The fading dream

CHAPTER NINE

The Mournland B arrakas 24, 999 YK

Hours passed. The rain slowed but never enough to let them leave. Drix silently fiddled with the pieces of his little crossbow. His wounds were completely healed, but he was still shivering and didn’t want to talk.

“Would you like to hear a story?” Cadrel said.

“Hmm?” Thorn said, turning her drifting attention back to the bard.

“A story,” he said. “It’s what I used to do, you know. I’ve just remembered one that you might find interesting. And I’d be quite interested to hear your thoughts on it, Marudrix.”

The tinker looked up. “I’d love a story. Can you put a crossbow in it?”

“This isn’t one of my own,” Cadrel said. “No, this is an old tale, older than Galifar itself. A story of the elves. And I wonder if it might have something to do with the people we’re going to see.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Thorn.

Cadrel took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was low and resonant, filling the hole. “Have you ever wondered why elves don’t sleep?

“When the world was young and Eberron still spoke to her children, the land belonged to the giants, and the worst of all the giants was the Titan King Cul’sir. His heart was filled with greed. There was no treasure he did not covet, and his power was great. The smaller creatures hid in fear of mighty Cul’sir. The goblins cowered in the deepest caverns. The dwarves climbed the highest mountains. The gnomes hid in the darkest woods. There was only one race that had no fear of the giants: the elder elves, oldest of the old.”

“I’m guessing elves wrote this story?” Thorn said.

Cadrel gave her a reproachful look and continued.

“The elder elves had no fear, for they had been granted gifts by the Sovereigns and dominion over many things. Summer. Winter. Joy. Dreams. No one giant-not even the Titan King-could match this power. This arrogance was their undoing, for their treasures merely drew the eyes of the greedy Cul’sir. Alone, he could never have challenged an elven citadel. But he assembled the first army of giants, and he brought it to the City of Song and Silence. Had they been silent and hidden, he might have passed by unknowing. Instead, their voices were raised in joyous sound, and so the giants found them, butchered them, and enslaved those few that they spared, stripping them of their magic and mixing their blood with mud. Six elven cities remained, and the lords of the six cities gathered around a silver tree-”

“They probably gathered in the tree,” Drix said. He’d set down the crossbow and was listening intently.

“I told you, Drix. It’s not my story.”

“Oh, I know. But I’ve been there. If there was only six of them, I think they’d go inside.”

Thorn opened her mouth to question that, but then she remembered his words at the Citadel. All her attention had been focused on Boranel and Oargev and on keeping the prince of Cyre from killing the tinker. She hadn’t even thought about the name of the city or how it might relate to the image that had been haunting her dreams. “Does it have golden leaves?”

“Not so much anymore. It used to. Why?”

Cadrel cleared his throat. “I understand that these are unusual circumstances, but in Cyre it’s considered rude to interrupt. And as we are in Cyre at the moment…”

“Sorry,” Drix said. “I really would like to hear the rest of the story.”

Cadrel looked at Thorn and she nodded.

“Very well. The lords of the six cities gathered around-or possibly in-a silver tree. Their combined might was a thing to inspire legends. The Prince of Winter held a sword that could freeze the blood of an army with a single stroke. The Lord of Joy wore a jewel so lovely it could cause the hearts of his foes to burst with joy. But greatest among them was Shan Doresh, the Lord of Dreams. His was the power to draw out the heart’s desire and make it real for a time. But these dreams would not last, and he could not restore those slain in the City of Song and Silence. He urged the others to join together in an army, certain that together they could defeat the Titan King and free those they had taken as slaves. But the others were afraid to fight. And when the battle came, the Lord of Dreams and his subjects found themselves alone.

“Titan fought elf for a full twelve days and twelve nights, with the dark magic of the giants matched against Shan Doresh and the hopes he inspired in his people. Cul’sir knew he could not defeat the Lord of Dreams alone, and so he bargained with the Shadow and received a fearful boon. When Doresh next drew on his gifts, he and his people were pulled fully into the realm of dreams, and they were never seen again. The lords of the elder elves were so ashamed and so terrified that they fled into the deepest shadows of the world, finally falling through the cracks in those places into the realm of Thelanis. And this is why the elves don’t sleep today; they are too ashamed to face Shan Doresh and acknowledge their cowardice.”

“Isn’t that a bit of a stretch?” Thorn said, settling her hand against Steel’s hilt.

“It may be,” Cadrel replied. “But you saw those images at the Citadel-how much they looked like elves! Combine that with this level of magical sophistication we’re seeing. Where have these eladrin been all this time? Hiding on another plane is the only answer than makes sense. And planar studies have shown time and again that Thelanis is our closest planar counterpart. Shifting across that barrier in response to a disaster, hiding there, either coming across occasionally or having our people stumble through the wall and finding them-it’s quite a story but not an impossible one.”

“I suppose not,” Thorn said. “Does it matter to us?”

