The fading dream tob-3

by Keith Baker

  Into the stone.

  He could hear the other voices clamoring around him, the dragon, the demons, the angels. And that was his last thought for a long time.

  Thorn gasped, still clutching the ankle of the guardian. The pain was gone, flushed away as the strength of the sentry flowed through her. She flexed her leg and found the bone intact. Once again, draining the life of another had saved her own.

  Sarmondelaryx’s power, she thought. I used it again.

  It was only then that the events of the past few moments fully came back to her. She sat up and looked around. “Drego?”

  He was nowhere to be seen. More than that, she couldn’t smell him anymore. With all the other voices, she wasn’t sure if he’d really been there at all.

  Voices. She picked up Steel.

  You’re alive, he said.

  “You sound so surprised,” she told him.

  You weren’t watching you for the last few moments. Quite a remarkable recovery.

  “Isn’t it? It might make you think of Toli or a certain Deneith bastard.”

  Yes… Steel said. I felt the surge of power again. It seems you’re learning more control.

  “So it seems,” she said. “If you were watching the last few minutes… Was anyone here before the guard? Did anyone talk to me?”

  I was trying. You didn’t seem to hear. You were too busy using me as a chisel.

  “No one else?”

  No. If you’re thinking of Marudrix, he must have been captured. Or killed, if that’s possible. I suggest you start thinking about escape.

  “Escape?” Thorn looked around herself. She could see the wall of bones far away. The towers stretched up toward the night sky, but they had changed while she was inside; they seemed to be formed from raw muscle, glistening wetly in the light of the moons. “Without Drix?”

  Yes, well, I suppose you could try to find Drix and rescue him. On your own. Given your spectacular success rate to this point, I think the Citadel would prefer that you admit defeat while you’re still alive and get safely back. If you can even manage that.

  “Such confidence,” Thorn said.

  Then it all fell into place.

  “Of course.” She cursed.

  What?

  “Don’t you see? It’s only a dream.”

  I’m afraid I don’t see at all. And dreams aren’t exactly my area of expertise.

  Thorn stood up. Her thoughts were racing, and she felt a renewed surge of energy. “The manticore told us this place was both dream and reality, right?”

  Correct. If that’s literally true, it means that we are in some way on the plane of Dal Quor at this moment, that we are physically walking through dreams.

  “These things play on fear. When I faced them, every time I doubted myself, every time I thought I might fail, I did. While Drix-”

  Succeeded against all odds despite having little more than a sunny disposition and the most unlikely magical weapon I’ve seen.

  “Exactly. Aureon’s word, I felt better when he smiled at me. When he finally fell, it was when Shan Doresh confronted him with his fears. Stole that confidence away.”

  So do you truly think you can do anything you can imagine in this place?

  “I don’t know.” She looked up at the sky. “I’m not flying now, so the answer appears to be no. I think it’s smaller than that. Luck. Not thinking about the ways that I’ll fail.”

  This begins to sound like a kalashtar sermon.

  “I suppose it does. But it’s worth a try. I believe I can find Drix.”

  And how will you do that, exactly?

  Thorn sighed. “Always the practical one, aren’t you? Still…” She reached back and ran two fingers over the stone in her neck then shifted to feel the shard in the base of her spine. “Drix could sense the other stones with his crystal heart. He was surprised I couldn’t.”

  Which could be because your shards are not, in fact, ancient eladrin relics.

  “Yes,” she said. “Or it could be because I don’t believe that they are. I’ve spent this entire mission questioning everything. Perhaps it’s time that I try believing the story and seeing where it takes me.”

  If you think that will work, I’d like to see you try.

  “Fine,” Thorn said. She slid the dagger back into his sheath and closed her eyes.

  It wasn’t so easy for Thorn to concentrate. All of her other senses had returned to their full sensitivity. Even with her eyes closed, she could hear the feet against the stones below, feel the beasts in the air moving overhead, smell the salty tang of tears and blood. She did her best to push it away, to focus on a single sensation: the stone in her neck.

