The Fading Dream (8 page)

Vron inclined his head. “As you wish, sire.” He turned to Cadrel and Thorn. “I’ve already prepared for the journey; there’s a boat waiting at the Brokenblade dock, ready to take you along the Cyran coast. I’ll need a
few hours to gather additional supplies for you, Master Cadrel, and I’m sure you need time to settle your affairs. But I would leave before morning. The sooner we move on this, the better.”

Cadrel was still considering the whole affair. “You’re sure about this, Your Highness?”

Oargev nodded.

A grin slowly spread across the old man’s face. “So be it. I will do my best not to let you down and to return with tales more wondrous that I ever spun in your youth.” He turned to Boranel and bowed. “With your leave, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, and well said.” Boranel clapped Cadrel on the back and walked toward the door. “Sovereigns and Six! I wish I could be going with you. First things first, though—let’s arrange a proper escort for you this time, both to get back to your consulate and to see Oargev to New Cyre. You’ll have every Shield the Citadel can spare until we have you safely home again.”

“Very well, Cousin.” The prince paused by Thorn, looking into her eyes. She could see the fear and uncertainty warring within him. “You served me well this last month. I owe you my life. Serve my people in this, and you will have anything my throne can offer.”

“It’s my honor to serve, Your Highness,” Thorn said with a polite nod. “May the Sovereigns watch over you.”

“Wait a moment, Lantern Thorn.” Vron took Drix outside.

Thorn studied the glowing map on the wall and ran her fingers over the stone in her neck. She was just about to talk to Steel when Vron returned.

“What can I do for you, Lord Commander?”

“For a start, forget that title.” Vron smiled and as he did, his face softened and flowed. His skin was the same pale white, his eyes still shards of glass. They were
just smaller and sharper. Cheekbones were higher, his chin slightly pointed. He was still a changeling … a different changeling.

“Zane?”

“For the moment.” Zane was Thorn’s personal handler; he’d recruited her into the King’s Dark Lanterns.

“Was Vron ever here?”

“He was in every way that matters, wasn’t he? There’s a certain level of decorum to a royal briefing, and Oargev surely expected the Lord Commander. But we Lanterns have to deal with more complex situations than the Shields or the Blades. His majesty knows what Vron is doing right now; if my mask keeps Oargev happy, all for the good. Besides, you’re my agent.”

Thorn nodded. It wasn’t the first time Zane had come to her in an unexpected guise, though she’d never seen the changeling impersonate a changeling before. “So what is it you wanted to tell me?”

“What do you think of this assignment?”

Thorn hesitated but she’d never minced words with Zane before. “It seems ridiculous. Do you actually think we can restore the Mournland?”

“No,” Zane said. “I don’t. It’s an entertaining story, and if it somehow turns out to be true … well, it would be a boon to give the thousands of Cyran refugees living off Brelish taxes somewhere else to go. But I think we both know just how likely that is—just as we know that those stones in your neck aren’t eladrin relics.”

“So what am I doing?”

“I don’t believe that these fey are responsible for the Mourning,” Zane said. “Nonetheless, their power is clearly a force to be reckoned with. As far as we can tell, young Drix is essentially immortal. Imagine an army of soldiers possessing such power. Who knows what other secrets are hidden within the walls of that tower?
If you can somehow restore Cyre, wonderful. But your primary mission is to acquire as much information about the eladrin as you can, including anything that could provide Breland with an arcane advantage in future conflicts.”

“I see.”

Zane frowned. “Cadrel is a problem. If there are secrets to be gleaned from the tower, we want them to benefit Breland.”

“Are you telling me to eliminate Essyn Cadrel?” Thorn wanted that point to be absolutely clear. She liked the old man. If Zane wanted him dead, he’d have to give an order.

Zane sighed. “It’s not your mission, Lantern Thorn. But the Mournland is a dangerous place, and I’m sure you’ll have your hands full protecting Drix. Make that your priority: don’t risk anything to keep Cadrel alive.”

“Understood. Is there anything else?”

“Yes.” Zane looked at her closely. “The man who attacked you. Cazalan Dal. You’re certain he died?”

“Steel was,” Thorn said. “He was dead center when he detonated the wand, and then the ceiling collapsed. Steel said there was little left of him.”

“Try ‘nothing.’ I received the report from the search teams while I was outside. No traces of any of the attackers, save for the damage of the battle. Bodies, equipment—nothing whatsoever.”

Thorn considered that. “So either someone purged the scene, and quickly, or they all survived.”

“Yes,” Zane said. “And we still don’t know what they were after to begin with. So be careful. Your assassin mentioned the prince by name, so odds are good Oargev is the target. We’ll keep a watch on him. Still, it’s an unknown, and I hate unknowns. Be careful.”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Zane said. “Report to the quartermaster for equipment. Your boat leaves the docks in three hours’ time.”

He left without another word. Thorn remained in the black room, staring at the glowing map. She sat down in one of the chairs and drew Steel.

“Did you get all of that?”

Of course. So now you’re going to fix the Mournland
.

“Are we? I thought I was going to rob some elves and maybe kill an old man.”

I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for Breland
.

“I always do,” Thorn said. “I always do.”

S
he knew she wouldn’t make it in time. She couldn’t find the path. She was running through the forest and searching for the light. Hundreds of fireflies swarmed through the woods, false sparks trying to lead her astray
.

A wave of pain rolled through her. It wasn’t a scream. It was the agony of the land, shared by everything around her. Trees shook and a multitude of cries rose up in the night, wolf and songbird united in torment. If Thorn couldn’t find her way, they’d all be dead soon
.

