The fading dream tob-3

by Keith Baker

  The old bowyer looked up at her as they passed. He wore a wooden mask, carved with elf features, the expression calm and impassive. Something about it troubled her. It was so mundane. Why wear a mask with so little expression if not to conceal something below?

  Farther and farther they rose along the trunk of the tree, and they passed more and more people. Most were eladrin, their faces hidden by masks, and most were somber and still, like mourners at a funeral. Then a group of gnomes ran past them, laughing and shouting at one another; they were dressed in clothing of many vivid colors, and their unmasked faces were filled with mirth. It was as surprising as a flash of lightning on a dark night, and over just as quickly.

  At last they reached their destination, a suite of rooms at the end of a hallway. A sentry stood in the hall outside, but closer observation revealed that it was another statue, the spear and the hand that held it both formed of smooth darkwood. Were you alive too? Thorn wondered. Are you watching even now, or are you just a warning?

  “Stay here until someone comes for you,” Casoran said. His eyes gleamed within his horned helm, points of silver fire. “This is for your safety as much as ours. Until you have the blessing of the lady, the Tree will not accept you, and you would be in grave danger if you walk these halls alone. Rest. You will find food and drink within. Take a moment of ease.” He glanced at Thorn and Cadrel. “If the lady does not approve of your presence, it may be the last chance you have.”

  “There’s that famous Mournland hospitality,” Thorn said. She smiled at her companions and held out her arms. “Well, gentlemen, shall we see what the chef has prepared for us?”

  “Anything would be better than those thrice-damned troll sticks of yours,” Cadrel said, taking her arm. “Of course, in the tales, it’s often unwise to eat the food of the fey.”

  Thorn glanced at Drix as they walked into their quarters. “Well, sir? You’ve been here before. Did they enchant you with their wines and culinary wonders?”

  Drix shrugged and ran his hand over his hidden heart. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to keep food down since they brought me back.”

  “Not exactly encouraging,” Thorn said. “But for a good bottle of wine, I think I’ll take my chances. Let’s eat, my friends. Then we can determine watches. I know I could use some sleep, but I want a pair of eyes open at all times.”

  “I haven’t slept since they brought me back either,” Drix said.

  Thorn looked at him. “You’ve led a strange life, Drix Cannith. But if it means I’ll get a good night’s sleep, I’ll live with it.”

  “Always glad to be of service.” He smiled and strangely that made Thorn feel better. They were deep in the Mournland, in an odd and haunted city, surrounded by fey of unknown power and purpose. On the one hand, it was unnerving. One the other, it was what she loved about being a Lantern. Who knew what challenges they would face in the morning?

  “Let’s raise a glass of whatever they have, then,” she said. “To surviving the journey. And don’t worry, Drix, I’ll drink for you.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Shaelas Tiraleth, the Mournland B arrakas 24, 999 YK

  The giant towered above Thorn, a muscle-bound brute three times her height clad in glittering black chain mail. He swung his maul at her, the massive metal head of the weapon larger than she was, and she leaped out of the way, feeling the wind as it slammed into the ground just behind her. Thorn jabbed at him with her short spear, catching him on the arm before darting away. It was a solid blow, but against a beast of his size, all but futile. He was bleeding from a score of wounds, and yet he fought on, and one blow of his maul was all it would take to shatter her bones. She needed to finish the fight quickly. She stepped through space, catching a fleeting glimpse of the serene woods of Thelanis before returning to the ugly battle.

  The jaunt brought her up onto the broad shoulders of the giant. As he turned his head to look at her, Thorn drove her spear into his eye, slamming it into the brain beyond. The soldier bellowed in rage and pain, dropping his weapon and trying to pull the spear free, but all he managed to do with his clumsy efforts was to drive it deeper still. Thorn knew a mortal wound when she gave one, but there was no time to wait for the beast to realize he was dead. Leaping from the shoulders of the stricken giant, she landed on her feet, drawing her sword as she searched the field for the banner of her lord.

