Keith Baker - The fading dream

The last words were directed to Steel more than to the eladrin. She hadn’t expected the balance of power to shift quite so quickly, but it was what she was there for-to learn as much as she could about the threat posed by the feyspire.

Their gear is on par with Cannith third-tier enchantments-the leaves are stronger than steel scales, Steel reported quickly. More important-there’s an extraplanar resonance clinging to the ones that jumped. I won’t try to explain, but they won’t be able to repeat that trick for some time.

The fey warriors were waiting for a signal from their commander. Thorn could feel the knight in the horned helm standing behind her, smell the blood flowing from his wounded shoulder. She remained still as he brushed her hair aside, studying the shard embedded in her spine.

“You have spirit, young one,” he said. “But spirit alone is not enough to earn you a welcome in the City of the Silver Tree. And this stone does not belong with you; we shall take it from your bones.”

“Don’t do this, Casoran.” Drix had been silent, but he took a step forward. “She’s innocent. As I was.”

“Be silent and still, Marudrix. You do not command my blade.”

“No, you serve the Silver Lady. And it was she who told me to return when I had found the stone wrapped in Thorn. Would you defy her?”

The eladrin took a step back, letting Thorn’s hair fall down to cover the stone. “I am the guardian of this path. Do not presume to tell me what to do.”

For a moment, the eyes of the eladrin were on Drix, and that moment was all Thorn needed. She could channel only a limited amount of mystical energy at a time, and she knew only a few tricks, but those spells had proven invaluable in the past. She could alter her appearance with an illusionary guise. She could hide all trace of her passage. She could leap great distances or scale sheer walls with the ease of a spider.

And she could turn invisible.

It was a difficult spell, requiring constant concentration, and the cloak was shattered if she took any sort of hostile action. But when she was surrounded by enemies, it was the perfect thing. She’d woven the arcane patterns in her mind as Drix argued with the horned knight, and when she released it, she vanished from sight.

The eladrin surrounding her thrust their spears forward, but they met empty air. Thorn had dropped to the ground the instant the concealing magics took hold. She rolled backward, out from the center of the ring. She was on her feet again before the fey had time to react, and once again she had her arm around Casoran’s neck and Steel’s tip at his throat. She prayed that Steel had been telling the truth when he’d said they couldn’t teleport again.

“Now where were we?” she said as the mystical cloak faded away.

“A stalemate at best.” It was one of the archers. His bow was still trained on Essyn Cadrel. “You may slay our commander, but your companion will fall. And should you kill your hostage, you will be the next to die.”

“That’s right. And maybe I’ll take two or three more of you with me. What good does that do any of us?” Taking a deep breath, she released the knight and took a step back. “We didn’t come to fight. We came here to protect Drix. He tells me your queen wishes to speak with me. And if you really do have a silver tree in your city… tell me, does it have leaves of gold? And is the bark beginning to crack? Because if it is, I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks now, and I really think I need to see your queen as quickly as possible.”

The archers had trained their bows on her, and the spearmen were ready to charge. But the knight in the horned helm held up a hand, and they took a step back. He turned to face her, blood still dripping down his leafy armor where the arrow was lodged in his shoulder. “I was right, halfblood. You do have spirit. And if you’ve heard the call of the Tree, then it is not my place to strip the stone from you. Let us go to the spire.”

“All of us,” Thorn said, pointing to Cadrel. “If your queen wants to meet me, she can meet my friend as well.”

“As you wish,” the knight said. He reached up and yanked the arrow from his shoulder, flinging it to the ground. He didn’t flinch or cry out, though blood flowed from the ugly wound. He pressed his hand over the gash, and when he pulled it away, the only trace of the injury was the blood drying on his armor. “Follow me, then. The Silver Tree awaits.”

The Mournland B arrakas 24, 999 YK

Bless Arawai and her wonders,” Cadrel breathed as the city came into view.

Thorn could only agree. She’d seen it in her dreams, yet she’d failed to grasp its wonder. Shaelas Tiraleth… in the Elven tongue, it meant Court of the Silver Tree. And so it was-in more ways than one. Thorn remembered the tree in her dreams, the gleaming boughs reaching up toward the sky, and when she’d heard it was tied to the fey city, she’d imagined a vast courtyard open to the sky. The truth was far more spectacular.

The city was the tree.

In her dream, Thorn had seen ivy rising up along the trunk. The ivy was still there, but she could see tiny figures walking along it. There were windows in the great trunk, tiny slivers of light almost hidden within the creases of the metallic bark. This must be what it feels like to be an ant, Thorn thought as she stared up at the majestic tree.

Even as she let the awe wash over her, Thorn could see the rot that was setting in. In her dream, the trunk had been mirror bright, but the silver in front of her was dull and clouded. She could see long cracks running through the bark, and she remembered the shards that had fallen around her in the nightmare. In places, light spilled out as broken walls opened into interior chambers. If there were any golden leaves left on the tree, they were lost in the branches hidden in the mist. The rest of the branches were stripped bare.

“Sir Marusan,” Cadrel said, amazement still heavy in his voice. “It’s the tale of Sir Marusan.”

“I don’t know if we have time for another tale,” Thorn said. They were walking slowly, and the gates of the Tree were still far ahead of them.

“Oh,” he said, “it’s quicker than the last, my dear. The first version was recorded before Galifar was founded. Perhaps you’ve heard of Kessler’s Lost in the Woods? Marusan’s tale was the foundation. He was a knight-in most versions of the story, at least. In some he’s a farmer. In others, a prince. Not Harryn Stormblade or the Shield of Making, but a good man. On the day of his wedding, he goes riding in the woods. There he finds a great city that is also a tree, and he’s imprisoned by the cruel elves that live there.”

“They aren’t that cruel,” Drix said. “They’re just skittish, really.”

Thorn glanced at the nearest soldier, but his closed helmet hid his expression. “I’ll take your word for it. So what happened to this Marusan?”

“Apparently it had been some time since these elves had encountered a human. Their greatest wizards were curious to learn more about him. So they starved him and froze him and burned him… never enough to kill, just to see what it would take to bring him to the edge of death.”

“They did this at this Silver Tree? The one we’re going to now?”

“So the story has it,” Cadrel said.

Drix shrugged. “They were kind enough to me. Well, aside from the stabbing.”

“Perhaps the wizards learned all they needed from Marusan,” Cadrel said. “So time and again, they pushed him to the edge of death. But Marusan was a man in love. And that love gave him strength he’d never known he’d possessed. He was determined to survive so he could return to his beloved. And that courage impressed one of the daughters of the king, who freed him from the pit and told him how to find the path to his home. But there at the gate, the faerie king blocks his path. The elf lord is armed for war and orders Marusan to return to the pit. The knight knows that he can never defeat this otherworldly champion. And so he does one of the hardest things he’s ever done. He begs. He drops his sword and falls to his knees. And he tells his story-tells the fearsome king exactly what he left behind, and why he cannot wait any longer. Tears fall from Marusan’s eyes as he speaks of his beloved, and his warm tears melt the heart of the dreadful warlord.”