The Fading Dream (10 page)

“How? Just hammering the plates? Or with magic?”

“I’ve been working with magic,” he said. “But I’ve still got a lot to learn. It’s hard.”

The breacher could break through at any time
, Steel warned her.
Or the elemental could break its bonds. In either case, this is the worst place we could be
.

“I know,” she said, returning the dagger to his sheath. “Tell me what it’s like.”

“A warforged … it’s magical but also alive. You need to reach out with your thoughts. Feel the threads of life.”

The liquid sphere pulsed, and the ship rocked as it did. Thorn could feel the vibration of the construct digging into the wood, and she could imagine the metal beast latched onto the hull.

Drix was oblivious to the threat, lost in his memories. “You follow the threads, search for the breaks,
let your strength flow into the broken strands to bind them together …”

Thorn pushed Drix up against the shuddering wall. “Can you feel what’s on the other side of this?”

Drix looked nervous but he pressed his hand up against the hull. “Yes.”

“Can you feel those threads of magic?”

Drix closed his eyes. “Yes … but it’s strong. Bright. It’s not hurt.”

“I know. But you can touch those threads? Feel their strength?”

“Yes,” Drix murmured. The boat rocked again, and a cascade of sparks fell from the golden cage surrounding the elemental core.

Thorn was no artificer, but she knew a thing or two about magic. She thought about the lessons she’d learned, the techniques she used for breaking through mystical wards. “You know what it’s like when a thread breaks. Can you break the threads you see? Use your strength to tear at them instead of mending them?”

“That’s not the way it’s supposed to go,” Drix said. “It’ll hurt—”

“It’s the only chance we have,” Thorn said. “It’s hurting the ship, Drix. It’s going to destroy the ship and kill us all unless you can make it go away. Make it let go.”

Drix frowned and Thorn could feel his tension growing. His fingers twisted, clenching into fists. “I … can’t …” he said. “They’re too bright. Too strong.”

“Keep trying,” Thorn said.

Suddenly a hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her back. It was Essyn Cadrel. “There’s no more time!” He grabbed Drix and Thorn saw that there was a crack running down the hull. “Come on!”

He turned, tugging Drix with him as they headed toward the top of the ship. The cracks were spreading.
There was nothing more to be done. By the time they reached the top hatch, the ship was shuddering and shaking. The crystal orb set into the wall by the hatch was half-filled with pale blue light.

“We’ve surfaced,” Cadrel said. “Quickly now!”

Throwing open the hatch, they stepped out onto the deck of the elemental ship. Salt spray filled the air, and the sky was a dim gray, the morning sun lurking behind thick clouds. Behind them, a ring of water rose from the surface of the sea. It was the extension of the elemental that propelled the ship through the ocean, and the elemental’s pain was plain to see. The ring contorted, struggling against invisible bonds. There was a lifeboat clamped down by the hatch.

“Careful!” Thorn shouted, grabbing Drix before he fell. The surface of the ship was slick, treacherous even if the vessel weren’t twisting and rocking. Cadrel pulled the tarp from the boat, and Thorn pushed Drix to it. “Just get in!”

Cadrel knew how to handle a boat, which was a good thing; it was all Thorn could do to keep herself and Drix from tumbling into the water. Soon they were free. “Oars!” Cadrel cried. “We need to get as far away as we can!”

The stricken vessel was just fading into the fog when the wards finally fell. The ring surrounding the ship snapped, two great tentacles of water rising into the air and flailing at the clouds. For a moment they stayed suspended in the air, waterspouts quivering in the light of early morning. Then they fell. As the ring collapsed, the ship burst asunder. The elemental core had broken free of its bonds and exploded in a torrent of water.

“Row!” Cadrel said.

Chunks of wood showered down from the sky, splashing into the water around them. Then the shock wave
hit. The little boat was flung up on a watery cliff then slammed back down into the ocean. Thorn’s oar was torn from her grip, and for a moment she was falling toward the water. Cadrel caught hold of her arm and pulled her down to the bench.