  For a long time after Far Passage, the stone had been a source of constant pain. She’d relied on dreamlily and alcohol to dull the agony, weaning herself only when the addiction nearly brought down a mission. She realized that the pain was still there, that she’d just learned to hold it at bay. It wasn’t physical pain at all. It was anger, hatred. She could feel hundreds of voices in the stone, clamoring for release, raging at her. She could faintly sense Daine, doing his best to hold the others at bay and bring her what peace he could. Drulkalatar, filled with feral hatred, was there too. And she sensed another, vast and dark, filled with hunger… Sarmondelaryx herself.

  There were more, dozens more, hundreds. She remembered the vision that had come to her in Fallen, walking through the chamber of whispering skulls, and Tira’s words at the Silver Tree. The Preserving Shard holds the spirits of our greatest leaders. She could feel them, faint, for they were not struggling for release, ancient spirits buried deep within the shard.

  Intriguing as that was, at the moment it was more inconvenient than useful. She couldn’t reach any further within the stone. The rage that burned within it was too great. She let the image of the stone drift away and brought her focus down, to the shard in the base of her spine.

  That stone had never brought her pain, though it occasionally grew cold. The Quiet Stone, Tira had called it. And compared to the raging shard above, it certainly was silent. Thorn tried to explore it with her thoughts and found nothing. If not for the voices she’d heard just seconds earlier, she might have given up, dismissed it as madness. This time…

  This time I learn your secrets.

  That one thought-that moment of determination-was all it took. It was as though she’d been pressed against a wall of glass only to have it turn into air. She felt her consciousness slip inside the stone, and she knew it for what it was, for what it could do. The Quiet Stone had been made to conceal and to warn. Thorn knew that she’d only touched a fraction of its power, and then only by instinct. She had no idea yet how to unlock its greater functions, but she could feel the depth of it, a deep pool of still energy. And as she studied it, she could sense the echo of others nearby. She knew then that there was a time when the stones had all been together. Words flashed through her mind-Ourelon’s Gift-and the dragons at the Silver Tree, a pact made in an age past. The vision faded in an instant, but she could still feel the echo of the others, feel them calling to be rejoined.

  She opened her eyes and drew Steel.

  So, he said. Have you found Marudrix?

  Thorn spun the dagger in the air and caught him. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I believe I have.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY — FOUR

  Taer Lian Doresh B arrakas 25, 999 YK

  Thorn strode through the halls of the Fortress of Fading Dreams, following the call of the crystal heart. She walked through streams of blood and chambers of writhing eyes, through halls where shrouded eladrin were harvesting fears from imprisoned dreamers and the kennels where those phobias were bound and trained for battle. No guardian gave her a second glance, nor did the strange and terrible beasts challenge her approach. Perhaps it was the Quiet Stone, responding to her touch. Perhaps the world of dreams was responding to her belief in herself. And perhaps it was simple arrogance on the part of the ancient fey. Thorn wore the long cloak
of the guardian who’d walked the halls, and she hid her face behind his silver mask. Perhaps the disguise and the confidence with which she walked was all it took to remove all obstacles to her path.

  There were many moments when something could have gone wrong, many times when a casual twist of fate could have revealed her deception and brought the full force of the citadel to bear. Yet at every turn, Olladra smiled, and fortune favored the Lantern.

  The call of the heart led her to the highest tower in the central keep, to a chamber that looked out over the fortress and the haunted woods around it. In the courtyard the forces of the Fading Dream were preparing for battle. Sages in bronze masks assembled weird weapons of war, things torn from the most horrible dreams of mortal artificers. Nightmares writhed and twisted in the skies, howling in a multitude of voices.

  And high in the chamber above, Thorn found Marudrix Juran Cannith bound in the center of a circle of fey symbols. She’d seen its like before, at the heart of the Silver Tree. She’d also seen the other artifacts in the room: the Sword of Winter, the Stone of Joy, and the sigils of all the mighty ghaele.

