The fading dream tob-3

by Keith Baker

  Confirmed, Steel said. Elemental protection.

  Again, it might be a useful trinket for her, but she hadn’t come there on a treasure hunt. How did any of that serve Breland? “A generous gift, to be sure,” Thorn said. She looked at the next eladrin.

  Emerald lights spun around Lord Joridal, reflected in the gold of his robes. “I brought no jewels or treasures,” he said. “But my gift is one that transcends mere gold or silver. I offer you comfort. Aid us in this matter, and I will place my mark upon you. You will find that old friends cross your path sooner than expected, and new ones come to your door.”

  That seems difficult to quantify, Steel murmured. It’s an intriguing idea, but he may simply be covering for the fact that he has nothing to offer.

  Thorn was inclined to agree, but there was no need to embarrass the man; she’d gathered his spire was under assault, and it was hardly surprising that he had little to offer. She looked to the Rose Queen.

  “Mine is the City of Rose and Thorn,” the woman said. “I will not open my gates to your kingdom. But should you serve us in this and live to tell of it, you will be welcomed with any you should bring.”

  Well, that’s something, Steel said. Only one… still, a personal invitation, and a welcome.

  Yes, Thorn thought. The other gifts were intriguing, yet left her nothing of great interest to take back to Zane. But that last… at least it opened the door for future exploration.

  Only Lady Tira was left. “Perhaps it was my hand that set this tragedy in motion,” she said. “And so I must offer the greatest gift of all. I know you do not believe in what we seek to do. You do not believe that we can save your land by saving Marudrix. And so I make my offer to you. Aid us in this matter, and I will tell you the truth.”

  “The truth?” Thorn said. “About what?”

  “About you,” Tira said. “There are secrets within you. Even now, I can see that they weigh upon you. I do not know how you came by the Preserving Shard or the Quiet Stone. But serve me in this, and I will tell you. If you forge this bond between us and survive it, I will reach through that bond to read your soul. I will tell you all you wish to know about your past.”

  “I need to think about this,” Thorn turned away, staring at the glittering prison that held Cadrel. She rubbed Steel against her palm. “It still seems like madness.”

  I cannot offer any guidance in this matter, Steel whispered. It might be best to return and inform the Citadel of Cadrel’s betrayal as quickly as possible. On the other hand, you were sent to gather information about these creatures, and you are certainly doing that. And there is one more factor.

  She tapped Steel thoughtfully.

  The Mourning. The tale that first brought us here. Unlikely as before, yet still… What if there is truth to it? What if they can bring an end to the Mourning?

  “What can you tell me about the risks?” she said.

  “Nothing,” Tira said behind her, and Steel echoed the word in her mind. “All we know are that he draws on fear and nightmare.”

  Thorn walked over to stand before the icy coffin. She thought about Cadrel. About the time she’d spent with him at the galas in Sharn, the trek through the Mournland. She thought about his smile and the strange, dark eyes, and what she still saw of the old man in that face. He was playing a game, certainly, but what was it?

  “Let’s break the ice,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  “I knew you’d see the wisdom in it,” Cadrel said once he could speak again. “There are so many things I can tell you… if you survive, of course.”

  The spymaster was still bound in his prison of ice, staring at her with those inky eyes. The pits of shadow made it difficult for Thorn to read his expression, but still, she didn’t feel menace in him. What are you playing at? she thought.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  She leaned forward but Cadrel pulled his head back. “I’m supposed to kiss you with my hands bound in this way? With you pressed against the ice? Oh, my dear, this hardly seems fair or pleasant for you. Would you ask a master to play an instrument without his hands?”

  “You didn’t say anything about the bonds,” Thorn told him. “If you want the kiss, let’s be done with it now. Otherwise, I’m taking the next boat to Breland.”

