The Fading Dream (30 page)

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.”

B
linded by agony, all Thorn could see was the outline of 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.