The fading dream tob-3

by Keith Baker

  “To what end?” it was Syraen who spoke, suspicion hard in his voice.

  “To aid you in your time of need, of course.” Shan Doresh ran black-gloved fingers over his gleaming brooch. “We were overwhelmed when we were drawn back into this world. So much has changed. We’ve spent the last few years in the darkness, learning what it is to be truly alive again. I have studied the nations of this world, and I have seen the troubles that face you now the glamour has been stripped away. Shae Joridal under siege. Taer Syraen poised to start its own war. The Silver Tree crumbling away. Ourelon’s Gift scattered and squandered. When I last walked this world, no nation on Khorvaire could threaten us, for all that your ancestors lived in fear. Today the young races have grown bold, while you are all but forgotten.”

  He fixed Cadrel with his dark eyes. “Tell me, human, and tell me true: You have seen the wonders our people can produce. You live in a world at war. Do you not wish to have such powers for your own people?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person,” Cadrel said with a smile. “My people have no stake in the war anymore. Our nation was destroyed. If these remarkable theories are correct, it was the actions of this woman here that did it.”

  “Yes,” Doresh said. “She brought a kingdom to ruin with a single stroke. Unusual circumstances, to be certain. Perhaps you would not use such a thing yourself. But tell me that there are not those among your kind who would stop at nothing to harness such power, who would use it to dominate this land.”

  Cadrel looked at Thorn, a nervous smile playing at his lips. “Well, Cyre did not start the war; all we ever sought was peace-”

  “And what of me?” Cazalan Dal stood in the room. “Sent into the Mournland in search of what? A way to reclaim the ravaged land? Or a way to harness its power-to find a weapon that could be used to force the other nations to their knees?”

  The winter eladrin moved toward the Cyran soldier, glittering blades drawn. Tira’s eyes were blazing, and Thorn held Steel ready to throw. Cadrel’s face was ashen. Then Cazalan shivered and faded away.

  “Such is my power,” Shan Doresh said. “To bring dreams into the open. You know this man and his mission, Essyn Cadrel. Once he served your nation; now he may want power for himself. But he wants power. As does your king, Nyrielle Tam. And the Karrnathi warlords that mass their forces around your spire, Shan Syraen. I looked out upon the world, and I saw our people in fear. I felt your call through the stone, Lady Tira. And I knew why the Citadel of Dreams had been called back to this world. Your ancestors refused to aid me in my time of need, and I will not repeat that mistake. I hope that this act of faith will forge a new bond between us, that when I come before this council in days to come, you will remember my wisdom.”

  “I would hear more of this now,” Syraen said.

  “And I,” Lord Joridal added, emerald lights darting around his shoulders.

  “We have much to discuss, to be certain. But perhaps this is a conversation best kept to the ghaele. And the safety of the Silver Tree is surely the first step in securing the future of our people. Lady Tira, you have said that time is of the essence. Tell us of the ritual that will save this land and the Tree. What must be done?”

  Tira’s expression was hidden behind her veil, but her voice was cold. “Like calls to like. The bonds between the stones must be strengthened. I have prepared a vault below, where the ritual will be performed. For now, the shards must be left alone for a time, allowed to bond away from their masters.”

  Syraen raised an eyebrow. “You would have us surrender the greatest treasures of our people?”

  “I would. For hours only. They will be sealed in the vault.”

  “And what of us?” Thorn said. “I’m afraid I can’t just give you my shards.”

  “You are not the master of the shards that you bear,” Tira told her. “You need not be separated from the stones. But you will have to be sealed in the vault and to remain still while the connections are established.”

  The Rose Queen laughed. “You wish us to leave our gifts alone with these outsiders? You are mad, Tira.”

  Shan Doresh spoke before Tira could respond. “Your fears are understandable, my lady. Still, unless much has changed since I last walked these halls, the vaults of the Silver Tree are all but impregnable, and I can’t imagine they open from the inside.” Reaching up, he removed his brooch and held it out to Tira. “I trust you, Lady. I place the future of my people in your hands, as the future of every spire rests on the fate of the Silver Tree. And I hope the rest of you will do the same.”