  Cadrel glanced up toward the heavens for a moment. “It is your loss, my dear. Though perhaps the ice will be sufficient to reduce my ardor, to keep from overwhelming you with the fire of my passion. Perhaps-”

  Thorn put one hand behind his head and pushed her lips against his…

  And the world fell away.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Mournland B arrakas 24, 999 YK

  A moment earlier she’d been pressed against a slab of ice, staring into the shadow-filled eyes of a traitor. When she looked around, the ice was gone. She wasn’t in the fey citadel anymore. She was in a hallway that had haunted her dreams for the past year. Behind her, a wall of whirling dragonshards rose from floor to ceiling, a glittering whirlwind that could tear a man to pieces.

  Far Passage.

  The man in her arms was as familiar as the room, tall and lean, his black shiftweave pulling the darkness to him. Vambraces of blackened mithral, just like those she wore, covered his arms. He pulled back from the kiss, and his smile was as warm as she remembered.

  Lharen. Her mentor when she’d first joined the Dark Lanterns. He’d died in that very room-died destroying the mystic core that lay behind them.

  He frowned as she took a step back, but she wasn’t fooled. She reached down for Steel, but he wasn’t there. She was dressed as she’d been on the mission, and she hadn’t received Steel until afterward-when Lharen was dead and she was still recovering from her injuries.

  “Amusing,” she said. “Very clever. I’ve dealt with changelings before, and I’m not in the mood for games now. I gave you what you asked. Now it’s time for answers.”

  He was good; she had to give him that. For someone who’d never seen Lharen before, Cadrel managed his expressions perfectly. The look of concern was just as she remembered it. “There’s no time for talk,” he said. “I don’t expect to walk away from this. But I’ve beaten the odds before. Perhaps-”

  Those were his final words, the last thing he’d told her before diving into the core. She wasn’t about to listen to it again. She hit him, swinging her fist forward and letting all rage flow into her arm. The strength of the dragon surged through her, and she felt bone snap beneath her fist. The false Lharen flew backward, falling into the storm of shards. The cry was choked off in an instant, and he was gone.

  She was still in the hall. Still looking at the mystic core and the whirling crystals, flecks of blood scattered across the floor. She’d expected it all to fade. And yet… she was still there. What did it mean?

  “How did that feel, beloved?”

  The voice came from behind her, and Thorn could feel the familiar presence, a scent she’d come to know as well as his voice: Drego Sarhain.

  She turned to face him. “I’m not your beloved, Drego.”

  He wore the guise she’d seen at their first meeting, the black and silver doublet of a Thrane courtier. Lharen had been rough, scarred by fire and battle. Drego’s skin was perfect and unblemished, not a hair out of place. “You could be,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I’m not having this conversation. You’re no more real than Lharen was.”

  “Which is to say, I’m just as real as he was,” Drego replied. “And it seems to me that you’ve little else to do. We can sit here in silence if you’d prefer.”

  “What do you want?” Thorn said. “And you can stop pretending, Cadrel. I know this is you.”

  “Oh, it is, on some level,” Drego said. “Your friend deals with nightmares. The death of your first real lover. And you and I… well, it seems we have unresolved issues. If I’d been in his place, I might have looked for something a little darker to work with, but perhaps it was all he could do with the opening you g
ave him. Love. Are you afraid of my love, Thorn?”

  “You don’t love me,” Thorn said. “And you’re not here now.”

  “A part of me is. I’m a memory. A fear,” he said. “I love the shadow within you. I love the dragon waiting to be reborn. You’re not Sarmondelaryx. You’re not the one I gave my heart to in ages past. But you will not last. In time, she will crush your spirit and take your life from you.”

  “You sure know how to win a girl over.”

  Drego shrugged with that easy grin she remembered so well. “I’m just telling you what you already know. This is your nightmare, after all. The more you use her power, the stronger she becomes. And yet when you struck that shadow a moment ago, the one you thought was this Cadrel, you drew on her strength.”

  “I-” She didn’t have an answer. He was right. She was getting used to the power, beginning to rely on it.

  Drego smiled. “Perhaps there is too little to hold on to in your life.”

  “There is plenty good in my life,” she said.