“Perhaps it doesn’t,” Cadrel replied. “But it’s the chance to learn the truth behind one of the oldest stories I know; I hope you’ll understand if I’m somewhat excited.”

“Of course,” Thorn said. “And thank you for the story. But now… it sounds to me like the rain’s stopped. So if we’re going to get to the bottom of this story-or any other-I suggest we climb out of this hole and get on with our journey.”

Time passed, though the dull gray sky and the effects of the Irian tears made it difficult to say just how long. Thorn felt as if she’d been walking for a week, but rationally she knew it couldn’t have been more than a day. She was still troubled by the memory of Drix’s wounds melting away. Zane’s words echoed in the back of her mind. Imagine an army of soldiers possessing such power. And Cadrel’s casual comment, We may be allies this month, but we both know that there can only be one king of Galifar.

“Almost there,” Drix said. “There’s the forest up ahead.”

Thorn had heard that the southern forests of Cyre were one of the most beautiful places on Khorvaire-lush and temperate, filled with color and wildlife. What stood before them was a pale shadow. The trees were the first actual living vegetation Thorn had seen since they’d entered the Mournland, but they were just barely alive. Only a few of the trees had any leaves, and there were no sounds of wildlife, not even insects in the air. Thorn saw motion out of the corner of her eye, and she thought it was a snake winding its way up the trunk of a tree. Closer inspection revealed a more disturbing truth. It was a long vine, tipped with an ugly barb.

“Roots, unless I miss my guess,” Cadrel said. “There’s no sustenance from the sun, and who knows if there’s any rain to be had here… or if there is, if the trees can benefit from it. I imagine it seeks sustenance from other sources.”

A new voice rang out through the woods, strong and confidant. “You have good eyes, mortal man. Perhaps I’ll let you keep one of them.”

Thorn cursed and traced a cross on Steel’s hilt. “Back to back, all of you.” She could see shadows all around them. How could she have missed them before? Had they been truly invisible, or were they simply that good at the arts of stealth? She reached into her pouch, calling for the fireball wand she’d taken from Cazalan Dal, and her fingers closed on empty air. The wand wasn’t in her pack anymore.

“Don’t!” Drix shouted. “Don’t hurt them. These are my friends.”

Thorn wasn’t sure who he was trying to protect. “We mean you no harm,” she called.

“Your intentions matter little to me,” the voice said. The speaker stepped out from behind the trunk of a dying tree. He was lean and graceful, clad in a tunic made from overlapping crimson leaves. His face was hidden behind the visor of his helm, which was carved from darkwood and bore the curling horns of a woodland tribex. He held a long spear in one hand, both head and shaft made from a single piece of polished darkwood. “We are guardians of this path. This one has been here before, and we will not bar his way. But you, leave now and leave in peace, or stay and become our prey.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you struck an innocent, from what I’ve heard,” Thorn said. She heard a rustling around her, the murmured voices of the other guardians. “And I assure you, I won’t fall alone.” Behind her, she heard Essyn Cadrel draw his blade.

“Stop!” Drix stepped in front of her. “We’ve been called. We’re here to save the tree.”

The guardian lowered his spear, leveling it at Thorn. “We knew you would return, Marudrix the Maimed. But you were never to show others the way.”

“One other,” Drix said. He turned to Thorn. “Show them.”

It took a moment for Thorn to realize what he was talking about. A stone wrapped in thorn. She turned her neck and pulled back her head. “This better be enough,” she said. “I’m not showing the other one.”

There was another torrent of whispers, voices murmuring in the shadows. Thorn couldn’t quite hear the words, but the sounds were all she needed. In Droaam, she’d been able to spot an invisible sorcerer by the sounds he made and the changes in the pressure in the air. Drawing on those senses was much like opening her eyes; the challenge was to trust her instincts, to let her subconscious paint a picture. If she tried to fight it, to control it, the flood of information was overwhelming. She just listened and let those whispering voices tell her about her hidden foes. Once she was truly listening, she could hear far more than just voices. She could hear a boot shift against soft soil, the sound of a gloved hand changing its grip on a spear, a bowstring held taut. She could even smell them, faint scents of leather and sweat: six of them, using the trees for cover, two archers.

The whispers revealed the presence of the hidden foes, but Thorn’s eyes were locked on the knight in the horned helm. He was surprised to see the stone in her neck. It took him a moment to recognize it for what it was. “Taeli sha,” he whispered, an Elven phrase Thorn had heard often in her childhood in Wroat… This cannot be! He took a step forward, and for a moment, he loosened his grip on his spear.

