The Fading Dream (5 page)

One quick pull and she was on top of the carriage. She could see the scorched wood on the opposite side of the coach; strong as the defensive enchantments were, they wouldn’t take another blast. And there was the shadowy figure standing in the window of a nearby inn, a wand leveled at the carriage. Thorn didn’t hesitate. It took her two steps to reach the edge of the coach, and on that second stride she
leaped
, flinging herself into the air.

“
Kharbys
!” Thorn snapped out the word as she jumped. A buoyant wave of magical force lifted her into the air. It wasn’t true flight, but the little spell was all she needed. The man in the window ducked out of the way as she came crashing in. Thorn rolled to her feet, lashing out with Steel, but the man was out of her reach. He raised his wand, but she was already charging.

Thorn knocked the wand aside before the man could unleash whatever spells were held within, and the weapon skidded across the floor. She made a quick thrust, hoping to catch her enemy in the shoulder and cripple him before the fight even began. She wanted to take him alive if she could. Oargev aside, the man had crippled or killed a host of civilians in the blast. She wanted to know exactly who was responsible for that.

Her enemy wasn’t going to make it easy for her. Thorn hadn’t seen the buckler in his hand, but he knocked Steel out of line with a swift, confident blow. Then the buckler was gone, replaced by a dark blade driving straight at her exposed breast. She twisted away, feeling a shiver of pain as the blade grazed her shoulder.

Only then was Thorn able to recognize details about her foe, as their blades clashed and they circled the room. His weapon was formed of shadow bound to a solid hilt, and it could shift between sword and shield to be whatever he needed. With each thrust and riposte, she was able to see more. Straight thrust, sidestep and move in, keep
the distance close. Human. Male. Silver-gray hair. Gray eyes. Ugly scar on the left side of his face. Striking with the shield, evade and use the momentum against him. Dark skin. A build pairing speed and strength in equal amounts. Loose, black clothes sewn from enchanted shiftweave, more effective than any mundane camouflage. A blow to the throat, parry and lash out with a pommel to the face. A badge on his collar, a silver wedge with gray enamel. Leg sweep, leap over and kick low.

The kick connected and the man staggered back. Thorn didn’t hesitate; she threw Steel, burying the blade in her enemy’s right shoulder. She didn’t call him back; she wanted the assassin off balance. Instead, she ran forward, raising her empty hands for an overhead blow.

A weaker man would have been in shock from his wounds, but her opponent didn’t hesitate. His shadow-blade shifted into its shield form, and he brought it forward to meet her fists. An easy defense if she struck with her empty hand. But as the blow fell, she reached into her left glove and pulled another weapon out of the space bound within—a wicked axe with a long, curved blade on one end of the haft and a vicious spearhead on the other. Thorn didn’t strike with either blade; she just brought the full weight of the axe down on her enemy’s injured arm. As she’d hoped, it was more than he could bear. The man dropped to his knees, his shadowy weapon collapsing into the form of a short rod and rolling from his grasp. Holding her axe with both hands, Thorn knocked him to the floor, pressing one knee into his chest and the haft of her axe into his throat.

“Enough,” Thorn hissed. She could feel blood matting her sleeve, and the shard in her neck pulsed like an angry wasp digging into her spine. She wanted to drive her spear into his throat. “You’ve got an appointment across the bridge, you bastard.”

The man struggled ineffectively, blood flowing from his shoulder and his breath coming in ragged gasps. A moment more and he’d pass out. He met Thorn’s gaze, and his eyes were wild. “The prince will fall,” he rasped. “And Galifar burn until our home has been returned.”

“You’re not burning anything—” Even as she spoke, Thorn felt an awful spark of doubt. The wand! It had fallen on the floor, across the room …

But somehow it was back in his hand.

