The fading dream tob-3
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“That’s wonderful,” Drix said. He knelt down by the Elven symbols for love. “Perhaps we should take some of them with us.”
“I don’t think so,” Thorn murmured, pulling him back to his feet. “In my line of work, you learn pretty fast that the wrong word can be deadly. And the last thing we need right now is for you to find some explosive runes creeping around. Which way to the stones?”
Drix pointed.
“Follow behind me and keep quiet,” she whispered.
The hallway leading out of the scriptorium was dry and dusty, with cobwebs stretched across loose cobblestones. There was light around the corner and a wealth of sound after the silent vault: crackling fires, all manner of bubbling liquids, a clatter of metal against metal. She smelled rich spices, seared meats… a kitchen. But no sounds of chattering cooks, no feet against the floor or ladles stirring. Indicating that Drix should wait, Thorn slipped into the room.
It was the largest kitchen she’d ever been in, certainly equipped to serve a king or an army. Meats sizzled in fire pits and on long grills. There were rows of cauldrons filled with bubbling liquids. Vegetables were heaped alongside an impressive array of carving knives. There were no signs of either cooks or guards. Yet something about the kitchen troubled her more than the bloody stairs. It was the same sensation she’d felt in the Mournland, of doubt creeping in around her. She found herself wondering what was actually in those giant copper cauldrons. That was certainly a bone that just bumped against the edge, but what sort of bone was it? What about the herbs she could smell in the air? Was it possible they might be-
Her train of thought was interrupted by Drix coming into the room. “Candied sardaroots!” he cried happily, grabbing a handful from a brass bowl. He managed to get one into his mouth before she slapped them out of his hand.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. That damned stone, she thought. He’s got no sense of caution anymore.
“Eating,” he said, surprised. “I don’t do it often, but I it’s been so long since I’ve seen a sardaroot, and the smell was so wonderful, and-”
His eyes widened. She looked down, following his gaze, and took an involuntary step back. The sardaroots she’d knocked to the floor were squirming, writhing around on the floor, like plump, candied lampreys. One shifted, and Thorn saw a tiny, toothy maw working at one end.
Drix cried out and dropped to his knees, hands clutching his stomach. His eyes widened and he looked up at Thorn.
It may save his life, but it doesn’t stop the pain, she thought.
She pushed him down to the ground, ripping open his doublet. The crystal heart was pulsing with light, and Drix was moaning in agony. He reached out, clawing at his stomach, and Thorn only hesitated for a moment before driving Steel into his flesh. He screamed but Thorn could hear Steel’s mental voice over the tinker’s cries.
To the left. And deeper.
With Steel’s guidance, it was quickly done. She tore the grub-root out of his gut and crushed it. Drix lay on the ground moaning as his flesh knit itself back together. Thorn didn’t wait. She leaped to her feet, racing over to the great door and readying herself at the side of it. She stood, Steel at the ready, Drix’s blood still dripping off the blade, waiting to see who would answer the cries.
No one came-no guards, no nightmare beasts. All Thorn heard were distant cries of terror and the howls of the things in the skies above.
“Is it safe?” Drix was still pale, crawling out from around the long table.
“Miraculously,” Thorn said. “Can you stand?”
He nodded and she helped him to his feet. “Sorry,” he said. His voice was still a little rough.
“So. Be quiet when I say to be quiet. Don’t follow me until it’s safe. And whatever you do, don’t eat anything. Is that clear?”
He nodded again and for just a moment, he looked crestfallen. Then his hand found his crossbow, and his smile spread again. “Can we keep moving?” he said. “There’s more testing to do.”
Thorn sighed. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of progress. Which way to the stones, master fletcher?”
CHAPTER TWENTY — TWO
Taer Lian Doresh B arrakas 25, 999 YK
For all the doubts Thorn was finding in her heart, it seemed that luck was finally with them. The hallway that lay ahead of them was vast and cold, and there was no sign of life within it. If there had been troops in there, they might have gone to face the manticore when it attacked, or it could simply be that the eladrin never expected anyone to slip by their defenses so easily and thought the scattered patrols would be sufficient.