  The gnome lord was first to follow. “You have stepped from the shadows of our history, Doresh, to remind us of a time when we put fear before wisdom. We will not make that mistake again.” He drew a golden chain from around his neck, the stone glowing within.

  Syraen said nothing. He simply drew his sword from its scabbard and set it down upon the table. Joridal and the Rose Queen grimly followed suit, surrendering their treasures.

  Cadrel stepped forward. “I hope you will forgive my impertinence, great lady. But if you are sealing my companions in a vault, I’d prefer to remain with them than to be alone outside. I am a storyteller by trade; if they must lie still for hours, I can help them while away the time.”

  “By all means, keep them together,” Syraen growled. “I’d rather have them all trapped than have one of them running around.”

  “Very well,” Tira said. “Follow me, and I will show you the room where you will change your world.”

  “Well, that was an interesting hour,” Thorn said. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of an elaborate arcane seal painted on the wooden floor. Each of the fey treasures sat in a similar seal, spread around the room. Drix was lying on his back in a circle in the very center of the room, adjusting the pulleys on his crossbow. Cadrel paced around the edge of the chamber. “I’m not even sure which ridiculous claim to begin with. Drix here is the cause of the Mourning. Drix is the only thing that saved us from the Mourning. The shards of shrapnel in my back are ancient artifacts of great power, despite the fact that they have no magical auras and were, well, shrapnel. And now some ancient champion-who I dreamed about, by the way-has appeared from the past to either save us all or incite the spires against us. I couldn’t quite tell. Is that about it?”

  “Well-”

  Thorn cut Cadrel off before he could complete his sentence. “Oh, and Drix is both a Cannith heir and the prince of a long-forgotten kingdom.”

  “I liked that part,” Drix chimed in. He tested the pull on the crossbow.

  “Still-” Cadrel began.

  “Oh, and let’s not forget that your Covenant of the Gray Mist was created to unlock the secrets of the Mourning so they could be used against the rest of us. Anything you’d like to add to that, Essyn?”

  “You’re not a fool,” Cadrel said, “so don’t play the part. Yes, we wanted to harness the power of the Mourning. But tell me, do you truly believe that your Citadel isn’t working on the same thing? That the Royal Eyes of Aundair don’t have teams in the Mournland this very moment?”

  “The Royal Eyes are bastards, I’ll give you that. But-”

  “The Mourning is the greatest mystery of the age,” Cadrel continued. “And the greatest opportunity. We fought each other for a hundred years. The Mourning ended the war in one day, and fear of the Mourning is the only thing that keeps that war at bay. Whoever harnesses that power will dominate the next age.”

  “And you want it to be Cyre?”

  “I suppose you want it to be Breland? We had the best claim to the succession. We lost our home to this power. The Mourning took everything from us. If we could use it to get it all back, we had to try. Oargev never knew the true purpose of the Covenant, of course. There’s quite a lot the young prince doesn’t know. And now it seems the Covenant has its own ideas… unfortunately.”

  Thorn sighed. “I wish I could argue with you, but I’m sure you’re right. Aundair, Karrnath, even Breland… I’m sure th
ey’re all trying to harness the power of the Mourning. Which brings us to the next point. All of these nations, pouring their gold into studying the Mourning. And now they say it’s Drix. Do you think you can turn him into a weapon?”

  “I don’t think I’d be a very good weapon,” Drix said. “But any design can be improved.”

  Cadrel laughed. “No. I don’t think stabbing children is the next evolution of warfare. Besides that, if you believe that story, I don’t think it was simply a matter of someone stabbing Drix. I think it had to be the queen. And she had to act in anger.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “Honestly? No. But it makes a wonderful story. I’m sure it was a coincidence. But it’s brought us to this vault, given us this chance to study these treasures and tools. So what do you think? Once we steal them, how do we divide up the shards?”

