The fading dream tob-3

by Keith Baker

“You placed your trust in me,” Tira said. “And I in you, despite your fantastic claims.”

  “Listening to my tale placed you in no danger,” Doresh said coolly. “For my part, my trust has cost me dearly. Once again, I have undertaken a great risk to protect our people, and again, my people have paid the price. I should never have returned to the Silver Tree. And I will not do so again.”

  “Wait!” Cadrel shouted. All eyes turned to the old bard, Thorn’s among them.

  Cadrel walked between the eladrin, raising his hands. He was indeed a master storyteller, and he drew on all of that presence; even the angry Syraen stilled his rage. “I know that this is your loss, that I am not one of you and cannot truly understand what this has cost you. Yet surely you are stronger together than apart.” He paused in front of Shan Doresh. “You said it was your gift to make dreams manifest, but it was my nightmare that you showed. Now that nightmare has fallen upon you all. If you are the hero you say you are, will you abandon your people when this nightmare is upon them?”

  “You know nothing of nightmares,” Doresh said quietly. “While I have spent hundreds of your lifetimes walking among them. My subjects have endured torments you cannot imagine, all because the ancestors of those who stand in this room lacked the courage to stand by my side. I thought this to be the righteous path. I thought I could find common bond with those who abandoned me so long ago. But they are not my people. My people await me, and I will have to tell them that we have suffered again due to the arrogance of our kin. So leave me be, human. And you, ghaele of the Silver Tree. We will not see each other again.”

  He threw his dark cloak over his shoulder, and in that instant, he was gone.

  “True words,” Syraen said. “This council is broken, Lady Tira. The Silver Tree crumbles, and it is time for us to see what fate awaits the boughs as they fall. I must return to my people, to make ready for the moment these humans attack me. I pray I will not fall prey to their guile as easily as you have.”

  Something was nagging at the back of Thorn’s mind. She played the events over in her mind again and again, struggling to fit the pieces together.

  “No!” Tira raised her hand, and silvery light gleamed around her fingers. “Do not leave. Not yet. If we cannot face this together, we will surely fall.”

  “You will surely fall,” the Rose Queen said. “Perhaps the Tree will grow again in more fertile ground.”

  “A pity,” Cadrel whispered to Thorn as he returned to her side. “To come all this way only to see such discord. Still, I suppose their weakness is a boon for our people.”

  That’s it, Thorn realized.

  “Stop!” she cried. “All of you. Stop fighting. I know what’s happened here.”

  All eyes turned to her, but none were friendly. “As do we,” Syraen growled. “Your kind stole our greatest treasures.”

  “An impossible theft,” Thorn said. “And one that makes no sense. A nightmare that has turned you against one another. And the one truly responsible is here in this room.”

  The ghaele all looked at Tira. “I don’t understand,” the veiled lady said. “What is it you accuse me of?”

  “I’m not accusing you,” Thorn said. Steel was in her hand, and his point was pressed against Cadrel’s throat.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Mournland B arrakas 24, 999 YK

  Cadrel laughed. “Well done, my dear.”

  Then he was gone.

  But he didn’t go far enough. Thorn had her full attention on the bard, her supernatural senses keyed to any trace of his motion. Even as she felt the air rush in to fill the void in space, she felt a displacement to her left, just at the door to the chamber. It was an excellent trick. Not only did he teleport, but he’d wrapped himself in invisibility; the doorway seemed to be empty. But Thorn could feel his presence, and she let that instinct guide her as she threw Steel.

  Cadrel cried out in pain as the blade caught him in the back of the knee. Blood spattered across the floor as he returned to view, falling to the ground. Quickly Syraen was upon him. The winter lord wrapped one hand around Cadrel’s neck and lifted him off the ground. There was a sharp chill in the air, and ice formed around the bard-a layer of frost that grew and spread, becoming a coffin binding Cadrel, leaving only his head free.

  “What is this?” Tira said, her eyes flashing.

  Thorn walked over to the trapped man. “Do you want to tell them, Essyn? Is that even your name?”

  Cadrel grinned. “Not the one I was born with, no. But it’s good enough for you.”