Thorn wanted to sink onto the floor of the little boat, to just lie there and forget about the chaos of the past hour, the sacrifice of Captain Shaeli. She knew better. She drew Steel and looked at the ocean, searching for any signs of motion beneath the heaving water. “Stand ready!” she called to the others. “That breacher is still out there!”

Cadrel nodded. He drew a wand from his belt. Drix stared into the ocean, clinging to the boat. “I don’t feel it,” he said. “The water’s empty.”

“Would you bet your life on that?” Thorn yelled, shouting over the ocean spray.

“Yes,” Drix said. He picked up the oar that had fallen to the bottom of the boat, smiling slightly. “We’re safe now.”

I’m not sensing anything either
, Steel said.
The power of the elemental is fading. I’m not sensing any other significant magical signatures
.

“Wouldn’t it be shielded from divination?” Thorn said.

“Possibly,” Cadrel said. He was watching the ocean, tracking any ripples with his wand. The boiling water was settling down. “Maybe it was destroyed in the blast.”

Unlikely
, Steel said.
Breachers were designed to bring down elemental vessels. They were built to survive it
.

“I suppose.” The waters were calm, and there was no sign of metal in the depths. “If it really was an old weapon, I suppose it makes sense … crippling shipping but allowing civilians to escape.”

“What else could it be?” Cadrel said. “Seaside was one of our important ports. Naturally it was defended.
With the Mourning … well, you’ll have to forgive us if disabling old weapons hasn’t been at the top of our list of priorities.”

“I suppose,” Thorn said. “It’s just … 
Shargon’s Tooth
was designed to evade just that sort of defense. It’s shielded against basic divinations. For that breacher to find us, we must have bumped right into it. And the breacher itself has just been out here, unsupported, for five years; it can’t be in top condition.”

“I don’t see a better explanation,” Cadrel said. “It’s damned inconvenient for us, to be certain. We’d best hope these elves can help us home.”

“Eladrin,” Drix pointed out.

“Yes, eladrin,” Cadrel said. “But this has to be chance, Thorn. No one is building breachers anymore. No one could have known our route. This isn’t some sinister conspiracy, just a trick of the Traveler. So take heart. We all survived it, didn’t we?”

“You seem to have forgotten Captain Shaeli.”

Cadrel was crestfallen. For once he seemed to be at a loss for words.

Thorn looked away. Cadrel was right and it certainly wasn’t his fault. And the
Tooth
had been protected from divination, which meant that as unlikely as it was, the logical conclusion was that they had come across it themselves, that it was just bad luck.

Drix was leaning over the edge of the boat. Debris from
Shargon’s Tooth
was scattered around them, thrown far from the ship by the force of the elemental shock wave. Stretching as far as he could, he reached into the water and hauled a dripping piece of wood from the ocean. It was the little crossbow he’d been working on.

“It seems all of the laws of probability have fallen asunder,” Cadrel said. “Now I suggest we start rowing. I know I’ll be happier when we reach dry land.”

“You won’t,” Drix said. He was examining his crossbow, removing the sodden string and checking the gears. He didn’t look at Cadrel as he spoke, but his voice was calm and clear. “there’s no happiness ahead. Only mourning.”

“Lovely,” Thorn said. She slipped Steel back in his sheath and picked up her oar.

T
he dead-gray mists,” Cadrel said. “The tears of Cyre.” The barrier stretched out before them, a dense wall of fog that reached the limits of sight and rose up to touch the sky. Thorn had heard of the mists that defined the borders of the Mournland, but she’d never actually seen them. As their boat slowly drifted toward them, she felt a chill run across her skin. The fog was slightly luminescent and constantly churning, as if stirred by a strong wind, but there was no wind whatsoever and no sound at all. And there was the stench of death. The scent changed any time her attention slipped. Rot and corruption … fresh blood … burning hair and flesh. Staring into the silent mist, it was all too easy to let the scents paint a vivid picture of what lay beyond.