  Shan Doresh had committed the full force of the Fortress of Dreams to the struggle, but the Cul’sir host was a terrifying foe. All around her, Thorn’s brothers and sisters matched their speed and skill against the might of an army of giants. Steel and darkwood were the least of the weapons being brought to bear.

  A giant raised his hand, and lightning lashed down from the sky, scattering Thorn’s kin. In return, one of the dreamshapers called forth a vision of hope-an image of their lord, as tall as a giant himself, wielding a curved sword that glowed like the moon itself. The dream titan charged the storm summoner, and lightning clashed with lunar radiance.

  There was no time to watch the battle. Thorn had troubles of her own. She caught sight of the lord’s banner ahead, the half-closed eye held within the horns of the crescent moon, moon and eye shining in the darkness. But the enemy was upon her. The giant was smaller than the warrior Thorn had just brought down, and he wore robes instead of armor. He was a slaver, not a soldier, and was surrounded by a half-dozen thralls, the unfortunates Thorn’s people had come to save or, failing that, avenge. She’d heard that they had been twisted by foul magics, that they weren’t truly eladrin anymore, and looking at them, she could believe it. There was no light in their eyes, just dull whites and dark pupils. They were the eyes of a creature born of Eberron, not an heir to Thelanis. Could that spirit be returned? It was beyond her knowledge, but she didn’t want to kill them if she could avoid it. They had no such compunctions. Whether they were driven by enchantment or merely beaten into submission, they charged her, wielding knives and clubs. She tried to leap through space, but it was too soon; it was difficult to reach Thelanis in that time of shifting. If she could just push past the and, bring down the slaver, perhaps the slaves would be released.

  It was a fine thought, but the slave warriors had no intention of letting her through. It was all she could do to stay alive as they slashed and swung at her, harrying her from all sides. She struggled to defend herself, but there were too many. The world went white as a club caught her in the back of the head. There was a flash of pain as a dagger tore the flesh of her arm. Her blade fell from stiff fingers, and she knew the end was near.

  Then he was there. Shan Doresh, the lord of the fortress. His silver armor gleamed, the lunar eye at his breast blazing with his fury. He raised his hands, and the slaves dropped their weapons, falling to the ground in deep slumber. The slaver froze, his face a mask of fear.

  For a moment she dared to hope. Then a voice thundered across the battlefield, louder than any mortal voice should be. “I tire of this game, little ones. You amused me for a time, and that time is over.”

  She felt a strange tingling in her nerves as the voice roared around her, a terrible sense of vertigo. Was the world… was the world fading?

  “You are creatures of too many worlds. Born in the Feywild, brought to our land, and drawing on the power of dreams. Two worlds too many… and one you’ve never truly seen. Let dreams be your home now, and like a dream, be soon forgotten.”

  Her lord held his hands high, and she could see reality rippling around them. For a moment she hoped that he could counter whatever vile sorcery the Cul’sir emperor had prepared. But the chill was spreading throughout her. It was like shifting through space, but it wasn’t the warm woods of her home that were taking shape around her. Just cold darkness and she was falling into it, falling and falling and falling…

  Thorn woke with a start. There were fingers brushing against her neck, a gentle touch against the stone. For a moment she thought of a man she’d met in Droaam, before sleep faded and instinct took o
ver. She’d slept with Steel in her hand, and she rolled off the bed and onto her feet. A thought and the bracelets around her wrists extended along her forearms, becoming the blackened mithral vambraces she wore in battle. A second thought was all it took to shift her nightclothes into her working uniform.

  “You need not fear me.” There was a woman sitting on the bed, a woman in a long, gray gown, her face hidden beneath a golden veil. “I have come to see my prophecy fulfilled.”

