The Fading Dream (6 page)

The king turned to Thorn. “Is that so?”

Thorn felt cold sweat on her skin and struggled to find words. Protecting the Prince of Cyre was one thing, but he was
Boranel
. For a moment she was little Nyrielle Tam again, listening to her father’s tales of the great deeds of their king. Her father had been her hero, but Boranel had been
his
hero. “I was part of a team, Your Majesty. Without Lanner and Delru, there’s no telling what would have happened.”

Boranel nodded. “Well said. But this isn’t the first time your deeds have been brought to my attention. Sit with us, Thorn. Take some wine.”

“I’m just here escorting the prince, Your Majesty. I doubt that I’m cleared for this briefing.”

Boranel chuckled. “You are if I say you are. Sit. Drink. Perhaps you could tell us a tale of one of your adventures while we wait for Vron.”

“There’s no need to wait.”

Thorn breathed a sigh of relief as the Lord Commander of the Dark Lanterns entered the room. Vron was cast in shades of black and white. If his skin was as white as snow, then his eyes were shards of ice, clear and colorless. His hair was soft and pale, snow falling onto the frozen ground. He wore the black dress uniform of the Dark Lanterns, and a silver medallion gleamed at his throat.

“Be seated,” Vron said. “We have much to discuss tonight. The first order of business: the attack on the Cyran entourage. Allow me to add my apologies to those of the king, Prince Oargev. If I had the slightest warning that such a plan was afoot, I would have ensured that you had additional protection. I have teams investigating the scene of the attack, and I assure you that you will know the results as soon as we do. However, there is one thing we can do immediately.”

Vron walked over the Thorn. “Lantern, I understand you directly engaged one of the assailants?”

Thorn nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Take my hands,” he said, holding his arms before him. His fingers were long and slender, his grip warm. “I want you to remember the battle. Think about your opponent—every detail, every angle. The sound of voice and breath. Relive that moment for me.”

And so she did, closing her eyes and placing herself back in that moment. Pieces began to come together. Dark shiftweave, the flash of metal at the neck. The words he’d said in the moment before his death.
The prince will fall, and Galifar burn
 …

“Until our home has been returned.” It was the voice of the assassin, there in the room.

Thorn opened her eyes, and there he was. Piercing gray eyes, the twisting scar running down his cheek. Mid-thirties, most likely, despite the silver in his hair. He held up his hands, and smoke flowed from the palms, solidifying into the wand and the misty shield Thorn remembered.

“Your conclusions, Lantern?” His voice was slightly distorted, an effort to synthesize an accent from the few words Thorn had heard.

“Setting aside the wand, he’s well equipped for urban operations—shiftweave and a weapon that’s both versatile and concealable. I don’t recognize the weapon, but his sword and wand style suggests either the Fifth Crown of Cyre or the Royal Eyes of Aundair.” Thorn cast her mind back, reliving the battle again. “His accent sounded like southern Cyre, and the slogan is a modified version of that used by Dannel’s Wrath.”

“Just one moment.” It was Boranel. The king had risen from his chair and strode over to examine the
assassin. “You’re saying this brute was Cyran? Attacking his own lord?”

“It’s a possibility.” The killer’s Cyran accent faded as he spoke, returning to the cool tones of the changeling Vron. “Dannel’s Wrath is a group of Cyran militants primarily active in the city of Stormreach; they advocate the creation of a new Cyran state in Xen’drik, including Stormreach itself. But in the past, they’ve shown little hostility toward the prince.” He turned to the Cyrans. “Your Highness, Master Cadrel, do you have any thoughts on the matter?”

The prince wouldn’t look at the effigy of the assassin; his forehead glistened with cold sweat. Cadrel spoke for him. “I’m sorry, my lords, lady. Surely you understand that this has been a difficult evening for his highness.”

“I’m sure it has,” Boranel growled. “And an even worse one for the King’s Shields that died protecting him, along with the civilians caught in the crossfire. My subjects, Cadrel. If you know more about this—”

“I assure you, Your Majesty, I’ve never met this man in my life.”

“There’s something wrong with him,” Thorn said. She stood up, walking carefully around the disguised Vron. The changeling had drawn the image directly from her mind, and she cast her thoughts back. “Look at his left side. These scars—what injury would cause this sort of puckering?”

