The Queen of Stone: Thorn of Breland Read Free Page B

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.
    “I’ve had all the horse I can stomach for one evening. How’s your appetite for flesh?”
    “My hunger is all-consuming,” the manticore replied. “But you have chosen your shape well. I have no taste for elf, and I see the taint of the old ones in your features.” Hesank his teeth into the centaur’s chest, tearing out the heart and swallowing it. “What brings you to this place?”
    “I wanted to take in the air.” Thorn took a deep breath and managed not to choke. “I’ve heard so much about the night breezes of Droaam.”
    The manticore laughed, thunder echoing off the walls of the square. “I see there is strength within you, despite that fragile frame. But it’s not safe to be walking the back paths at night, not with Olarune on the rise.”
    “That’s what I’ve heard,” Thorn said. “But I’ve never been one to take advice from strangers.”
    “And are we strangers?” The beast looked at her, a smile on his bloody lips.
    Thorn was puzzled by the manticore’s increasingly jovial demeanor, but it served her purposes. “Stranger than most.”
    “Yes,” he said, “We are at that.”
    “Of course, the best place to take in the air is in the air,” Thorn said. “Could you help me with that?” Masking her scent was a good plan, but flying out of the square would be even better.
    The manticore considered this as he chewed on the centaur’s other arm. “You would sit on my back? Hold fast to my mane?”
    “That’s what I had in mind.”
    “And you have no fear of my venom?” The stinger twitched, a drop of poison glistening on its tip. “My spite has laid dragons low.”
    “Give me your word that you’ll give me safe passage and I’ll trust you.”
    “And why would you say such a thing, little elfblood?”
    “You have an honest face.” The truth was harder to explain. She just
believed
it. She felt as if she’d seen this beast in a dream, that this had all happened before.
    The manticore licked a paw and dabbed at his chin. “And the reward? What do you offer for the might of my wings?”
    “What do you want?”