  He sounded utterly sincere, and Thorn looked over in surprise. For a moment he kept a straight face; then he burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, my dear. But it was worth it just for the look on your face. And tell me the thought hadn’t occurred to you.”

  “Of course it occurred to me,” she said. “And I’m sure Lady Tira expected as much. We’re at war and if each of these shards has power to match the one in Drix’s chest, we’d be fools not to want them. But we have no idea what other powers the eladrin possess. Their friendship could be far more valuable in the days ahead than a handful of artifacts we can’t reproduce.”

  “True, true.” Cadrel said. “Still, it’s an interesting exercise, isn’t it? And we have nothing but time. I’m sure you’re an expert when it comes to breaking and entering. I saw the guards, the thickness of the vault door; you’ve probably seen a dozen wards and traps that slipped by my old eyes. So what would you do if it was in your hands?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Thorn said. “I don’t want to make enemies of these people. Any theft would surely be blamed on us. Right now the worst thing I can think of would be for someone to break in here and steal these treasures and somehow get away with it.”

  “That’s unfortunate. Because that’s exactly our plan.”

  It wasn’t Cadrel who spoke. The bard looked as surprised as she was.

  It was Cazalan Dal. And he wasn’t alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Shaelas Tiraleth, the Mournland B arrakas 24, 999 YK

  When they’d been sealed in the vault, Lady Tira had made Thorn and the others surrender their weapons and magical equipment. “We are trusting you with our greatest treasures,” she told them. “Surely you can trust us with yours.” Drix had convinced them to leave him with his crossbow as a way to pass the time, but he had no bolts for the weapon. And all of Thorn’s tools were waiting for her outside the vault-her mithral vambraces, the gloves of storing that held the myrnaxe, her cloak with its myriad tools and weapons, even Steel-she was unarmed and outnumbered.

  The Covenant of the Gray Mist carried the same weapons she’d seen them with before: shifting blades in one hand, and wands in the other. Surely they wouldn’t use fireballs in such an enclosed space, Thorn thought. That left far too many options, from paralysis to a burst of fire with a tighter focus.

  Thorn’s first instinct was to attack, to strike as hard and fast as she could, to try to even the numbers before they could react. She held it in check. There were four of them-too many. And two of them had already grabbed Drix and Cadrel and were holding blades to their throats. Thorn rose to her feet as a third soldier approached her, a grim woman with gray eyes and a long blade.

  “We won’t keep you long,” Cazalan said. His voice was the same dry rasp she remembered from the attack on the prince. He had a small sack in his hand, and he picked up the icy blade of Lord Syraen and slid it into the opening. The sword should have pierced the cloth, but instead it vanished into the bag.

  An extradimensional bag. He’s going to walk away with it all, she thought.

  “I thought you were dead,” she said. “I suppose I should have cut off your head and kept it as a keepsake.” It was half a joke, half serious. She studied the woman next to her. She was confident and that was to Thorn’s advantage.

  “That might have worked,” he said. He dropped the emerald amulet of Lord Joridal into his sack. “Spend as much time in the Mournland as I have, and death becomes a friend. And for this… I forgive you my two deaths.”

  “Forgive me?”

  “We’ve known of this citadel for years now. We’ve been searching for a way to penetrate its defenses. But even teleportation is of little use if you don’t know where you’re going. Once we knew they’d let you inside, it was just a matter of getting close enough to establish a scrying focus. You became our eyes and ears.”

  “Why this? What use could you have for these stones?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Cazalan said with a smile. He put the shimmering jewel of Lord Pyrial into his bag. “When we act, the world will know.”

  “Teleportation. Scrying. That’s quite a lot of power in the hands of a ragtag band of scavengers.”

  “We have our backers,” Cazalan replied as he took the Rose Queen’s sigil from its circle. “As you’ll learn.”

  “No,” Drix said, catching Thorn’s eyes. “This ends here.”