The chamber reminded Thorn of the Mournland, the beach with the bones cracking beneath her feet. There were no corpses save the hallway itself. It was set up to be a grand feasting hall, long, wooden tables set for dozens of guests. Behind them the kitchen was full to bursting, but in the hall the food was rotting on the platters. The fireplace held only ashes. There was no glass in the arched windows, and the curtains were rotting tatters. The terrible howl echoed through the open windows.
“At least it’s empty,” Thorn murmured. Still, she kept her eyes fixed on the air, watching for the slightest ripple that could warn of a mystical ward. Somehow she couldn’t believe that such a vast area would be left unguarded.
“Not much farther,” Drix whispered. “Straight ahead. Two hundred feet, if that.”
Thorn wished she had some magic left in her. The chance to scout invisibly would have been a blessing. Still, she had to take the risk. “Hold back,” she whispered to Drix.
Pale, flickering light poured through a massive double doorway ahead of them. The doors stood partially open, hanging, half rotted, off rusty hinges. Thorn crept to the arch, peering around the crumbling wood.
It wasn’t hard to guess where they needed to go. The hallway ahead bore no resemblance to the crumbling chamber they were in. There was a thick smell in the air, rot and spices mixed together, and the hall itself seemed to be carved from ivory. It split in a great junction, and at the far end, two sentinels stood by a door of ivory and gold. Their bodies were hidden by long, dark cloaks; their faces covered with masks of tarnished silver.
They haven’t noticed us, Thorn thought. She studied the distance, considering the best way to close the gap before the alarm could be raised. She wanted to do her task quickly and closely; she didn’t want to miss with another throw, and it was already hard to guess where the body lay beneath the swathing cloaks. She held up a hand, ordering Drix to stay back. They had time. As long as something didn’t alert the guards…
Something such as the rotting doorway crumbling as her elbow brushed against it.
In a moment she stood revealed. The guardians charged, pikes lowered, and a sound like a wailing wind filled the hall. One vanished in a burst of light as Drix’s bolt struck him in the shoulder. The other was upon her.
Thorn dodged the first blow of the spear easily enough. She lunged forward, sweeping up and under the haft to gut her foe; her blade slashed through dark robes and empty air.
What is wrong with me? she thought. She couldn’t seem to focus her thoughts. She knew what she needed to do. The guardian wasn’t that fast, and she knew how to deal with a spearman; keep close, press him, don’t let him get to his reach. Yet somehow she found herself stumbling as she moved. The sentinel slammed the haft of his spear into her, knocking her back. And the rusty point was leveled at her heart.
Drix finished him before the blow ever landed. The light faded, leaving only the broken bolt and scraps of black cloth.
“This isn’t going to help my reputation,” Thorn said. She wanted to sit down. Her leg ached, the stone in her neck was throbbing, and all of a sudden, she felt the weight of it all pressing down on her.
“You can do this,” Drix said as he reloaded the crossbow. “You’ve got to. This is the last of the bolts that I charged. And that’s it. Behind that doorway.”
Thorn forced her doubts down, concentrating on the gilded
portal. “I don’t sense any wards. Together, then, if you’re ready?”
Drix nodded, smiling.
With her stolen wand in one hand and Steel in the other, Thorn planted a kick in the center of the door. It flew open and as it did, the room around them changed. Walls sprang up and they weren’t in a hallway any longer. They were in a dining hall. The same feasting hall they’d just walked through, only it was filled with life. Logs crackled in the fireplace, and a bard was singing in the distance, a piece of the “Song of the Stormblade.”
Thorn glanced at Drix. There were revelers all around them, yet they appeared to be ignoring them completely. Thorn tried to watch them all, but there were simply too many. Still, she didn’t see any weapons beyond the knives people had for their meat. She truly didn’t see anyone paying any unusual attention to them.
“Are we still not eating?” Drix whispered.
“Oh, I insist,” a voice boomed. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I assure you, I mean you no harm.”