Fire filled the room. The force of the explosion hurled her off of the man and slammed her against the wall, driving the air from her lungs. There was a sharp
crack
, and in a shower of soot and plaster, both floor and ceiling collapsed. Thorn was caught in the cascade and rolled into a ball as she fell. The chaos took only a moment. Then all was still save for the cries of those injured and trapped by the burning debris.

Thorn carefully rose to her feet, shifting aside the few pieces of rubble that had fallen on top of her. Smoke and ash filled the air, and her clothes were smoldering; the wood around her was seared, and she could smell blood and burned flesh. Aside from her bruises and scrapes, she was unhurt. Whatever power shielded her from flame had saved her yet again. She should have been blinded and choking on the thick smoke; instead it gave her no more trouble than cool fog, and even though she couldn’t see, she
knew
where the rafters had fallen, her mind painting a picture using the sound of crackling flames and the shifting pressure of air and ash. She returned the axe to its pocket of space within her glove and reached out to Steel with her thoughts. Charred wood shifted as the dagger pulled free and flew to her hand.

Get out of here immediately
, he told her.
The building could collapse at any moment
.

“And our friend?”

Little left of him. What’s there will keep. Best to see to Oargev. It seems I was wrong to question his fears
.

“Just coming to that conclusion, are you?” Thorn pushed through the rubble as quickly as she could, dodging the chunks of wood that fell from the ceiling. “What’s out there? Are there more of them?”

No significant mystical signatures. But I didn’t sense the presence of the assassin until he charged the wand for the initial strike
.

“Lovely.” A moment later she was out of the smoke and back in the clear air of the street, or at least as clear as riverside Wroat ever was. While the walls of the Cyran coach had survived the blast, one of the wheels was shattered, and those horses that had survived were too badly injured to move. One of the King’s Shields was helping Essyn and Oargev out of the battered wagon. The other Shield, Delru, had leaped down from the coach and was scanning the streets. He leveled his crossbow at Thorn as she emerged then lowered it as he recognized her.

“The Watch and the Wands should be here in minutes,” he said as Thorn approached.

“We’re not waiting,” she said.

“Jovi’s not back—”

“Which means he may have died buying us the time you’re wasting,” Thorn snarled. “This wasn’t the work of one man. Lanner, take point on that alley. Your Highness, stay close to him.”

Delru grabbed her arm. “We should wait for reinforcements to—”

“Down!” Thorn saw the spark in the shadows even as Steel cried a warning in her mind. She slammed into Essyn Cadrel, knocking him to the ground and shielding him with her body. The spark became a flash, the raw power of the storm harnessed by arcane skill. Delru’s
silhouette was seared into Thorn’s eyes as the lightning engulfed him, and the shattered remnants of the carriage fell all around her. She felt the sheer power of the lightning as it passed over her, and just the force of its wake was enough to set her nerves tingling.

“Get to the alley!” Thorn pulled Cadrel to his feet and shoved him toward the edge of the street. She could see Lanner in the mouth of the alley, shielding the prince with a field of shimmering energy projected from his bracer. Delru hadn’t been so lucky. Thorn could see a shirt of light chain mail gleaming in the gaps in his smoldering clothes. The enchantment in the armor had saved the bodyguard’s life, dispersing the full force of the blast. But his skin was charred and cracked, and he’d fallen to one knee. It was a miracle he was still conscious, and he wouldn’t be running anytime soon.

“Go!” he cried, voice rough with pain. Thorn was searching for some sign of their assailant, but Delru had already found the target. He loosed a bolt from his crossbow, firing into a tavern; glass exploded from the other windows as Delru’s quarrel released a charge of concussive force. He pulled back the winch, a second quarrel sliding automatically into place. “Go! I’ll cover you.”

There was no time to hesitate. Thorn raced across the street, and Lanner shifted his shield to make room for her. She slipped past the two Cyrans. “Follow me. Lanner, keep close to the prince. Quickly!”