  And there her luck finally ran out.

  Thorn set the silver mask on the floor next to the spear and drew Steel. “What can you tell me?”

  That you should never have made it this far unchallenged.

  Thorn rapped the blade against her knuckles. “Kalashtar sermon, remember? Be positive. What can you tell me about this seal?”

  The power is immense-enough that it shows up clearly, even against the background energies of the fortress. Binding, abjuration, what you’d expect from defensive wards. There is something else. The power… Marudrix is the focal point. All the others… the energy feeds to him.

  “To what end?”

  That is unknown.

  “What do you think? Can I cross it safely?”

  By my analysis, the wards are purely defensive in nature-powerful, yes, but merely holding the artifacts in place.

  Thorn nodded. “That’s what it looks like to me.” Avoiding the nexus points of the wards where the air rippled around the artifacts, she strode over to Drix and knelt by his side. “Well, he’s still warm,” she said.

  It’s a start, I suppose.

  “Yes. Still…” she took a pinch of silver dust from a pouch and blew it toward Marudrix. When it vaporized, she tested the ward with a thin probe. “Whatever this is, my confidence isn’t enough to get through.”

  Unfortunate. It seems confidence isn’t everything.

  “I guess not,” Thorn said. “Strange, though. Look at the shape of this ward.”

  I see, Steel said. There are gaps in it. Not wide enough to pull him out, I’m afraid.

  “No,” Thorn said. “But why have them at all?”

  There’s far too much we don’t know about any of the eladrin, and it would seem these are stranger than most.

  Thorn crouched down next to Drix, rocking back and forth. “So let’s concentrate on what we do know.”

  Which is?

  “It’s all about stories. One kiss puts the princess to sleep for a thousand years. Kill the ogre and his spine becomes a ladder.”

  Do we need a ladder?

  “Not that I know of. But if you believe what they said in the Silver Tree, I’m sitting next to a sleeping prince.”

  Which means?

  Thorn looked down at Drix. She thought about her brother Nandon, the memories of childhood, the stories he’d told her in the dark, and the distance that had come between them over the years. She thought about how much she missed him. And leaning down through the gaps in the shielding ward, she gently kissed Drix.

  At first nothing happened. Then there was a pulse of light at his chest… and another. Then he opened his eyes. He glanced at her, moving only his eyes.

  This is insane, Steel said.

  “Kalashtar sermons,” Thorn said quietly. She looked down at Drix. “Can you talk?”

  “Thorn?” he said. His jaw didn’t move, and she had to struggle to hear him.

  “I’m here,” she said. “We don’t know how to get you out or what this is all about.”

  “G-g-g…” he said, struggling.

  “Slowly,” Thorn said. “Calm.”

  “Go,” he said. “Go now.”

  A new voice filled the room. “Oh, it’s far too late for that.”

  There was only one door to the highest chamber in the Fortress of Fading Dreams. Shan Doresh stood in it, a curved blade gleaming in one outstretched hand.

  Thorn rose to her feet, but she wasn’t fast enough. The Lord of Dreams raised his darkwood scepter, and a wave of force closed around her, pushing her back and pinning her arms to her sides.

  “By now you should know the futility of battle, Lady Thorn.” Shan Doresh had not bothered to restore his glamour. His armor was battle worn and tarnished, and he studied her with pools of shadow held behind his battered mithral mask. His voice was a chill wind, echoing through an empty helm. “There is to be no dramatic duel between us. You have a role to play, but it is not the part of the champion.”

  Thorn struggled and the dragon’s fury flowed through her. She’d broken an ogre with that strength, but physical power alone could not break the bonds that held her. “I’ll never help you,” she snarled.

  “I need nothing from you but your presence,” Doresh replied, striding into the circle. The wards had been restored, and Drix could no longer speak. “And yet there is no need for such anger. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you see?” Doresh said. “The stones. The boy. I’m going to finish this and save your friend.”