  Thorn remained on her guard. The dream of battle had been so vivid, so real, and she still felt the adrenaline rushing through her veins. She was angry and the stone in her neck burned against the bone. She wanted to lash out…

  She took a deep breath and tried to center herself. “Your prophecy. The stone wrapped in Thorn.”

  “Yes.” The woman laughed and rose to her feet. She was taller than Thorn expected, easily six feet. Her arms were sheathed in long gloves of golden silk, and a circlet of golden leaves held her veil in place. Thorn could see that the gray of her dress was actually silver, gleaming in the light. But there were dark lines running all through the fabric, as if it were tarnished. “That’s the thing about prophecy. You never know how it will be fulfilled. I knew that Marudrix would find the stones, that all the stones would come to the circle. I assumed it was literal thorn, that he’d have to make his way through a maze of briars to find our lost treasures. Instead he brings you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Tira of Shaelas Tiraleth, the Lady of the Silver Tree. Casoran told me that you’d heard my call. I have summoned the stones and their keepers, so together we may heal this wounded land. Come, Lady Thorn. Your companions await, as do the stranded lords of Thelanis.”

  “Drix? Cadrel?”

  “As I said, they await you at the heart of the tree. Come, I will explain all, but let me tell the tale to all of you at once.”

  Something about the fey queen troubled Thorn. Her voice was beautiful, but the veil… something was wrong with the silhouette beneath it. Or perhaps it was just the pain. The stone in Thorn’s neck felt like a white-hot dagger digging into her spine. The shrapnel had caused her great pain after the accident, but in the past few months she’d thought she’d finally made her peace with it. But it burned as badly as ever. She thought back to the lessons she’d learned in her time with House Tarkanan, dispersing the agony and anger, letting it flow through blood and muscle, giving her strength.

  Tira’s eyes gleamed behind the veil. “Relent, spirits,” she said suddenly. “Whatever has happened to you, it is not her doing. All of you, release your anger and be at peace.”

  With those soft words, the pain flowed away like water. The stone was quiet again.

  “How did you do that?” Thorn said.

  “All things in time,” the lady said. “Come now. Let us find your friends and bring the seven stones together. Trust me, Thorn. Sheathe your weapon.”

  Unlikely, she thought. But she was there to gather information, and that was clearly the path to follow. She returned Steel to his sheath.

  “The other lords and ladies may greet you with anger,” the woman said. “You are a surprise in many ways. Let me explain, to you as well as them. Now take my hand, and let the story begin.”

  Thorn held out her hand as the woman approached, but she kept her free hand on Steel’s hilt.

  For a moment, she felt the woman’s skin, warm against her hand. Then the world fell away again.

  The world took shape around her in a blur of warmth, silver, and voices. She was in a large chamber with a domed roof. A round table filled the heart of the room, and Thorn and the lady had appeared in the open center. Walls and table alike were formed of the silver wood of the tree, beautiful and polished. People were sitting all around them. She heard Cadrel before she saw him then caught a scent of his cologne; he was sitting behind her, next to Drix.

  “Lady Tira. Good of you to finally grace us with your presence.” It was a man’s voice, hard and cold. The speaker was an eladrin, but like Tira herself, he was unusually tall. His skin was pale, his hair dark, his eyes filled with a bitter blue light. He and his retinue were girded for war, wearing ivory armor that Thorn recognized from the briefing in Wroat. They were the eladrin of the north, from the ice citadel in Karrnath. “And what have you brought us?”

  “Patience, Lord Syraen.” Tira placed her hand on Thorn’s shoulder and gestured to Drix. “Be seated and I will begin.”

  “Good.” The eladrin sitting across from the winter lord was dressed in robes of green and gold, and sparks of emerald light drifted around his head like fireflies. “We have troubles of our own. Even now, the goblin hordes are howling at my gates. To leave now, taking the heart of power… you had best know what you are doing, Tira. And I trust you will repay this favor in full.”

  “Favor?”