At last she reached the clearing, and there it was. A tree, its trunk cast in silver, polished to a mirror finish. Boughs spread wide enough to cover a great hall, covered with glowing leaves of gold. She ran and as she did, she could see that the tree was even taller than she’d imagined. Its limbs were twined with the stars, and she could feel its roots sinking deep down into the earth. The tree didn’t draw sustenance from the soil, no—it was the earth that drew strength from the tree. It was a tree of worlds, binding earth and sky together, forming a bridge between shadow and substance
.

And she was too late
.

The mirror finish was growing cloudy, cracks running up along the trunk. Leaves were falling and the stars with
them. She couldn’t see the roots wither, but all around her, both plant and beast withered and died. She could feel the life running out of her own body, feel her flesh rotting on the bone. She could barely stand, and she staggered toward the tree, hoping that it might be different than before, that she would reach the tree in time to stop the decay, to save herself
.

She never had and now it was no different. Her legs gave out beneath her and she fell. The earth cracked around her as razor-edged shards of silver fell from the sky. The tree was dying, and there was nothing she could do
.

Thorn woke up with a start.

She desperately wanted a breath of fresh air, a cool, night wind to clear her thoughts. A glance at the window reminded her why that wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t a window at all; it was a porthole, with the murky depths of the Thunder Sea stretching out into the darkness. And all around her was a low
thrum
, a vibration that she could feel in the floor and air alike, the pulse of the elemental spirit driving the ship through the water.

Nightmares were nothing new for her, especially since Far Passage. She often dreamed of Lharen’s death and the shards ripping through her flesh. But this dream was something else. She’d been dreaming of the tree for almost a month. Although it was not every night—not quite—it was always the same, though each time the vision was stronger.

Stupid dreams. She’d hoped that Nandon might be able to tell her something about it, that it might be connected to her other troubles. She’d had other nightmares over the past years, visions of the horrific deeds of the dragon Sarmondelaryx and a woman who could be Thorn’s twin dressed in red leather and black silk, a woman who was also somehow Sarmondelaryx.
Haunting as those were, those were of a different order of magnitude than the dreams of the silver tree. The vision that pulled her from her sleep had a visceral power that
pulled
at her.

Thorn was wearing her nightshirt; she whispered a word, and the fabric twisted and stretched, shifting to her traveling clothes. She picked up Steel.

“What’s the good word?”

Ten bells and all’s well
, he said.
At least, the ward preventing this vessel from cracking beneath the pressure of the water is stable, and the magic that purifies the air you breathe continues to function. Despite having been banished from her house, your captain seems to have the elemental empowering the vessel under control. For the moment
.

“Yes … thanks for reminding me just how many things could go wrong on this little boat.” Thorn pulled on her gloves and slid her bracers into place on her forearms. She picked up Steel again and tapped the blade on her palm, sighing.

Is something troubling you?

“Our companion. Marudrix.”

I should like to properly analyze his aura. There’s a limit to what I can do when sheathed, and I would have liked to have observed his recovery when Oargev attacked him
.

“We could stab him.”

You don’t like him?

Thorn sighed. “No … he seems like a good kid, I suppose, if a little strange. But I don’t like his family.” Just months earlier, Thorn had been assigned to infiltrate House Tarkanan, a criminal guild formed by people with aberrant dragonmarks, a group long oppressed by the dragonmarked houses. House Cannith had been the motive force behind the assignment, and Thorn was still angry about the merchants giving orders to the Brelish crown. “Merrix d’Cannith was operating a creation forge
in Sharn. A direct violation of the Thronehold edicts and a threat to Brelish security.”

Then I suppose it’s lucky for him that someone destroyed the forge instead of passing the information to the proper authorities
.

Thorn flushed. “It was necessary to maintain my cover. Besides, you know Sharn. Merrix would have just bought off the inspectors.”

I see. And is it your opinion that Merrix posed an imminent threat to Breland? You stopped him just before he could set his warforged army in motion?

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten the warforged assassins he had down there? It may not have been an army, but the terms of the treaty are quite clear, and he was violating them. When someone with that sort of power considers himself to be above the law, that’s a threat.”

And you’re not simply trying to justify the fact that you were responsible for the death of his son
.

“His son was a monster!”

His son was an artificial creature. As an inorganic sentient myself, I’m not sure I like this term “monster.”

“He was making warforged that looked human. Who knows what he would have done with that power? Spies. Assassins. Replacing people in positions of power.”

Giving his barren wife a child
.

Thorn resisted the urge to pull Steel into her glove. “Enough. House Cannith was violating the restrictions placed on its behavior by the Treaty of Thronehold and using the Citadel to fight a personal battle. Tell me that neither of these things trouble you.”

I can’t argue either of those points, Lantern Thorn. Though I don’t see how either apply to Marudrix
.

“He’s Cannith—”

And it’s quite a large family. Far larger than the Citadel
itself. Do you hold yourself responsible for the actions of every agent of the Citadel?

Thorn frowned. “I just don’t like working for Cannith again.”

And I don’t believe you are. While Marudrix may be a member of the family and an apprentice of the Tinkers’ Guild, there was no mention of Merrix or any other member of the house. If anything, the stranger question is why he made his way to the Citadel instead of turning to his family
.

Thorn considered that. “True.”

For all you know, he’s an excoriate like the captain of our ship. Perhaps he was driven from the house for questioning Merrix’s policy on secret creation forges
.