“I’m no healer,” Boranel said. “It’s the work of magic, I should think.”

“That’s only the beginning,” Thorn said. “His left arm is longer than the right. His leg as well. I didn’t notice it, not consciously, yet thinking back, there was something strange in his movement.”

“Interesting,” Essyn Cadrel said. “Yes, I see it now.
As if he was a figure of wax, warmed and then stretched a little.”

“And what about that pin on his collar?” Thorn said. “That’s not the Fifth Crown insignia or Royal Eyes. So what is it? It’s easily removed. So why wear it on an assassination?”

Vron ran his fingers over the pin. Boranel squinted at it and shook his head. Cadrel examined it for a few moments then stepped away. “All this is based on a fleeting glimpse,” he said. “Perhaps you missed a crucial detail.”

“I assure you, the technique has been quite effective in the past,” Vron said. “I drew the image directly from Thorn’s mind, and the mind remembers more than we can imagine.”

“Be that as it may,” Cadrel said, “we can’t be certain that this man is everything he seems. This warping effect suggests a flawed perception; his accent could be the same as well. If you have something else to discuss—”

“I know him,” Oargev said.

All eyes turned to the prince. “Your Highness,” Cadrel said, raising his hands. “You’re exhausted.”

“I know him,” Oargev repeated. “I should have known it would be him.”

Vron released the image, and the color slowly drained from his skin and his eyes. His clothes shifted, the weapons disappearing from his hands; a moment later the commander of the Dark Lanterns was restored. “Pray continue, Your Highness. Who tried to kill you?”

Oargev stared off into the distance. “His name is Cazalan Dal. He served with the Fifth Crown, as you surmised. He was devoted to my mother, Queen Dannel. And when the war came to an end, he swore to serve me.”

“Your Highness,” Cadrel said. He reached out and placed a hand on the prince’s arm.

Oargev pulled away and rose to his feet, turning to face Boranel. “You have shown us nothing but kindness since the Mourning, Cousin. You gave us shelter when all other doors were closed. But I was born to be a king, not a glorified mayor. My people want their homeland restored.”

“I am a king, Oargev,” Boranel said. “And I’ve been a soldier. The hardest battle you’ll face in either arena comes when your people want something you cannot give them. The Mourning wasn’t your fault. And you can’t make it go away.”

“You don’t know that,” Oargev said, and there was a hard edge to his gaze. “You don’t know what caused the Mourning.”

“Five years and none of us know,” Boranel said.

“I’ve been trying.” Oargev looked back at the changeling Vron, as if seeing the man he had been moments before. “I gathered the best Cyre had to offer—soldiers, wizards. And I brought them together in the Covenant of the Gray Mist.”

Finally the pin made sense. A silver and gray wedge, with a black hand on top of it. “And Cazalan was in the Covenant?” Thorn said.

“The first to take the vow,” Oargev said.

“I met Cazalan Dal,” Cadrel said. “He had dark hair and no disfigurement whatsoever. How could this be him?”

“Until I sent him into the Mournland,” Oargev said sadly. “We can’t imagine the things he saw there. He came to me in New Cyre a year ago, twisted as you saw him. What had been done to his mind was worse than his body. He begged to be relieved of his duties. And I … I sent him back. He was still the best I had. And I needed to feel that I had accomplished something.”

All you did was send a man to die, Thorn thought. She kept her words to herself.

“Oargev …” Boranel said.

“I should think that you of all people would understand, Cousin. You are Breland in the hearts of your people. For those who fought and died for our kings and queens, I am the last of the royal line. I am Cyre. It falls to me to find a way to restore our homeland. Yet here we are, almost five years later, and what have I achieved?”

“Don’t demean your work with New Cyre,” Cadrel said, putting a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Your Majesty, Your Highness, together you have created a beacon for Cyrans to rally around.”

“A village,” Oargev said. There were tears glittering in the corners of his eyes. “It’s not enough. I’ve heard them whispering. Saying that we’re Brelish in all but name, that I’ve betrayed my mother. The anger grows. They need someone to blame. I thought Cazalan would bring me an answer. Instead the Mourning has turned him against me.”

“It’s a battle you can’t win,” Boranel said. “You need to face that. You need to find a way to make your people understand.”

“There must be an answer,” Oargev said. His fists were clenched, forehead shining with sweat. “And I will find it.”