  Whoever the green lord was, he’d gone too far. Thorn was looking away, making her way over to Drix, but she felt the woman’s anger, a charge building in the air like lightning in a storm. When she looked back, Tira’s eyes burned like the sun. Whether it was magic or the sheer power of her personality, Tira seemed to tower over the others.

  “Lord Joridal, I advise you to remember who I am and where you are.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but the floor seemed to shake with her words. “The Silver Tree. First of our seven cities. The bridge between worlds. Your city is just one branch of the tree-and no branch can live if the trunk rots away. This is no favor you do me. This is about our survival.”

  “So you say.” The woman who spoke wore armor made from overlapping leaves, and roses were woven within her long, red-gold hair. Her eyes burned with golden light. “The city of Rose and Thorn prospers as it always has. I came out of respect, not need.”

  Tira’s anger had calmed. “Your city has always been close to this world of mud. But surely you realize that the period of the shift has continued for longer than it ever has before. The problems of Joridal, the threat facing Syraen… none of these would be an issue if we could just return home. But we can’t. And we never will until we restore the roots of the Tree itself.”

  “I know I’m last to the party,” Thorn said. “But Aureon’s word! What are you talking about? Who are you exactly?”

  Cadrel smiled and Drix laughed aloud. Hmm, Steel whispered. Thorn wished she could draw the blade, but the best she could do was to keep her hand on his hilt. You don’t want to be too subtle, now.

  All of the fey turned to look at her, and the lords all began to speak at once, anger and curiosity flowing together in a mass of words. Then Tira raised her hand, and silence fell across the chamber. It was utter and unnatural, and Thorn could see a few of the lords still trying to speak; no sound would fill the air. At last they settled, and Tira spoke again.

  “I said that I would explain all when we were gathered. And now we are. By my own hand, I brought a curse down upon our people. It is my fault that we are stranded in this world, revealed and threatened by those we thought unable to touch us. And it is by my hand that the curse shall be broken. This is no simple task. It will take all our strength and all our power. I need Ourelon’s Gift brought together again. And this is why I have petitioned you for all these years, why I have spoken to you through the shards. You know my sight reaches far, and I know what must be done if the curse is to be broken. This is the time. The light of Irian shines upon the world. The influence of Lammania grows. Now we can wipe the bloodstains from the soil and restore our bond to our beloved homeland.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Thorn said before anyone else could speak. “With the understanding that when I say ‘fascinating,’ I mean ‘completely incomprehensible.’ I’m still waiting for an actual explanation.”

  The ice lord hissed and started to rise, but Tira raised her hand, and he returned to his seat. She looked at Thorn, her eyes gleaming beneath her veil. “We are lords and ladies of the Faerie Court. Each among us holds dominion over a realm within perfect Thelanis, or cons
orts with the ruler of such a realm.”

  “So what brings you here?” Cadrel said.

  Tira’s eyes flashed. “Human, you are only in this place out of respect for those you travel with. Speak out of turn, and I will sew your mouth shut with a glance.”

  Cadrel raised his hands in a placating gesture. “My apologies, Lady. As a storyteller myself, I have heard many tales of your land and your people; my curiosity got the best of my manners. Please, continue.”

  “Thelanis and your world have always been closely bound. Surely you know that there are times and places where it is possible to pierce the veil that lies between the two. So it is with our spires. Long, long ago our cities fell from Thelanis into this world. The first of our rulers met with the dragons, who at that time were the rulers of Eberron. We exchanged gifts, formed bonds between our people. And the Silver Tree became the bond between our worlds, a living link that would hold the two together.”

  “So why haven’t we heard of you before now?” Thorn said.

  “We made our pact with the dragons before humans had learned to speak, before the race of elves even existed. And we spent but a little time in this world, as you measure things. As the moons wax and wane, so it is with the planes. When all things were in proper alignment, our spires would fall from Thelanis to your world, and when the influence changed, we would return to the realm of our birth.”