Keith Baker: The Queen of stone

Whenever her father returned home, those wonderful weeks or months before the battles began anew, she forced him to teach her the ways of sword and shield. When her father was away, Nyrielle would wrestle and race with her brother Nandon and the other Khoravar children, building her strength and speed and waiting for the day that she could serve alongside her father on the field of battle.

That day never came. On the 12th of Barrakas, 992 YK, a courier arrived. Her father was dead, killed in a skirmish with Cyran troops. She barely remembered her mother Jaelari, who had left when Nyrielle was just a child. Her father told her that Jaelari had returned to Aerenal, the distant land of the elves, but that she had left a great treasure behind-four beautiful emeralds in the green eyes of her twin children. But those emeralds wouldn't pay her father's debts. Their home was sold and the children put to the streets.

Nyrielle and Nandon were luckier than most orphans of the war. The Khoravar-those who carried the blood of human and elf-of Wroat looked after their own. Nyrielle's father had no relatives in the neighborhood, so others took turns providing shelter for the teenagers. But it was hard for Nyrielle to be grateful.

After the death of his father, Nandon turned against Breland, spitting on the war and all Five Nations. For Nyrielle, the dream of serving Breland was all she had left. Her father had died in the war, but he'd believed it a cause worth dying for. She devoted every moment to her dream, drilling with sticks, chasing rats to build her speed, and waiting for the day she would follow in the footsteps of her father.

She enlisted three years later, and in the training camp she met Zane. At the time, he appeared to be a handsome lieutenant; she learned that it was only one of his many faces. He was impressed by her talents and her lineage; he'd known her father. Zane said that if she truly wished to serve Breland, he knew better ways to do it-battlefields more dangerous than the Crying Fields or the Thrane front. Zane gave her an introduction to the King's Citadel, the hidden hand of the Brelish crown.

The Citadel had many branches. The King's Shields were charged to protect members of the royal family. The King's Wands were the magical experts of Breland, and they provided mystical tools and training to the other branches. The King's Swords were the fist of Breland, deadly soldiers called in when force was the only answer. Nyrielle had first hoped to be a Sword, but her greatest strength wasn't her skill with weaponry. That honor went to her cunning and her speed, her ability to observe and adapt. And so she was inducted into the King's Dark Lanterns.

As a child, Nyrielle Tam had dreamed of being a soldier. Instead, she became a spy, a saboteur, and when necessary, an assassin. She became Thorn, Dark Lantern of Breland.

Open the book to the final page, Steel said.

"Why?"

Are you questioning your orders, Lantern Thorn? Steel's voice was a chilly whisper in her mind.

"I don't take orders from a piece of metal," Thorn snapped. "And I don't like being kept in the dark about the nature of a mission. What aren't you telling me? Why is Zane keeping secrets?"

I have been part of the Dark Lanterns for one hundred and twelve years, Steel said. I remember when the Lanterns served the King of Galifar, not simply Breland. I have aided true heroes, and if you think shepherding a wounded agent is some sort of honor, you-

Thorn dropped the dagger and the voice ceased abruptly. She ran her fingers over the shard embedded at the base of her skull, feeling the pressure of crystal on bone and the fire in her nerves. Thorn hated herself for giving in to the pain. She took a deep swig from the open bottle and almost choked. It was iced tal, and if that wasn't bad enough, it was sweetened with honey. I didn't think they served children here, she thought bitterly.

The red circle on the dagger glowed with a faint light, but Thorn ignored it. She picked up the sack she'd taken from Kalakhesh and studied its contents. A small loop of leather cord, just large enough to fit around a finger. A much longer coil of lightweight silk rope. A few sets of rags, the clothes of a goblin servant; a clink of glass against glass revealed vials of dark liquid wrapped up in the filthy clothes. She found a raven's quill and a few folded pieces of parchment covered with writing in the goblin alphabet.

Thorn examined each item, opening a vial to sniff the potion within, considering the cipher used on the parchment notes, testing the quill on the blanket-as she expected, it was enchanted to write on any surface. Finally, she opened the leather-bound book, turning to the last page.

Light suffused the vellum. Golden ink flowed like quicksilver, settling into words. Half the page was taken up by a picture. It showed a statue of a handsome knight, his hands at his sides, his sword absent. A woman leaned close to him, a woman with golden skin and a mane of snakes for hair. Stone monsters flanked the knight and the medusa; a mighty griffin reared up behind the warrior, a fierce hydra stood across from him. Thorn looked at the words below the image.

Without his sword, the Knight of Storms was a man divided, bereft of his past and his glory. In this state he faced the Queen of Stone and met her pitiless gaze. Now, he who had been the most loyal servant of the King was made subject to the Queen of Stone and left among the ghosts of the Crag. Three keys are needed to free him from his eternal slumber-his sword, his past, and the forgiving kiss of the Queen of Stone.

Thorn picked up the dagger. "I'm listening."

Harryn Stormblade is alive. Steel's voice was cold, but he said nothing about her earlier outburst.

Every child heard the stories. The Knight of Storms, the child of Thronehold, one of the greatest champions of unified Galifar. "He disappeared over two hundred years ago," Thorn said.

In Droaam. And now he's been found.

"In a picture book?" Thorn shook her head. "I'm impressed with the glowing pages and the magic ink, but what makes you think this is anything but a goblin scam to lighten the Brelish treasury by a few thousand galifars?"

Because we've found the statue. It's in the Great Crag. Kalakhesh confirmed it when he contacted us.

"Well, if Kalakhesh said it, it must be true." The crystal in her neck reacted to her frustration, and the pain increased with her anger. She struggled to calm her thoughts and quiet the stone.

The Silent Knives have nothing to gain from it, and you know that. Kalakhesh said that we wouldn't betray Darguun for such a sum-the same holds true for his masters. We have independent confirmation of the existence of this statue-a sketch made by one of our envoys, when the Daughters sought to be recognized at Thronehold. At the time, we assumed it was no more than a monument, a mockery of a fallen hero. Now we know it is the hero himself, most likely given to the Daughters as tribute. Your mission is to recover Harryn from the Great Crag.

Harryn Stormblade. It was easy to see why the Citadel wanted to recover the knight. Few people in Thorn's line of work believed that the current peace would hold, and the support of a true hero of legend would be a powerful tool for any leader who sought to claim the throne of Galifar. "And what of my original assignment?"

That is equally important. You must find a way to accomplish both goals.

"Lovely." But Thorn smiled as she considered the challenge, and the pain began to fade. "So what am I supposed to do? Steal the statue and bring it back to Breland? I don't think it's going to fit in my glove."

If that were the goal, I wouldn't have even mentioned the mission. You won't be stealing a statue. You'll free the man.

Thorn looked at the dagger. "That sounds more promising. How do we do that?"