  His captor was pinning an arm behind his back and holding a blade to his throat. He threw his weight back against the soldier, knocking him off balance. But Drix was no soldier. Before he could break free, the man drew his knife across Drix’s neck. In that moment, all eyes were on Drix, and that was all Thorn needed. She slammed a foot down against the foot of her own guardian. The woman howled in pain, dropping her guard. Thorn pulled her wand from her weakened grasp then grabbed the woman and flung her at Cazalan, calling on her full reserves of strength. It was as easy as throwing a blade; the woman seemed to weigh nothing in Thorn’s arms, but she sent Cazalan tumbling to the floor. There was no time to waste; Thorn was already leveling her stolen wand at Cadrel’s captor, tracing the activation pattern in her mind.

  I hope you’re not a fireball, she thought.

  There was a ripple in the air, and the man stiffened. He didn’t move as Cadrel pulled free.

  The throw had incapacitated Thorn’s captor, and Cadrel’s guard was paralyzed. But there were two left. Cazalan pushed the body of his partner aside, reaching for the last gem. Thorn leaped forward-not fast enough. She saw the fourth soldier tracking her movements with his wand, and her muscles went numb. She struck the floor hard, falling to the ground; she felt nothing and she couldn’t move at all.

  Thorn had discovered many gifts over the past six months. Once in a truly desperate moment, a moment when she thought she was going to die, she killed a man with her touch. In her time with House Tarkanan, she’d honed that gift and learned to control it more easily. It was painful. More than that, it was somehow connected to the dragon Sarmondelaryx. She could still hear Drego’s whispers… every time you draw on her power, she grows stronger. But it was the only thing she could think of. Dal used us. Tricked us. Thorn tried to harness that rage, focus it into a razor point, smash it against the numbing charm.

  Nothing. She saw Cazalan pick up the final shard and slip it into his bag. Fury flowed through her, and that moment of pure anger was all it took. Feeling flooded back through her. There was no time to rise to her feet. Unarmed, on the floor, there was only one thing she could do. She reached out just catching his leg with her outstretched arm. And she called on that anger again.

  Tightening her hand around Cazalan’s ankle, she reached out, searching for the fire within him so she could consume it.

  She found nothing.

  The power was still a mystery. But every time she’d used it in the past, she’d been able to feel a force within her victim, to feel the energy within, to feel it as she snatched that away and consumed it. Searching in Dal was like grasping at water. Her hand was tight around Cazalan’s ankle, but it might have been dead wood.

  “Too late,” he said with a smile. Then
he was gone, nothing in her hand but air. All of the Covenant soldiers had vanished, even the ones they’d incapacitated. Thorn and Cadrel looked at each other from across the empty room while Drix rubbed a hand over his healing throat.

  “This is an outrage!”

  Lord Syraen was fuming, his eyes glowing white hot with his anger. All of the fey lords were shouting.

  “I placed my trust in you,” Lord Joridal said, glaring at Tira. “My spire is at war, and I left it to pursue this quest of yours. And now you have taken my greatest weapon from me… and set it in the hands of humans!”

  “I, too, have wolves at my gates,” Syraen snapped. “With the Stone of Winter in my hands, I had no fear of them. Now what will I do? How could you allow this to happen?”

  “I allowed nothing,” Tira said. “You look to the wards on my vault. Our preparations were perfect. It should have been impossible to teleport in or out.”

  “And yet they did!”

  As Thorn had suspected, the fey had been observing the vault through magical means. They’d responded quickly to the theft-but not quickly enough.

  “We did what was necessary!” Tira said. “Unless we can save the Tree, all will fall.”

  “So you say!” Syraen snarled. “And yet it was you who placed our gifts within your vault, without even sentries to watch them-”

  “There was no need for sentries in the vault. I tell you, teleportation was impossible. Study the seals yourself. The room was anchored!”

  “This argument is pointless.” Shan Doresh’s voice rang out across the room, and the others fell silent as he spoke. “What is done is done. It seems you have brought disaster on your people once again, Lady Tira. It was your hand that brought this curse upon the Tree, and your call that led us to this ruin.”