  “Oh?” Drego stepped toward her. “A brother you barely speak to. Father and mother gone. A country your only love, a country you don’t even know whether to trust. What really happened in this place, beloved?”

  Thorn stepped back. Part of her wanted to throw him across the room, to banish the shadow as she’d banished the shade of Lharen. And yet… the doubt was a dagger in her heart.

  So many things didn’t add up. The Citadel had given her a ring, told her it sharpened her senses and let her see in the dark, but she knew those were talents she drew from Sarmondelaryx. Someone in the Citadel had wanted to keep that knowledge hidden, to prevent her from noticing the change that had taken place, the change that had occurred when the stones were embedded in her spine. The eladrin claimed the stones were ancient treasures, ancient treasures that just happened to be thrown at her as shrapnel.

  “I’d love to hear the answer,” she said.

  “I wish I could give it to you,” Drego said. “I’m not really here. I’m only a shadow, conjured to do Cadrel’s bidding. But he doesn’t know what he’s called. I am far older than he, and there is a spark of me even in this shade. So I will tell you this: I gave my heart to the Angel of Flame long before you were born. And yet I told you the truth beneath Sharn. Flawed as you are, I love you as well. You are the flower I will treasure, even knowing it will fade. You may be doomed, but do not go easily, Nyrielle. Don’t fall to the likes of this one.”

  He took another step toward her and she matched it. He looked at her, and she remembered that gleam in his eye from the first moment in a wagon in Droaam, remembered seeing it fade in the tunnels of Sharn. She leaned in and kissed him.

  The ice was cold against her chest, her doublet wet with the melt. She released Cadrel’s head, staring into the shadowy pools of his eyes. He was surprisingly subdued, seemingly lost in thought. Then he blinked, finally focusing on her.

  “I’ve paid your price,” she said. “Now I believe you owe me answers.”

  He nodded. He looked at her again and found his voice. “Three questions. Three answers, told in truth.”

  “The first is simple enough. Oargev. Cadrel… the real Cadrel. Dal. What part did they truly play in all this?”

  The man in the ice smiled slightly. “Such a fine story we crafted for you, and all gone to waste now. You never met Cazalan Dal, my dear; he died in the Mournland months ago. The man you met in Sharn was a figment drawn from Prince Oargev, still tormented by guilt over his failure to his people. Having established Dal in your minds, it was easy enough to use him again. If all had gone as planned, my cousins would have blamed your five nations for their loss and gone to their graves believing that it was their own incompetency that had brought them to such an ignominious end.”

  “So Dal was just your stalking horse,” Thorn murmured. “And Oargev had nothing to do with this.”

  “The young prince had no hand in this matter, it’s true,” Cadrel said. “But he has many fascinating dreams for New Cyre, secrets your Citadel would just love to learn. Would you like to hear them? You have two more questions, my dear. I can tell you what these sad ghaele wish to know. Or I can share some of what I’ve learned in my service as Oargev’s spymaster… and some of the schemes I’ve set in motion.”

  Thorn hadn’t even considered that. Whatever his true nature, it seemed that the creature before her had been posing as Essyn Cadrel for some time. And yet… it was part of the game. She could see it. He was torturing the eladrin again, and she wouldn’t serve as his pawn. She’d agreed to take their coin, and she’d see her promise through.

  “I’m not letting you slip away so easily,” Thorn said. “My second question: Why did you steal the shards?”

  “We have suffered torments you cannot imagine, spent an eternity in a realm of horrors. And all because our cousins left us to our fate. At first we wanted vengeance against the giants. We swore to find a way to escape and make the Titan Cul’sir pay for our pain. As lifetimes passed, we realized that wouldn’t be enough. The giants were the agents of our downfall, but it was our kin who set everything in motion. If they’d fought at our side, we could have defeated the giants then and there. We never would have suffered. And so they would suffer as we had suffered. They would see their world fall to nightmares. They would feel flesh twisting from within. Perhaps you’ll show us what lies beneath that veil, Lady Tira?”