“And perhaps we have,” Vron said.

“Not every problem has a solution. There’s a time to—” Boranel’s voice simply faded in his throat as he realized what the changeling had said. “What do you mean?”

Vron smiled. “So far we’ve only talked about the attack on his highness. I asked you here for an entirely different reason because, as it turns out, we have our first lead on the Mourning.”

Oargev’s eyes widened. “Explain.”

“I will, Your Highness. But please sit. It’s not a simple story, and if you wish to hear what I have
learned, you must be patient.” As the others took their seats, Vron walked across the room and placed a hand on the wall.

Light spilled across the black stone. The glowing colors flowed together, swirling around like oil over water. Within moments the glow resolved into the image of a tower in a forest. The trees were dusted with ice and snow, and a harsh wind tugged at the branches. The walls of the tower gleamed in the sunlight. It’s covered with ice, Thorn thought. No, it’s
made
of ice. She could see the shadows of people moving within the walls, and three shapes rose from the top of the spires: fierce griffons with fur and feathers of pure white, wearing armor that seemed to be carved from ice. Each griffon had a rider, knights in ivory armor carrying bows and lances. The beasts drew closer and closer, and the lead warrior raised her hand, twisting her fingers in the complex patterns of a spell. Suddenly the wall went black.

“We retrieved those images from the woods of western Karrnath,” Vron said. “We’ve never been able to scry on the location for more than a minute. The Karrns discovered the tower three years ago; as far as they know, there was nothing in that forest until that point. The fortress is garrisoned by a group of elves that have no cultural bonds to Aerenal or Valenar.”

“Eladrin.” The voice belonged to a newcomer, a young man standing in the doorway. He was dressed in rough-spun peasant clothes, and what stood out the most was his gear—an assortment of belts and pouches overflowing with tools and sundry goods. His hair was short, sandy, and disheveled, and a slight beard covered his chin. He grinned, as if talking with kings and princes were an everyday occurrence. “They look like elves, but they’re not. They call themselves eladrin.”

“You can speak in a moment,” Vron said. “Until then, let me focus on the critical facts. This forest is in the domain of a Count Jadan Thul, a Karrnathi warlord who served with distinction during the Last War. We know that Thul sent envoys to these strangers and received no response. These eladrin never ventured more than a few miles from the tower and took no overtly hostile action against Thul or his holdings. But they refused to explain their presence or indeed to make any sort of contact with Count Thul.”

Essyn Cadrel raised an eyebrow. “A colorful story but what does it have to do with the Mourning?”

“Indulge me a moment more,” Vron said. “As you might imagine, Count Thul was perturbed by the presence of these strangers in his domain. However, his forces had been seriously depleted in the Last War, and he needed time to rebuild. In Olarune of 998, Thul moved against the citadel of ice. He suffered a stunning defeat. Though few in number, these strangers possess warriors with skill to rival the Valenar and arcane power to match that of Aundair. And yet, since repelling Thul’s attack, they have taken no further action, and they have ignored envoys from Thul, from King Kaius of Karrnath, and our own ambassadors.”

“Get to the point,” Oargev snapped. The prince was on his second goblet of wine, and his hand was shaking slightly.

“I understand your frustration, Your Highness. But everything needs to be in context. You see, the Karrns are not the only people who have encountered these eladrin.” Vron tapped the wall again, and a map of Khorvaire appeared. “As of last week, we’d managed to locate and identify three different eladrin towers, each of which appeared sometime within the last four years. In addition to the ice fortress in Karrnath, there is a
tower along the northwest edge of the Khraal jungle of Darguun, and another here, in Zilargo. But in all this time, we’ve never been able to get an agent inside one of these eladrin fortresses. We knew next to nothing about their origins, intentions, or capabilities. Until last week.”

Vron turned to the young man. “This is Marudrix Juran Cannith. Years ago—almost five years, in fact—he stumbled upon one of these mysterious towers. A fortress in Cyre, not far from the old village of Seaside.”

“They call it Shaelas Tiraleth,” the tinker said. “It means ‘the Court of the Silver Tree.’ Because it’s the largest of their cities and there’s this big tree and, well, it’s—”

“The Mourning, Lord Vron,” Oargev snarled. “I’m still waiting for your explanation.”