“How far until we reach the shoreline?” she said.

“I don’t know,” Cadrel replied. “The mists cling close to Cyre. Less than a mile, to be certain. We’ll find out when we run aground.”

“I know where we need to go,” Drix said. He set down his oar and moved to the back of the boat. “The mists don’t bother me. You row. I’ll take the rudder.”

Cadrel glanced at Thorn and raised an eyebrow. “And how is it the mists don’t touch you, boy?”

“Call me ‘boy’ again, and I’m going to start calling you ‘old man,’ ” Drix said with a grin. He certainly didn’t seem to be put out by their eerie surroundings. “They touch me. You just get used to it after a while, and it took me a long time to find my way out of this place. The mists reach into your heart, feeding your hopes and spilling out sorrows. Just keep rowing. Don’t let go of your oar. And don’t dwell on anything bad.”

“I’ve faced sorrow before,” Thorn said.

“Then you’ll face it again and worse,” Drix said. “Find someone to talk to. A friend who’s always there. Your dagger, perhaps. He seems like a kind soul.”

Thorn found herself smiling, in spite of the grim wall ahead. She tapped Steel’s hilt. “Did you hear that, little dagger friend? You’ve got a kind soul.”

“You shouldn’t mock him,” Drix said. “You’ll need every friend you can find.”

“Right.” She patted Steel’s hilt again. “I’m sorry, little dagger.”

Very amusing, the both of you
, Steel said.
I just hope he actually knows where you’re going. I’ve heard many unpleasant stories about traversing the mists, and even sheathed I can sense the negative energy ahead of us. Be careful
.

“Are you prepared, Lady Thorn?” Essyn Cadrel had set his oar in position, raised and ready for another stroke.

“Not yet,” Thorn said. “Drix, you can get us to the coastline, but there’s no telling how far this extends from there. How’s your sense of direction once we reach land?”

Drix looked into the mists. “Good enough. It’s not just a matter of direction. If you spend enough time in the mists, you can recognize the voices. It’s sort of
like wind, but it’s emotional. You learn to follow your feelings. I could do it with my eyes closed. And closing your eyes isn’t a bad idea, actually. You might want to do that.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Thorn said. “But you can do it? How long do you think it’s going to take?”

“There’s no way to know, really,” Drix said. “An hour. A day. Two at the most.”

“We could be walking in that soup for
two days?
”

“Perhaps,” Drix said. “You won’t really notice if we do. You’re going to have other things on your mind.”

“Which is why we need to be prepared.” Reaching into the supply pack, Thorn pulled out an assortment of gear. She tossed a harness at Cadrel, an array of straps and hooks. “Put this on. I’m going to link us together. We don’t want to get separated in this muck.” She ran a length of rope through connecting loops and produced other pieces of equipment. “You’ve got the troll rod if you get hungry. The cold-fire flare will help in the dark—”

Drix shook his head. “No lantern will help in there. You’ve only got one source of light that matters—hope.”

Thorn stared at him, but he seemed to be completely serious. “I’m going to ignore that,” she said. “But even if it’s true, we may need the light on the other side. Careful with the Irian tears; only take a sip if you’re feeling completely overwhelmed or exhausted.”

“Irian tears,” Cadrel said, running a finger along the fluid-bearing pouch at the top of the harness. “Marvelous. The light of the Sovereigns, distilled into wine.”

“Let’s hope Olladra has greater gifts for us than wine,” Thorn said. She took her seat and hefted her oar. “Ready?”

Drix nodded.

Cadrel shrugged. “I suppose I am.”

The prow of the boat disappeared into the mists. Then it was all around them.

The first thing she noticed was the silence. The mist absorbed all sound. She could feel her oar strike the water, but she couldn’t hear the splash. The rich scent of blood surged into her nostrils, and for a moment she could see through the fog, see the ocean of blood around her, stripped bones bobbing on the surface like driftwood. Then the vision faded, and she was back in the cold, damp gloom.