  Though Thorn couldn’t move her arms, she could still rub a finger across Steel’s hilt. “You’re going to perform the ritual Lady Tira had prepared?”

  It’s possible, Steel told her. The stones are here. Drix is at the center of it. There’s something troubling me, though. Let me continue to analyze the energies.

  Shan Doresh’s face was hidden behind his battered mask, but that mask shifted as if it were made of soft flesh. He smiled. “Yes. I will remove the heart from this boy’s chest. I am afraid that it will take some time for the stones to come into alignment; you will have to endure my company for some time before I can bring this to a close. But there is no need for hatred here. You have played your part. Now let your burdens fall. And soon I will remove the heart and bring this story to an end.”

  “It’s easier to relax when I can move my arms,” Thorn said. The bands of mystical force still held her tightly. “You know, since it’s just us friends here.”

  Doresh shook his head. He walked slowly around the circle, running his fingers over each of the artifacts he’d stolen from the Silver Tree. “There is no need for us to be enemies, but I’m not such a fool to think that we are friends. You still do not understand this tale you are in. You believe that I am the villain.”

  “Well, let’s see,” Thorn said. “Theft… manipulating me and my nation in an effort to shift the blame for that theft… arranging for poor Drix here to be stabbed… and if I can bring myself to believe the story, you might even be responsible for the Mourning. How is it that you’re not the villain?”

  Doresh looked at her, his mithral eyes narrowing. “You don’t know how this all began. You don’t know why I’ve done any of this.”

  “So tell me,” Thorn said. “It seems as though we have a little time on our hands. Tell me a story, Shan Doresh. Tell me how you’re not the bastard you seem to be.”

  “I have other things to occupy my thoughts right now. You would do well to simply spend this time in silence. It will be over soon.”

  “I’ve never been one for silence. The easiest way to get your peace is to answer the questions.”

  Doresh turned to face her fully. “Understand this: The people of this world mean nothing to me-your kind, even less. It is the people of the Silver Tree who must listen to this tale and who will know how it ends soon
enough.”

  Thorn would have shrugged if she could have moved. “So consider me the rehearsal. Tira was all set to remove the heart. You betrayed her trust, stole these treasures, and tried to blame ‘my kind’ for it. And now you’re doing it yourself. I suppose you want me to believe that it’s all a matter of pride, that you need to be the one who gets to be the savior, and you couldn’t let Tira take the credit for it. That if not for me, you would have blamed the Cyrans for the theft, and you could have taken credit both for recovering the treasures and for removing the heart.”

  Doresh smiled, the edges of the mithral mouth turning up. “You’re surprisingly clever for a creature made of dirt and ash. Perhaps that drop of my blood in you is worth something after all.”

  “So all of this was so you could play the part of the wounded hero. The man who made the noble sacrifice. You wanted to cast Tira in the role of hotheaded fool, the one who brought doom on her people.”

  “And she did,” Doresh said. “I may have placed the knife before her, but she struck the blow.”

  “True enough,” Thorn said. “For all of your power, you all seem like children to me.”

  Doresh ran the edge of his curved blade along the darkwood rod. “Mind your words, girl. I need you for this ritual. What happens to you after that is far from certain.”

  “And now you can see why this whole situation is so relaxing for me. You’re suggesting that you’re doing the same thing as Tira. That you’re going to restore Drix and the Silver Tree. And this is all just about who gets to take the credit for this amazing victory.”

  Doresh turned away, not even bothering to respond.

  “It’s a good story. Exactly the kind of thing a human king might do-set up an enemy to fail so he could take credit for the victory. Make it all about propaganda. I just don’t believe it.”

  Neither do I, Steel said. The ritual is certainly similar to what Tira was developing, but there’s a piece missing. I don’t see anything that’s going to actually heal Drix’s injury once the stone is removed.