The Fading Dream (32 page)

“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
.

Doresh looked back at her. “Arrogant child. You think you understand me?”

“I have no idea what you want. I just know what you
don’t
want, and that’s to restore the Silver Tree. I’ve seen the army of terrors you’re building in this place, and I know you didn’t show this face to the Council of the Silver Tree. Cadrel—or whoever he really was—said that you’ve suffered. He said that you’ve been dragged through nightmares and now you want to drag the others with you.”

Doresh said nothing.

“Which means that what you’re doing now isn’t for their benefit. I just don’t know what it is.” She glanced at Drix.

Then she saw it.

“You never expected Tira to make the sacrifice in the first place. You knew she’d stab Drix. You never expected her to save him.”

Doresh watched her silently, his shadowy eyes unreadable.

“You and the others—you think that Drix somehow stopped the Mourning from spreading. You weren’t expecting that. You thought it was going to spread across the entire nation, that it would reach all of the fey cities, not just the Silver Tree.”

“Yes,” Doresh hissed. “We wanted them all to suffer as we have. Let every living thing feel our pain. And yes, I will remove the stone from this boy’s chest, and once he is dead, the blight will spread again. And my armies will be ready. We will move through that darkness, a force of nightmare ready to bring this tale to its proper conclusion. To end in glorious battle, as it began.”

Try as she might, Thorn still couldn’t bring herself to believe that Drix had anything to do with the Mourning, either causing it or holding it in check. Nonetheless, she’d seen the horrors Shan Doresh was readying below; that was enough cause for concern. When he killed Drix and the Mourning didn’t spread, the forces assembled there could still cause carnage. Then there was Cadrel.

“Wait,” she said. “You needed Drix and me to come here.”

He nodded, smiling again.

“In the end, you didn’t even expect the blame to fall on the Cyrans. You
wanted
Cadrel to get caught so they’d know you had the stones and, knowing that you would sense them coming, that they’d send us to get them.”

“Yes,” Doresh said. “That was Kalas’s part, to let them know that we had defeated them, beginning to end. That we’d placed the blade in the queen’s hand and that she had driven it into the heart of the Silver Tree. That they would have to rely on creatures of dirt to win back their greatest treasures.”

“So Cadrel, the Cyran scheme—you
expected
me to see through it. You had a spy in place for years so that, when the time came, he could fail.”

“You cannot understand us. One of your years is as nothing to us. The people of my citadel—we have spent thousands of your lifetimes wandering nightmares.”

“And that’s the strangest part of this,” Thorn said. “You set up this impossibly complicated scheme, all to show your cousins how clever you are before watching them suffer and die. You’re doing nothing
but
gloat. And yet, moments ago, you lied to me about what you’re about to do. I’m northing, dirt, a mere piece in your puzzle. So why lie now?”

Doresh ignored her, examining the relics in the circle.

“Why lead me to believe that this is all for Drix’s benefit, that I should just relax and let it happen, when I can’t possibly escape and battle is futile?”

Doresh looked at her again. “Perhaps cruelty isn’t in my nature. I need you alive for this piece of things. I thought to let you die with peace in your soul.”

“I’ve seen things in these towers that redefine cruelty for me. You’re not doing this for me. Which means there’s only one reason for you to lie. You’re afraid.” A warm glow was spreading up Thorn’s back as she spoke and she smiled.

A sneer spread across Doresh’s mithral mask. “And what could I possibly be afraid of?”

“Me.” Thorn took a step forward, feeling only the slightest tingle as she passed through the ward. “The Quiet Stone is the stone of stealth, and there’s more to that than concealment, isn’t there?”

“You won’t escape again,” Doresh said. “You know you can’t defeat me. I am a champion of my people. I was fighting giants before your kind existed. I am a master of steel and spell.”

“You keep saying that,” Thorn said. “But you know what?”

Doresh stared at her, the empty sockets of his mask cold and hollow.

She shifted Steel into a fighting grip. “I don’t believe you.”

Y
ou know nothing, mortal,” Doresh growled, and the stone in his brooch pulsed with light. “And I will not demean myself by fighting you. I am the Lord of Dreams made real, and to face me is to face your fears.”

They weren’t alone any longer. Cazalan Dal was between them, along with his companions in the Covenant of the Gray Mist. Shadowy blades were raised, and arcane energy crackled along the lengths of half a dozen wands.

Thorn could see the move in her mind, and she executed it flawlessly, an acrobat’s dream. She rolled forward, passing beneath the blast from Dal’s wand and driving Steel into his chest with the full strength of the dragon within her. Even as he grunted in pain, she lifted him up and threw him into the swordsman darting toward her.