  Thorn turned to look at Tira. “No one could teleport into or out of your vault. Yet somehow, our enemies did. But why? How did they know where we were? What treasures you possessed? What do they even think they’ll do with your shards? It seems that I have two of them, and they’ve brought me only pain.”

  “Explain yourself,” Syraen said.

  “Cadrel said it himself, just moments ago,” Thorn replied. “When this journey began, these soldiers attacked the prince of Cyre. It had nothing to do with you or your gems. It was his fear, the fear that his people would turn against him.”

  “So?”

  “At sea, the captain faced an old nightmare, a weapon she’d hoped never to see again, and one that claimed her life. On land, my suspicions were confirmed when it seemed that we’d been followed. But even then I was afraid that we’d been followed. But I didn’t know what my enemies wanted. And nothing they said explained it. Only here did they seem to have a purpose… and one that made no sense. If they were following us, using us to get to you, why try to kill the prince in the first place? And possessing scrying and teleportation magic… this Covenant of the Gray Mist may be a tough group of soldiers, but they don’t have the resources for that sort of magic.”

  “I was scrying on the vault,” Tira said. “I saw what occurred.”

  “You saw what you feared,” Thorn said. “As we’ve seen since this journey began. Nightmares made manifest. And who was present at every occasion? My friend Essyn Cadrel, a man who had no true need to be in the vault with us.” She set Steel back against his throat. “When I took the wand from Cazalan in Seaside, it vanished when the fight was over. When I touched him in the vault, I felt no life in him. I don’t think he teleported. I think he was never there to begin with.”

  “Then where are the stones?” Syraen said.

  “I thought glamour was your specialty,” Thorn said. “If I had to guess, I’d say they were wrapped in illusion. Hidden so we couldn’t see them. And that you gave them to Shan Doresh just before he left, didn’t you, Cadrel?”

  He laughed. “The Citadel should be proud. Too little and too late, of course, but well done.”

  “Who are you really?” she said. “I’ve seen you cloak yourself in illusion, back during the attack on the prince. And then you brought his nightmares to life. But why?”

  Cadrel smiled and as he did, his face changed. His beard turned to smoke and drifted away. His skin became soft and smooth, suffused with a rosy hue. His ears became long and pointed, with silky, black hair flowing around them. He was a young, handsome eladrin. Only one thing marred the image. At first Thorn thought his pupils had expanded to fill his eyes. Then she realized that he didn’t have eyes. Just empty holes opening into a hollow shell, as if his face were a mask filled with swirling mist.

  “I’m Essyn Cadrel,” he said. “Or I have been for as long as you’ve known him. I’ve stood at the prince’s side since the Day of Mourning, planting the seeds of doubt and fear in his mind. And I’m Cazalan Dal. I’ve been many others since my return. But I was born Kalas Tan Doresh, a child of the Fortress of Dreams. I fought by the side of my lord when the eladrin of the Silver Tree fled in fear, and I suffered with him in the long nightmare that followed. Once I wove dreams. Now I can make your nightmares reality. And so I have.”

  “The knife,” Drix said suddenly. “The shifting blade. Like those in the hands of the Covenant. A blade of dreams, shifting to become a murd
er weapon in my grasp. A nightmare.”

  “Much like the death of a beloved prince,” Cadrel said. “Yes. It was our hand that guided you to that path, our hands that slew your son, Tira. We who gave you the tools of your destruction.”

  “Kalas?” Tira whispered. “Why would you do this? Why would Doresh?”

  Cadrel shook his head. “I’ve said all that I will tell you for free, fallen queen.”

  Syraen stepped forward and Thorn could feel the temperature drop around him. “You seek to bargain, thief? I will freeze the blood in your veins. I will chip away your flesh until you beg to share your secrets.”

  The former spymaster smiled. “I look forward to it. You cannot imagine the things I’ve seen, the nightmares I’ve experienced.” He glanced at the assembled fey. “Oh, I’d hoped to escape. I didn’t think any of you were bright enough to see through the game. But I knew there was the chance you’d capture me. I know exactly what you can do. Freeze my flesh. Scour me with thorns. Strip the joy from my soul. In time you might break me, yes. But not time enough for you.”