That instant was all that Thorn needed. She threw herself forward, racing across the clearing. She closed the distance in three steps, grabbing the shaft of his spear with one hand and pulling hard as she planted a quick kick squarely in his chest. The warrior staggered back, gasping for air and releasing the spear. Thorn wasn’t finished. She could feel the archers stepping out from behind their tree cover. Dropping the spear, she vaulted forward, flipping over the shocked soldier and landing directly behind him. Not a moment too soon, as an arrow intended for her slammed into the shoulder of the fey knight. Spinning around, Thorn wrapped one arm around the warrior’s neck. She summoned Steel into her free hand, setting the point against the throat of the eladrin soldier. She knew where the archers were and kept the body of the knight between them.

“Why don’t you show yourselves and lay down your weapons,” she called out as Cadrel and Drix gaped at her. “And perhaps we can sort this out peacefully.”

What happened next was too quick for the mind to follow. One moment she was holding the knight by the throat. Then her arms were empty. And there were four spear points leveled at her chest-four grim eladrin in redleaf armor and darkwood helms surrounding her. The two archers were also in the clearing, both covering Essyn Cadrel. Nothing could move so quickly; they’d teleported, crossing space in the blink of an eye. Thorn could see the tension in the spearmen. They were ready to strike the moment she moved, and they were surrounding her on all sides.

“So perhaps you won’t be laying the weapons down,” Thorn said. She slowly raised her hands. “I’m sure we can still sort this out peacefully. What do you think?”

The last words were directed to Steel more than to the eladrin. She hadn’t expected the balance of power to shift quite so quickly, but it was what she was there for-to learn as much as she could about the threat posed by the feyspire.

Their gear is on par with Cannith third-tier enchantments-the leaves are stronger than steel scales, Steel reported quickly. More important-there’s an extraplanar resonance clinging to the ones that jumped. I won’t try to explain, but they won’t be able to repeat that trick for some time.

The fey warriors were waiting for a signal from their commander. Thorn could feel the knight in the horned helm standing behind her, smell the blood flowing from his wounded shoulder. She remained still as he brushed her hair aside, studying the shard embedded in her spine.

“You have spirit, young one,” he said. “But spirit alone is not enough to earn you a welcome in the City of the Silver Tree. And this stone does not belong with you; we shall take it from your bones.”

“Don’t do this, Casoran.” Drix had been silent, but he took a step forward. “She’s innocent. As I was.”

“Be silent and still, Marudrix. You do not command my blade.”

“No, you serve the Silver Lady. And it was she who told me to return when I had found the stone wrapped in Thorn. Would you defy her?”

The eladrin took a step back, letting Thorn’s hair fall down to cover the stone. “I am the guardian of this path. Do not presume to tell me what to do.”

For a moment, the eyes of the eladrin were on Drix, and that moment was all Thorn needed. She could channel only a limited amount of mystical energy at a time, and she knew only a few tricks, but those spells had proven invaluable in the past. She could alter her appearance with an illusionary guise. She could hide all trace of her passage. She could leap great distances or scale sheer walls with the ease of a spider.

And she could turn invisible.

It was a difficult spell, requiring constant concentration, and the cloak was shattered if she took any sort of hostile action. But when she was surrounded by enemies, it was the perfect thing. She’d woven the arcane patterns in her mind as Drix argued with the horned knight, and when she released it, she vanished from sight.

The eladrin surrounding her thrust their spears forward, but they met empty air. Thorn had dropped to the ground the instant the concealing magics took hold. She rolled backward, out from the center of the ring. She was on her feet again before the fey had time to react, and once again she had her arm around Casoran’s neck and Steel’s tip at his throat. She prayed that Steel had been telling the truth when he’d said they couldn’t teleport again.

“Now where were we?” she said as the mystical cloak faded away.

“A stalemate at best.” It was one of the archers. His bow was still trained on Essyn Cadrel. “You may slay our commander, but your companion will fall. And should you kill your hostage, you will be the next to die.”

“That’s right. And maybe I’ll take two or three more of you with me. What good does that do any of us?” Taking a deep breath, she released the knight and took a step back. “We didn’t come to fight. We came here to protect Drix. He tells me your queen wishes to speak with me. And if you really do have a silver tree in your city… tell me, does it have leaves of gold? And is the bark beginning to crack? Because if it is, I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks now, and I really think I need to see your queen as quickly as possible.”

The archers had trained their bows on her, and the spearmen were ready to charge. But the knight in the horned helm held up a hand, and they took a step back. He turned to face her, blood still dripping down his leafy armor where the arrow was lodged in his shoulder. “I was right, halfblood. You do have spirit. And if you’ve heard the call of the Tree, then it is not my place to strip the stone from you. Let us go to the spire.”

“All of us,” Thorn said, pointing to Cadrel. “If your queen wants to meet me, she can meet my friend as well.”

“As you wish,” the knight said. He reached up and yanked the arrow from his shoulder, flinging it to the ground. He didn’t flinch or cry out, though blood flowed from the ugly wound. He pressed his hand over the gash, and when he pulled it away, the only trace of the injury was the blood drying on his armor. “Follow me, then. The Silver Tree awaits.”