The Fading Dream (22 page)

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 you 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.”

The pulses were brighter.

“I want you to reach out with each beat,” Tira said. “Feel the energy as it flows away from you, as it spills out into the world.”

“Yes,” Drix murmured.

Even Thorn could feel the energy, a tingling rippling over her skin with every pulse. The light in the stone was nearly blinding.

Tira called out. Her words were meaningless to Thorn, but she’d taken the gifts of the other lords, and even as she heard the strange sounds, she
knew
their meaning.
Join together, brothers and sisters. Reach through the roots. Let us be as one
.

The others began but they were not speaking; they were singing. It was a song of hope, of desire, a chance to see a dream made real. The light of the stone and the seal pulsed and flowed, and Thorn could feel the energy around her as a physical force. It was an amazing sensation—a warm wind, yet one that touched only her spirit.

The glowing lines of the seal had risen up from the floor, and they formed a cage of light around the eladrin and Drix. As they sang, the lines twisted and shifted. For a flash, Thorn saw a crescent—the moon-and-eye symbol of Shan Doresh. The shimmering symbols spread out and realigned and pulled back in to form a labyrinthine pattern. The song sped up as the lines shifted, focusing on a single section of the maze, pulling in, closer, closer …

The song became a scream. The white-silver lines of light turned blood red, and for an instant Thorn saw a monstrous shape outlined in the glow: a face—just a face—but the eyes were blazing pools, the mouth a
hungry pit of flame. Around Thorn, the eladrin were screaming, and those howls of pain and fear were still forming a horrifying song.

Thorn couldn’t reach Drix. Whatever that
thing
was, it was completely surrounding him. But she seized Tira and pulled. The eladrin was rigid, and some force held her in place. Cursing, Thorn called on the dragon’s strength, feeling the familiar anger and might. Whatever power was binding Tira, it was no match for the dragon. She staggered back from the circle and collapsed, dead weight in Thorn’s arms.

And with that, silence and darkness fell over the room. The snarling horror vanished; the eladrin fell to the ground; and the light slowly faded from Drix’s heart, down to the faint pulse that was always there.

It took an hour for the eladrin to recover, and none of them were pleased. Tira had called them back to the room with the silver table and served wines and cordials. The lords and ladies drank deeply, and though no one spoke, Thorn could tell the tension was building with each moment.

Tira leaned against the table. Her eyes were dim, her breath ragged. “We can do no more. Were we to try again, that horror might manifest itself fully. And yet it was not a completely wasted effort.”

“But we didn’t
see
anything,” Thorn said.

Tira raised her head. “Details, no. I saw the wider picture. I saw enough. Taer Doresh has returned to its first ground, the land it held in the time of my grandfather.” She gestured at the wall, and a map of Khorvaire took shape across the surface. “There, in the northeastern woods.”

“The wilds of the Lhazaar Principalities,” Thorn
said, studying the map. “Far from anything. Can you teleport there?”

Tira shook her head. “Only a few among us possess the power to travel such distances, and we could not take others with us. And you heard the prisoner. Doresh is expecting us. He will have wards to keep us from slipping between worlds. All we would do is alert him to our presence.”

Those words were enough to break the spell of silence that had gripped the ghaele. “Perhaps we cannot defeat him in time,” Syraen said, his voice filled with cold frustration. “We can defeat him nonetheless. Let us assemble our forces. If we are to fade from this world, let us go in battle.”

The gnome-lord of Pylas Pyrial shook his head. “Your people are warriors, Winter. Mine are poets. I will not send them to die. If our spire falls, better that they find new homes among the people of this world. We may never return to Thelanis. But we do not have to fall.”

“What if we go?” Drix said.

“I agree with Pyrial,” the Rose Queen said. “I would still see how the bough survives without the trunk.”

“What makes you think they will let you be?” Joridal said. “How did the goblins find us so quickly? What stirs the Karrns to aggression? Perhaps you will survive the fall of the Tree. But if these dreamers want their vengeance, they will come for you, and they have the stone of your spire.”

“What if we go?” Drix said.

“Joridal is right,” Syraen said. “We have been attacked. We must strike back while we can, or we give our foes the chance to strike again. We will not live in fear.”

While they were talking, Drix took a piece of parchment out of one of his pouches. He rolled it up, creating a cone. He drew a few symbols on the parchment then took a
deep breath and held it up to his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was as loud as thunder.