Wroat was the first human city in Breland, far older than Sharn. When Galifar united the Five Nations, he rebuilt Wroat to be a jewel of the newly unified kingdom … and in the process, he left segments of the old city buried and forgotten. Thorn sprinted down an alley, the others close behind. Cracked steps led down to a rusted gate.

“Through here,” Thorn said. Bars had snapped and fallen away, leaving just enough room to squeeze through the barrier. The tunnel beyond was cold, dry, and dark; the ever-burning lanterns had been scavenged and sold long before.

“No light!” Thorn hissed as Lanner reached for a sunrod. “Form a line and hold hands. I’ll guide you. Lanner, I want you at the rear, and you keep that shield up.” The darkness posed no obstacle to Thorn, and she led them quickly and carefully through the abandoned tunnels, warning them of gaps in the stone and other hazards.

“Aren’t we heading the wrong way?” It was Essyn Cadrel. “It seems to me that we’re moving away from the King’s Bridge.”

“We are,” Thorn said. “You were ambushed on your way there. Whoever attacked us knew your plans. They might have prepared a contingency. So the last thing we’re going to do is to follow your original path. There’s a footpath that runs underneath the Queen’s Bridge. There’s a host of guards at that gate; once we’re there, we’ll be able to get safe passage to the island.”

“Clever,” Cadrel said. “I suppose that it helps a bodyguard to be able to think like an assassin.”

“Oh, yes. I’m doing excellent work tonight. But I’m not the only one, am I?” She tightened her grip on Cadrel’s hand. “Those killers knew exactly where to find us. Either they attacked every coach that left the consulate, or they knew about the decoy operation. How do you explain that?”

“Do not doubt my friend Essyn.” It was the first time Prince Oargev had spoken since the attack. His voice was strong and steady, but there was a great sorrow to it. “This is not his doing. I have seen the anger growing in the eyes of my subjects. I have heard the whispers among
my servants. I am certain I have been betrayed by someone within the consulate.”

“I do accept some of the responsibility, Your Highness,” Cadrel said. “I … For all that I proposed the scenario, I didn’t take the threat as seriously as I should have. I saw the pieces and crafted a possible story from them, but I didn’t truly believe it would come to pass. I should have been more careful, should have restricted the number of servants who even knew of the plan. It’s just that I still have trouble imagining any of our own people wishing to do you harm.”

Thorn had her own thoughts on the matter, but it was not the time for them. “We need to get you to the castle. The Citadel will get to the bottom of this.”

“Perhaps they will do so sooner rather than later, Lady Thorn. For the Citadel is our destination.”

“What?”

Where Oargev had retreated into silence, talking was clearly a comfort for Essyn Cadrel. “Perhaps you thought this was a simple diplomatic visit. But we are not going to Brokenblade Castle tonight. We aren’t here to discuss the census of New Cyre or the tax burden we’ve placed on Breland. No, we’ve been called to the tower of the King’s Citadel to speak with Boranel and Lord Vron. The message revealed all too little, though with recent events, I understand their concerns about our security. Nonetheless, one thing was clear: it concerns the Mourning.”

T
he king of Breland was in a foul mood.

“I assure you, boy, I will find whoever is responsible for this outrage and make them pay if I have to do it with my own two hands!” King Boranel ir’Wynarn roared. “To unleash such forces against my blood in
my own city!
There shall be a reckoning, I assure you of that.”

The conference room was deep in the Tower of the Citadel. The walls were stone quarried from the Black Pit, infused with mystical energies that served as a natural shield against all forms of scrying. Magical symbols were inscribed around the border of the walls, creating a field that prevented any sound from escaping the room. There would be no eavesdropping there.

“We know that you had nothing to do with this attack, Your Highness.” Essyn Cadrel spoke for the Cyrans. Prince Oargev sat silently at his side; Thorn wasn’t sure if the prince was still recovering from the attempted assassination or if he simply didn’t know how to deal with his boisterous cousin. “And we are grateful for the service of your Shields; if not for your Thorn, we might both have perished.”