People moved out of the way as Shan Doresh stepped into the firelight. His crescent brooch gleamed against his black cloak, and he held a long scepter in one hand topped with the same eye-and-moon symbol. He appeared just as he had at the Silver Tree, with a warm smile and gleaming eyes.
“Please,” he said. “You have broken in like common thieves. You have assaulted my guards. And all that I have done in return is to prepare a feast in your honor.”
“We’ve been in your kitchen,” Thorn said. “I don’t think I have the stomach for your delicacies.” She kept her eyes locked on Doresh, ready to throw Steel at the first sign of treachery. Meanwhile, every moment was an opportunity to study the fey prince, to search for the opening she’d need for a quick kill.
Doresh shook his head sadly. “Come now. Remember where you are and who brought us to this.” A little anger found its way into his voice. “I remember a time when this was a place of purest beauty, harmony unmatched by the Tree itself. We fought to defend our people, and for that we were merged with this horror. We have made the best we could of an untenable situation. You will see terrible things in this place, Thorn. And some of them you brought with you. That is the nature of the fortress. But we need not be enemies.”
“Is that so?” Thorn said. “We’ve come for the treasures you stole from the Silver Tree.”
“No,” Doresh said, and his voice grew cold. “You are here because I wished it. And you will stay until our business is concluded.”
Drix hesitated but Thorn did not. When Drix paused, she pulled the crossbow from his hand and loosed the bolt at Doresh’s throat. Her aim was true, and there was a blinding flash of light as the shard-tip shattered against him and the energy engulfed the eladrin lord.
It can’t be that simple, Thorn thought.
It wasn’t. Shan Doresh was still standing when the light faded. He was revealed for what he truly was. A moment earlier he’d worn the guise Thorn knew from her dream. That might have been the man Shan Doresh wanted to be, but it wasn’t the man he was anymore. He still wore his silvered armor, but scales were missing from his jerkin. His handsome face was covered by a mask of mithral, battered and worn, and the eyes of the mask were empty sockets filled with shadow. His cloak was tattered and torn.
“Arrogant fools,” he said, and his voice was a cold ghost of what it had been. “You think to face me in the seat of my power? While I hold the sigils of my enemies?”
“We’re certainly going to try,” Thorn said. She charged as she spoke, Steel in her hand.
She didn’t even see the blow coming. She was lucky he struck with his open hand; he had all the power of an ogre. She hit the floor hard, vision blurring, Steel sliding from her grasp.
“I fought the lords of Xen’drik before your kind walked the world,” Doresh snarled. “You’re lucky I have no wish to sully my blade with your blood. But there are others willing to do the deed. Don’t you recognize this place, Marudrix? The hall of Making? Your father was here on the Day of Mourning. Here when you killed him, along with all these others. With everyone in Cyre on that day, save you.”
Thorn shook the cobwebs from her head and forced herself to her feet. Tendrils of fog were all around her. No, not fog… mist.
The dead-gray mists of the Mourning.
People were screaming all around them, thrashing in the sudden gloom. Thorn concentrated, and Steel flew back to her hand. “Drix!”
He didn’t answer.
He hasn’t moved, Steel told her.
“Are those windows still there?” she said.
Yes.
“Good.” She ran toward where she’d last seen Drix.
It was a simple plan: grab Drix, smash the window, regroup, and start again. There was only one problem with it: the people in the way. She’d thought the people trapped in the mists were dying. They were simply changing. She’d gone a matter of steps before the warped ones were upon her. She caught a glimpse of a face that seemed to be sliding off the skull, of limbs stretched like warm wax, and they were all around her. She had only one thing in her favor: her enhanced senses were with her again. She could feel the creatures moving in the mists around her, feel the twisted revelers clawing and swinging. It was enough to dodge the worst of it but not nearly enough for all. There were simply too many of them, and they seemed utterly immune to pain; they didn’t even react when she slashed with Steel. She felt a few of her ribs crack under a mighty blow, and another nearly sent her to her knees.
