Drego and Harryn, the sorcerer and the knight.
Then, as she watched, she saw another battle. Another knight. An armored warrior with Drego's face. How will history remember you, I wonder?
With that thought, power flooded through her, fire blazing through every tendon. She flexed, and the silver hand holding her shattered into a thousand pieces and was gone. Steel was already in her hand as she charged forward. Drego flickered back and forth, slipping away from Stormblade's blows. But Thorn could sense the motion of the air. She could feel the currents shifting away from where Drego had been and the place he was going to be. She tried not to think; she let her instincts guide her, and the spy appeared just before the point of her blade. He was looking away from her when the blade passed along a rib and into his heart. But she heard his voice, faint and bloody.
'Well done… Sarm…'
He never finished the last word. Thorn had barely pulled Steel free when she felt his flesh harden beneath her touch. His doublet of black silk became black marble. Thorn knew what had happened even before she heard the hiss of Sheshka's serpents.
It had to be done. Thorn knew it was necessary. Her mission was to retrieve Harryn Stormblade and to protect Breland. But as she turned toward the long shadow, she saw a pair of laughing, familiar eyes in her mind, and for one moment, she hated her job.
CHAPTER THIRTY — THREE
The Crag's Shadow Droaam Eyre 20, 998 YK
Sheshka and Stormblade had heard everything. Drego's spell had paralyzed their muscles, but it had done nothing to their ears. Harryn said nothing. Thorn guessed that he was dedicated to the mission, and that for the moment everything else was secondary… even the state of Galifar. She could hardly blame him. He'd just lost more than two centuries of time; how could this seem like anything but a dream? The last thing he remembered was the fight against the Moonlord, and he was fighting that battle once more.
But the medusa queen had other plans.
'You heard him,' she hissed. 'This Moonlord is no friend to the Daughters of Sora Kell. And Zaeurl is his slave. The Daughters were never my enemy. Someone is seeking to shatter Droaam beneath their eyes.'
'And we're approaching that someone's palace in the shadows right now.'
'When I thought that all in this place stood against me, I was prepared to die at your side. But the Daughters must be told.' Sheshka was too angry to close her eyes, though she was looking away. Her serpents were seething, a roiling mass of rage.
'It's too dangerous. We're almost at the shadow now. And we don't know how many of the Crag Guards have been turned.'
'I told you before,' Sheshka said, 'that I would fight for Droaam and Cazhaak Draal. We choose our battles. You have yours. This will be mine.'
'Your power could make all the difference,' Thorn said.
'I trust that it will,' Sheshka returned. Thorn looked at Harryn. 'Do you have anything useful to add?'
The knight inclined his head, solemn as ever. 'You have always chosen your own path, Queen Sheshka. I hope that you are making the correct choice this time.'
'As do I.' Sheshka's serpents had quieted, and she closed her eyes. 'Shadow hide you, Harryn Stormblade. And you, sister Thorn.'
'Aureon light your way,' Harryn said.
Thorn said nothing. She held out her hand, and for a moment, Sheshka pressed a palm to hers. Then she turned and made her way toward the moonlit city and disappeared within the ruins.
Stormblade gazed at the mire. 'There it was, just waiting for the moons to rise. To think that I was so close… so long ago.'
'We're not inside yet,' Thorn said. 'This could be a clever illusion designed to trick people into wandering into the Crag's only swamp.'
'No. I can feel the truth of it. I held the Orb of Olarune in my hand… it seems like only hours ago. The lunar orbs are close. This is where we are supposed to be.'
Lunar orbs… the final piece she'd been missing. Suddenly it all fell into place. She knew who the Moonlord was. 'Drul Kantar,' she whispered.
'Look to the sky,' the knight said. 'Look to the moons that have passed above the tower. They are already stained with blood.'
Thorn followed his gaze. A ruddy mist was drifting across the sky; the moons that lay above it were distorted by the crimson cloud. Thorn knew nothing about the weather of Droaam-possibly, this was a natural phenomenon, but it was certainly an ill omen. 'You say you can feel the lunar orbs. Can you find the gate to this tower?'
'We shall soon see.' Sword in hand, Stormblade strode through the shadow cast by the tower. Curious, Thorn grabbed a chunk of stone from the ground, and as they drew closer, she hurled it toward the muck. She was disappointed to see it drop into the mire, scattering mud around the point of impact. At the same time, it made sense; if the tower was merely invisible, surely thousands of people would have noticed it.
They stood on the very edge of the barren land. Harryn studied it, eyes half-closed as if listening for distant music.
'Take my hand.' He set his sword against one shoulder and held out his right hand.
Thorn didn't bother asking why.
'Close your eyes and follow me.'
He pulled her forward, and as he did, everything changed. Thanks to her ring, Thorn was perfectly comfortable with her eyes closed. Scent, sound, and vibration all combined to paint a picture. And with one single step, the picture changed. Smooth stone replaced cold mud, high walls took the place of open air. Something was awful about it, like the fading memory of a nightmare-then understanding bloomed just beyond her conscious mind. The walls are built from terror, she thought, but she didn't know how or why. But the tower was the least of her concerns.
They were no longer alone.
A great cat was waiting when she opened her eyes, as if it wanted the intruders to see it before it attacked. It was a nightclaw tiger, larger than the stone griffin in the Ossuary. Thorn had seen a nightclaw only once before, when a beast had emerged from the King's Forest of Breland. By the time King Boranel and his huntsmen had brought it down, fifty-three people lay dead.
Thorn had no idea what hidden powers this beast might possess, but the chill at the base of her spine told her it was no normal animal. Beyond the nightclaw, a pack of wolves blocked the lone hallway leading deeper into the tower. Thorn couldn't even see how she and Harryn had entered; no gate stood behind them.
She had no time to ponder that question-the cat was already in motion. The nightclaw was a blur of muscle and fur as it darted toward them, claws scraping against the strange, rough stone of the floor. Fierce as it was, a more fearsome creature stood in the chamber. Harryn Stormblade's life had been stolen from him, and returned centuries later. He had awoken in the dark, among thousands of lost souls, and had been forced to fight war trolls and sorcerers. It had taken time for the hero of old to rise to his senses.
That hero had returned. A crack of thunder and a blaze of light erupted as Stormblade slashed at the beast. He moved with remarkable speed despite his heavy armor, and when the werewolves joined the fray, he slipped among them, spinning and slashing. A living whirlwind, he filled the creatures with fear and despair. Thorn joined the fight, lashing out with her silver spear, but she might as well have watched the battle. Nothing could stand in the Stormblade's way. His guard was all but impenetrable, his stamina without limit. Bear, wolf, rat, troll-all fell before his shining blade.
Until they reached the heart of the tower.
The chamber was huge. Thorn could barely see the far side of the hall. The walls were formed of rough red crystal that pulsed with a bloody light, a disturbingly unsteady beat. The roof was a vast chimney, a hollow tube