  The chill grew deeper as Syraen stared at the prisoner. He glanced back at the others, and Thorn could feel the doubt weighing down on them all. She didn’t know exactly what those stones of theirs did, but it was clear that the loss was a very heavy blow; it seemed as if all the fire had gone out of them.

  Then she considered Cadrel’s words again. “You’ve said all you’ll say… for free.”

  Cadrel looked at her, the smile still on his face. His eyes were deep shadows, but she could imagine the twinkle of the old man. “Yes.”

  “What is it you want?” Tira hissed.

  “I’ve already taken everything you have to offer me,” he replied.

  “You’ve taken all they have,” Thorn said. She reached back and ran her fingers over the stone in her neck. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  Cadrel’s smile widened. “If only it were that simple, dear girl. Still, you have something these old twigs lack.”

  Thorn took a step toward him. “And what would that be? Don’t tell me you want secrets of the Citadel?”

  Cadrel laughed. “No, I am done with your kingdoms now. There is only one thing you can give me.”

  The room was utterly still; around her, the fey lords might have been statues. “And that would be?”

  “What would any man want from such a lovely young lady? A kiss, of course.”

  Thorn shook her head, sighing. She’d been drawn in by the tension of the moment, by the energy of it, but of course it had all been a game. Then she noticed that the eladrin were still watching her. The tension hadn’t vanished. If it were a joke, she was the only one who could see it. “Wait,” she said. “You’re not serious?”

  “Of course not,” Tira said. Her veil flowed as she stepped forward, laying a hand on Thorn’s shoulder. “We could never ask such a thing of you.” Her voice was cold and grim.

  “An easy thing for you to say, Lady of the Silver Tree.” It was the Lord of Emerald Lights who spoke, his radiant attendants subdued. “You already were doomed when this day began.”

  “You dare-”

  The room fell into chaos, the lords and ladies shouting at one another. Ice spread where the Lord of Taer Syraen struck his fist against the table, and green radiance filled the room. And out of the corner of her eye, Thorn saw the creature who had once been Cadrel smiling.

  “Enough!” she cried.

  None of them listened. “We have suffered enough indignities at your hands!” Syraen roared at Tira. “If you think I will allow one more-”

  She drew Steel. “You want to explain this?” she muttered.

  It’s always possible they’ve all gone mad, he said.

  “That was my conclusion,” she murmured.

  But from what I’m gathering, they consider the kiss to be an act of grave risk and that they would somehow be indebted to you for taking this risk.

  Thorn shook her head. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She thought about the sensations that flowed through her when the surge of unnatural strength imbued her muscles. She drew on that again, only it wasn’t strength she sought. She imagined the voice of a dragon, echoing across the plains.

  “Enough!” Thorn roared.

  For all that she’d known what she was trying to do, she hadn’t truly expected it to work. Her voice was a thunderbolt, reverberating through the room; even the proud fey clutched their heads. All eyes turned back to her.

  Thorn strode over to Cadrel, still trapped in his frigid prison. Even his empty eyes were wide.

  “You want a kiss,” Thorn said. She glanced at the others. “You don’t want me to do it. So it seems this discussion is all about me. You.” She looked at Cadrel. “What exactly are you offering?”

  “Three questions I will give you, and the answers told truthfully.” Eyebrows raised innocently over hollow sockets. “All for a single kiss, one memory for an old man to take with him to his grave.”

  The Lord of Emerald Lights began to speak again, and Thorn silenced him with a piercing glare. “Now,” she said, looking at Tira. “Setting aside the fact that this little tragedy isn’t my problem. Why are you so concerned about me giving my old friend here a last kiss before Lord Syraen freezes his toes off?”

  “Because this tragedy isn’t your problem,” Syraen hissed.

  “He’s told you what is in his heart, nonetheless,” Tira said. “And what we all fear. You are not sworn to us. You cannot take such a risk with no gain.”

  “Such a risk?” Thorn said. “It’s not my first kiss.”