I’ve lost track of Drix, Steel told her. You’ve got to get out now. Just go.
It was easier said than done. Another barrage of blows left Thorn reeling. For a moment she wanted to just let go, to fall and forget it all. Then, for a moment, she saw Drix’s face… and Nandon’s. And she thought about the locket among the bones.
“It’s not going to end this way!” she cried. Reaching inside, she called on the strength of the dragon. As the next twisted reveler swung at her, she grabbed his wrist and spun him around, battering the others away with his body. She could feel the broken ribs tearing at her as she moved, and in her rage, she tried to draw the life from the man in her grasp… and felt nothing. There was no spark of life in the thing.
There was no time to hesitate. Holding on to the fury and the strength, she threw the man in front of her, scattering the brutes that lay between her and the window. She broke the arm of the one man who grabbed her as she ran. Then she was at the window. She struck the glass with Steel’s pommel, felt it shatter, and threw herself through.
It was a longer fall than she’d expected and far from a graceful landing. The world disappeared in a flash of pain as she struck hard stone, and she heard the crack of bone. It was hard for her to tell what was broken; her world was a mass of agony. Steel was talking but his voice was like wind; she couldn’t hang on to the words. She knew only one thing: she couldn’t stop, not yet. She couldn’t seem to stand, but Steel was still in her hand. She forced herself onto her arms, drove Steel down into the ground, and dragged herself forward.
There were voices in her mind, shouting along with Steel. She heard Daine, the Son of Khyber, but his words were as incomprehensible as the voice of the dagger.
She pulled herself forward again. She could feel an alcove up ahead-shelter.
Drulkalatar railed in her mind, mocking cries and howls lost in the torment.
Time lost its meaning as she dragged herself forward-another foot… another. Finally she was hidden from view.
Her destination reached, she fell back against the ground. All she could feel was pain. She wanted to let go of it, wanted to stop struggling, but something made her hang on.
She felt movement behind her. She tried to find the strength she needed to rise, to throw Steel.
“Relax, beloved,” Drego said. “You’ll need that fire soon enough.”
CHAPTER TWENTY — THREE
Taer Lian Doresh B arrakas 25, 999 YK
Blinded by agony, all Thorn could see was the outline o
f the man. But she knew his voice, and his scent.
“Come… to mock?” she said.
“Never, beloved,” he replied. “Yet surely you know that you could end all this. You’ve drawn on her strength but nothing more. If you release the dragon, she will survive this. She will make your enemies suffer for what they have done to you.”
“No…” she said. Drawing in breath was a challenge. “If I die… I die… as Thorn.”
“Mortals,” he said. “Stubborn to the last. I suppose that’s what you get for having a last to be stubborn to. If you’re so certain, then I suppose I’ll have to help.”
“Help?” she murmured.
“Just remember one thing, beloved,” he said, kneeling beside her. “It’s only a dream.”
He disappeared then and she wasn’t sure if he’d walked out of the alcove or simply vanished. The voices were still clamoring beneath the pain. Daine… Drulkalatar… dozens more.
The world faded away, and when it came back, someone was coming toward her hiding place.
Drego? No. She could hear hard boots scraping the ground, the hem of a long robe dragging.
The stranger drew ever closer. Thorn gathered her strength, and she realized what she had to do. She stopped struggling, dropped Steel, and let the tension flow from her body.
The sentry paused at the edge of the alcove. He’d heard a sound, and he’d seen the bloodstains along the stone. But sight and sound weren’t his primary senses. He perceived the living by feeling their fears, and there was nothing up ahead. Still, spear at the ready, he turned the corner.
The woman was stretched out on the stone. The sentry could see her broken leg and the blood around her, the dagger fallen to the side. And he felt nothing from her. Already dead. Something gleamed on the back of her neck, and he took a step forward to see what it was.
She moved in an instant, her hand wrapped around his leg. Surprised as he was, the sentry raised his spear to finish her. Or he tried to. Something was wrong. There was no strength in his arms. No arms. She was crushing all that he was and pulling it down, pulling it into her, pulling it…