the Ossuary, still some distance away. The fact that they were announcing their presence suggested they saw this as a game, a hunt to be savored.
'Wolves,' he said. 'Your enemies?'
'Yes,' she said. 'But they're worse than wolves. They're-'
'You need not explain.' He lowered his sword. 'I am Harryn of Thronehold, called the Stormblade. You have an honest face, Thorn of Breland. And it seems we have a common foe.'
'Yes. That we do. And about that foe, they aren't wolves. They're-'
'Shapechangers.'
'Yes. Why would you guess that?'
Harryn was studying the chamber, and she could see the wheels turning in his mind. He was judging the field of battle, looking for ways to turn it to his advantage. 'If two centuries have truly passed, it appears there's been little progress. And I fear that your dagger is a poor weapon for the work that lies ahead.'
'Well,' Thorn raised her hand and summoned the myrnaxe out of the air. 'We've made some progress.'
Harryn's eyes widened slightly. But he had no time to discuss magic; the enemy was closing fast. They heard a woman's voice, faint and far off, at the distant entrance to the great hall of statues.
'Spread out. Forgahn, right. Ghass, left. Farhn, guard this post. The rest of you, with me.'
The light from Harryn's blade faded. It wasn't entirely dead, but it wouldn't reveal their presence. Harryn whispered, 'Tell me about this place.'
'I know of only one exit to the surface,' Thorn said, pointing toward the passage. 'And it sounds like it's being watched.'
Harryn tapped a statue. 'These are everywhere?'
Thorn nodded.
'Then we'll use them.' He made his way through a column of hobgoblin soldiers. Ahead of them, vast numbers of broken statues had been piled together in heaps; the result was a series of makeshift walls formed from the shattered corpses, a hedge maze built from lost souls.
'What about Sheshka?' Thorn whispered. She didn't plan to leave the medusa to the mercy of the wolves.
Harryn's face was turned away, but she could see the muscles in his neck tighten. 'What was she doing here?'
'She released you. I don't know what happened between you, but it's been two centuries, Harryn. She risked her life to save you.'
'As long as you're Thorn, call me Stormblade,' he said. 'And you're correct. You don't know what happened.'
Thorn opened her mouth to retort, then closed it and pointed. A light flickered up ahead-the glow of a torch. The wall of statues blocked their line of sight, but the torchlight shone through the gaps in the heap of granite goblins, flickering across frozen faces and clutching hands. Thorn studied the motion of the light, the shadows that she saw… two figures. One humanoid, holding the torch, and a wolf, sniffing for a scent they hadn't left. She signaled Harryn, pointing at the enemy, indicating the path she planned to take. He nodded, and she stepped away.
She was finally on her own.
Sheshka was a huntress, but she was no match for Thorn. And legend or not, Stormblade was a soldier, slowed by his heavy armor; Thorn could hear him as she slipped away. If Thorn could hear it, the nearby wolf likely could as well-she had to act quickly. Her enemies were exposed by their torchlight, but Thorn was the hunter in the dark, slipping among the statues. Stormblade was leading their enemies away, backing deeper into the hall, while Thorn was closing in behind them.
Thorn slipped around a wall of stone, avoiding an outstretched hand frozen in granite. She saw them-an ogre carrying the torch, and a gray wolf padding along at his side. They moved cautiously, the wolf leading the way. It hadn't howled yet, but that could come at any moment. Thorn leaped up onto the mass of goblins, moving soundlessly along the wall of stone corpses. The wolf and its companion crept along the wall. Thorn drew ever closer.
And then Harryn Stormblade stepped into view, blue sparks crackling around his silver blade.
The pair had been sent to hunt Sheshka. At the least, they were surprised to see the knight with the gleaming sword, and Thorn seized the distraction. She dropped down from above, the silver tip of her spear flashing in the torchlight.
The wolf never had a chance to howl. Pulling the spear free from the creature's spine, Thorn swung the axe blade in a low arc, hoping to slash the muscles in the ogre's leg. The axe was plain steel, but this was just an ogre…
Except that it wasn't.
Thorn had only seen the beast from behind. He walked on two legs, and he wore the armor of a guardsman of the Crag. But up close, she saw the bristly black hair along his arms. His posture was hunched, more than most ogres. And his head had a strange shape, long and blunt, with great tusks rising from his mouth. It looked as if a sculptor had taken a clay figure of a fierce boar and forced it into the form of an ogre, retaining as much of the beast as possible.
Her axe cut into the creature's flesh, but it didn't have the impact she'd hoped for. Her enemy was still on his feet. He turned to face her, and she felt flecks of spittle on her face as he snorted and raised his cleaver. But the blow never fell. A flash of light blazed as Harryn's sword cut through the blade of the weapon and into the arm of the beast. The ogre flailed wildly at his foes, but it was no use. Thorn danced away from the clumsy blow, while Harryn swatted it aside with his blade.
The ogre was still a fearsome foe. Thorn remembered how much trouble it had been to bring down his cousin in the Crag, and this creature had the added muscle of the boar. Thorn took a deep breath, ready for a long, hard fight.
Harryn stepped to the side, slashing at the beast, handling the greatsword with the speed and dexterity of a rapier. No single cut caused much damage, but he forced the beast to turn, building its rage. The ogre was snorting and spitting, and Thorn was completely forgotten, until she sank her silvered spear into its back, piercing lung and heart. Blood flowed down the haft, and the creature roared in pain and anger.
Thorn felt the pulse of the heart, and she knew the wound was mortal. But the ogre-boar wasn't willing to fall. He spun around with such force that it tore the spear from her hands, and he charged at her, bloody foam flecking his lowered tusks. Harryn's blade was gleaming in the darkness, but there was no time for the Stormblade to reach her. Thorn rolled to the side, drawing Steel and flinging the dagger with all her might. It caught the ogre in the right eye, and the creature staggered sideways. He caught himself with one massive hand splayed against the floor, then collapsed, his tusk snapping as it struck the stone.
The beast was transforming as Thorn retrieved Steel. She pulled the myrnaxe from the ogre's side, the bone twisting as the features of the boar faded away.
'How can you still be fighting these creatures and not know of Drukan Moonlord?' Harryn whispered. 'Just tell me… tell me that Galifar has survived, that these things have not destroyed our glorious land.'
'Well, these things haven't destroyed Galifar,' Thorn said. She pushed forward before Harryn could respond to her hesitant tone. 'I told you, I've never heard of this Moonlord, and I've never seen a werewolf until today. According to the stories, they were wiped out over a century ago.'
'How?'
Thorn wanted to move. The other hunters had surely heard the ogre's death cry. But Harryn had locked his hand around her wrist, and his grip was a vise.
'I know this is strange for you, Stormblade, but I wasn't even alive then. From what I've heard, it was a
