She knew she couldn't fight Xorchylic. He was too strong, one of the chosen lieutenants of the Daughters of Sora Kell. The master of Graywall would shatter her will and consume her mind, and no one would drive a dagger through her brain. There was only one thing she could do. As she shimmered into view, she stared directly into the mind flayer's eyes.
For an instant she saw her image reflected in the pale white orbs, saw the snakes coiling around her head and the scales covering her skin. Then Xorchylic jerked away, raising his hands to shield his eyes, a satisfying pulse of pure terror radiating from his mind.
It took something terrifying indeed to frighten a mind flayer.
Thorn snatched Kalakhesh's bag off the floor and leaped forward, racing toward the arch leading to the street. The creatures in her way cried out in shock and fear, turning away and covering their faces. As she ran, Thorn thrust her hand inside the sack. Dropping her weapon into the space within, she formed an image of the bag of rubies in her mind, and as she'd hoped, she felt the contents shift and the purse rise into her grasp.
STOP!!! The thought was carried on a wave of agony. All around Thorn, creatures twitched and screamed. A goblin collapsed, and a gargoyle dug furrows in its stony skin with its claws. But the pain flowed around her. She could feel the flayer's fury, though it was a distant echo; something pushed it away from her mind. Thorn didn't waste time questioning her good fortune. In his anger, the mind flayer had inadvertently stunned anyone who might have tried to block Thorn's path, including his own minions. Three ogres and a troll wearing the armor of the Flayer Guards spanned the archway, but all were moaning and clawing at their skulls.
She slipped between the wart-covered legs of the troll, pulled the gem pouch from the sack and scattered the contents behind her, littering the floor with rubies. The stones would make for treacherous footing, and she could already hear the yelps of gamblers as greed warred with fear. Trusting that the chaos would buy her a few moments, Thorn leaped through the open arch and into the night that lay beyond.
CHAPTER THREE
The City of Graywall Droaam Eyre 11, 998 YK
Three full moons hung in the sky over Bone Lane. Graywall was a nocturnal city, and those creatures that shunned the sun came out to barter and fight under the light of the moons. Bursting out of the Bloody Tooth, Thorn ran headlong into the milling throng of monsters. She pressed into the crowd, darting between the legs of giants and leaping over goblins, weaving her way through the maze of flesh and fur. An orc stepped into her path, a squat warrior with steel-tipped tusks and an ugly cleaver. As soon as he caught her eye, the orc gave a strangled cry, dropping his blade and hurling himself out of her way.
A narrow alley lay to her right, and Thorn ducked into the opening. She'd done some scouting before her meeting-a little labyrinth of narrow passages hid that way, too small for any ogre or troll to follow. She took a moment to rest and to remember the path to return to the palace.
A puddle of water lay ahead of her, and Thorn studied her reflection. Her skin was covered with coppery scales, her teeth sharp needles, and her hair was a mane of living serpents, coiled as if ready to strike. The face of a medusa. It was the first spell she'd cast in the Bloody Tooth-an illusion to cloak her appearance, disguising herself as this monster. The people of Droaam dealt with medusas, and they knew the deadly consequences of meeting a medusa's gaze. Though Thorn's eyes lacked that mystical power, the fear was sufficient to shake even Xorchylic. The disguise wouldn't hold up under long examination, but it had served its purpose. Her reflection blurred as the mystical energies faded, and Thorn could see her own true face. She reached into Kalakhesh's sack and retrieved her dagger.
'We're safe,' she whispered.
I doubt it, Steel said. Disguised or not, you revealed yourself to Xorchylic. He'll be able to track your thoughts.
'Please,' Thorn said. 'I know we haven't worked together before, but I am a Dark Lantern. I learned counter-divination my first year.'
And Xorchylic is a mind flayer, one of great power. Your technique is impressive, but we can only guess at his mental abilities.
'You didn't see his eyes,' Thorn said. 'Whatever powers he might have, he was too surprised to get a lock on me.'
Then he will find another way. The trackers of the Znir Pact can follow a trail better than any hound, and your scent is all over that tavern.
'I have a plan,' Thorn said. 'And I don't need to explain every detail to my dagger.' She returned the dagger to its sheath before Steel could respond.
Thorn had learned only a handful of spells… brief invisibility, disguise, the power to leap a great distance or cling to a sheer surface for a few moments. Her greatest trick was a ritual that concealed her scent and hid all traces of her passage. Thorn had planned to use it to cover her escape, but her ability to draw on magical energy was limited-and she hadn't expected to cast so many spells in the Bloody Tooth. She reached out with her thoughts, flexing her fingers and whispering the first syllable of the spell, but it was no use. Without the power, the words had no effect, and she couldn't draw from the source of the magic. But there were other ways to block pursuit.
Thorn moved deeper into the maze of alleys. The three moons above spread light and shadow across her path. Rhaan's pale blue radiance blended with the reddish light of Aryth to cast a purple hue across the city. Faint Sypheros was shadowy even when it was full. The orange moon, Olarune, wouldn't be truly full for at least a few days, but this was the month of Eyre, and her moon was especially bright. Once it was high in the sky, Thorn imagined the night would be nearly as bright as full day.
She emerged in a small courtyard, a convergence for alleys leading to the major streets. The air was filled with a foul stench, hot blood and bitter chemicals, and even though she'd been prepared for it, Thorn had to pause to hold back the bile in her throat. The pavement was dark, crusted stone, and Thorn realized she was walking across dried blood.
A high, sharp scream rang out to her left, only to be cut off by the sound of steel on stone and a bugbear's laughter. Thorn didn't reach for her blades. There was no danger here. The sounds and the blood both came from a slaughterhouse, where the bugbear butchers were preparing meat for a city of monsters. The tannery next door processed the hides produced by its neighbor, and together the industries produced the vile odor that permeated the courtyard. The smell was enough to turn Thorn's stomach, and it would be a thousand times worse for any creature with a sensitive nose. All she had to do was mask her scent, rubbing some of the offal from the killing floor across her clothing. Even if they used trackers, the stink would cover her true scent, making her indistinguishable from any other slaughterhouse worker. She had only one problem: the beast sitting in front of the slaughterhouse gate, calmly devouring a pair of equine legs.
Her first impression was of his face. He looks like King Boranel, she thought, knowing that was madness. The strong brow, prominent nose, wide cheekbones, even the thin mustache and goatee… all strikingly reminiscent of Breland's king. Of course, the creature's head was twice the size of Boranel's, and his bloodstained mouth was lined with a double row of vicious teeth. Red, leathery wings spread out as the creature met her gaze, revealing the tawny flanks of a lion. A manticore.
Thorn had seen manticores before. During a mission in the Mror Holds, she was set upon by a gang of dwarf separatists mounted on manticores. This beast was larger than she remembered, his features less bestial than his Mror cousins. And where the eastern manticores had clusters of quills along their tails, this beast had a scorpion's barb. Wings and stinger… part wyvern, she thought idly. And part king. I wonder what Steel will make of this.
'Are you hungry, little one?' the manticore rumbled. Blood dripped onto the stones as he spoke. 'You're welcome to a leg. I assume you don't want an arm.'
He leaned down and Thorn heard the crack of snapping bone. When he rose again, a human arm dangled from his jaws. Then Thorn saw the bare and bloody torso, the stump of the neck-the corpse of a centaur. The manticore raised his head and wolfed down the arm, keeping one eye fixed on Thorn as he swallowed.
Though Thorn's first instinct was to flee, she held her ground. Compared to the mind flayer, this creature was almost mundane. And the manticore seemed more curious than aggressive; it was testing her.
It was an opportunity.