  “Fool of a girl,” Tira hissed. Her voice was filled with exhaustion. “Have you learned nothing? Have you never heard the tale of the princess sent to slumber for a thousand years, of the maiden turned to glass by my father’s touch? You walk in the world of stories now. This one harvests nightmares. There’s no knowing what he truly has in store for you.”

  Thorn glanced at the imprisoned spy. “Is that it, Cadrel? Are you a lady-killer?”

  His shoulders were bound in ice, but he managed a convincing shrug with his eyebrows. “I cannot promise your safety, my dear. That’s what gives spice to the story, isn’t it? I will hold to my promise: one kiss before you or I leave this room, and you will have three answers. As to whether you will survive the experience… there’s only one way for either of us to find out.”

  He craned his neck forward, pursing his lips. An instant later, the ice was all around him, his head completely encased in the frigid prison.

  “I have lost enough today,” Syraen said. “No more.”

  Thorn turned to face him. “You’re afraid, is that it?”

  The eladrin rose to his full height, glaring down at her. “Beware, woman. In this moment I owe you nothing.”

  It’s the stories, Steel whispered. But Thorn understood.

  “That’s right. You owe me nothing. And you’re terrified that I’ll do you a favor.”

  “You’re learning.” It was the gnome who sat across the way. “This is our world and our way. Weakened as we are, we cannot shoulder an unknown debt.”

  “Fine,” Thorn said, thoughts racing. A part of her wanted to walk away. Her task had been to escort Drix to the Tree, and she’d done that. Stories of the Mourning, the theft of the stone-none of that affected Breland.

  Still, there was the mystery of it. Cadrel had been advising Oargev for years, and yet Cadrel’s deception had been designed to make the fey blame Cyre for the assault. Cadrel and Shan Doresh might be striking at the eladrin, but who else was getting caught in the crossfire? What might she learn by following through? Was she really afraid of a kiss?

  She wanted to unravel the plot. Cadrel had almost pulled off the theft in her shadow. She wanted to know why. And if she could find some benefit for Breland, all the better.

  “I can help you,” Thorn said. “So let’s talk terms. Mine are simple enough. I’m here as a representative of Breland. If I do this, you’ll open your
gates to my people and accept ambassadors from the court.”

  “Impossible,” Tira said, and the others nodded in agreement. “Look at the chaos you alone have brought with your arrival. We want nothing to do with your kings and your wars.”

  “Just as well, I suppose,” Thorn said. “We don’t have much interest in yours. So I suppose I’ll be on my way.”

  “Wait.” The eladrin woman raised a hand. “We cannot make promises to your king or to your kingdom. It is you who will take the risk on our behalf.” She looked at the other fey. “So what say you, ghaele all? Will you pay for her services?”

  Thorn thought about a sharp reply, but she was curious to see where Tira was going. The entire situation had a dreamlike quality to it. Cadrel’s betrayal, Cazalan Dal, all of it… it was almost like listening to a story, and she was curious to see what would happen next.

  One by one, the lords and ladies nodded.

  Tira turned to Thorn. “Very well. We make this offer to you, not to your king, not to your country. Help us in this matter, with these questions and where it may lead. Help us and we shall each pay you in our own coin.” She looked at the others.

  The gnome set a pendant on the table, a silver chain set with a stone that shimmered and shifted like the colors of his robe. “Within the walls of my citadel, we value words more highly than gold,” he said. “And I believe you are one who relies on her wits as well as her blade. Wear this and you shall understand any words you hear spoken. And any who hear you will understand you, as if you speak the tongue they both know and expect from you.”

  The stone holds a strong divinatory aura, Steel said. It seems plausible. I’ve heard that House Sivis already has such a thing.

  Thorn nodded. “Impressive,” she said. “And still, something I could buy myself if I had a little more coin. Not exactly a stone of immortality.”

  “We cannot offer what we have already lost.” It was the ice lord, blue light gleaming in his eyes. “Nor would we, as it was that foolish action that has brought this dilemma upon us. You mock us, girl, and still I offer my blessing.” He removed a silver brooch from his cloak and set it on the table. “I offer protection. Wear my sigil and the cold will not touch you. You will never feel the chill of winter, never suffer discomfort or harm from the frost.”