  “You’re just gloating,” Thorn said. “You promised me an answer. Why take the stones, specifically?”

  “You’ve heard the reason. You’ve seen it already. The Tree cannot survive without them. And the spires cannot stand without the Tree and without the shards to protect them from their enemies. Even as they rot from within, our cousins will be crushed from without. They will see their dreams turn to horror.”

  “Then my third and final question: Where has your master taken the shards?”

  “Where you cannot follow, and that is the truth.” Cadrel laughed. “To Taer Lian Doresh, the Fortress of the Fading Dream. Even if you could find it, you could never reach it in time.” His eyes flickered over to the ghaele. “And no fey force will ever breach its walls. He has long prepared for your coming, Lords and Ladies. The walls of the fortress are girded against your powers. He has gathered your names and those of your followers. He will feel you as you draw near and break you in his place of power. You may as well return to your demesnes. Watch the Silver Tree fall and your spires rot from within. The world will be your grave… your nightmare made real.”

  “Enough!” Tira said. She raised a hand, and masked guards surrounded the imprisoned bard. “Take him away. Imprison him in a cleft cell. Let no living guard observe him, lest his fears be used against us. And have Marudrix brought to this chamber; we will have need of him.”

  The eladrin murmured but Tira would not speak until Cadrel had been removed. Drix was brought into the chamber and smiled as he saw Thorn. She nodded at him, but Tira interrupted before they could speak.

  “Fellow ghaele, we have been deceived and abused. Our enemies sought to turn us against one another and came within mere moments of succeeding. The ritual I have prepared to heal the wound and cleanse the Tree… it must be performed within the next three days. It will be a hundred years before the planes are aligned again, and by then the Tree will be dust.”

  “What are we to do?” the Rose Queen said. “We cannot find our foe, and we cannot fight him.”

  “Oh, we can find him,” Tira said. “I am no fool. I had my doubts about Shan Doresh the moment he arrived, though I admit I thought him an imposter, not a true and vengeful revenant. I placed my mark upon him.”

  “A scrying mark,” Thorn said. That was the same trick the false Cazalan Dal had said he’d used on her. “Then you can locate him?”

  The Lady of the Silver Tree nodded. “But it will take all our strength and more. Marudrix, we will have to draw on the energies of the Stone of Life.”

  Drix frowned. “I thought y
ou said you couldn’t take it out without the other stones?”

  “There is more to its power than simple healing, child. Far more. I cannot remove it from you yet. But we can focus the ritual through you. I simply need you to reach inside, to feel the power and shape it.”

  Drix looked at Thorn.

  “What are the risks?” Thorn said.

  “It is our nature to hide from prying eyes,” Tira replied. “I will need the power of the heart if I am to pierce Shan Doresh’s natural wards. But there is no danger to Marudrix; we simply cannot proceed unless he opens the way.”

  Drix shrugged. “Sounds interesting,” he said.

  Tira led the way to a chamber higher in the tree. There were long cracks in the silver walls, a cold wind whistling throw the narrow gaps. A circle was engraved into the floor, a vast seal covered with spidery symbols and sigils. The other eladrin had been silent throughout the questioning, and they remained subdued; most seemed lost in their own thoughts, perhaps considering the impact of the loss of their treasures. Each one walked to a place in the ring, and slowly the sigils around them burst into light, cold fire spreading out across the entire seal.

  Tira led Drix into the center of the room. “Lie down,” she told him and he complied. She walked backward, taking her place on the edge of the ring. She looked at Thorn. “Remove your dagger from the chamber, if you will.”

  Thorn could feel Steel’s disappointment, but she could hardly argue with the fey queen. She concentrated, slipping Steel into the pocket of space within a glove.

  The stone in Drix’s chest began to glow. It still pulsed, like the beat of a heart.

  “Can you feel my touch, Marudrix?” Tira’s voice was quiet, yet it filled the room.

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “Don’t be afraid. Don’t resist. Feel the stone. Feel the energy within it.”