Keith Baker - The fading dream

Yes, even if only one has agreed to negotiate, it’s still a worthwhile outcome. Of course, if you could acquire the stone in Drix’s chest yourself, you know Breland could use immortal soldiers.

“And that’s my real question,” Thorn said. “The shards in my back. Why do they believe that they are fey treasures?”

Why do you believe that they aren’t?

“You told me they weren’t magical!”

They do not radiate an aura of magical energy. That’s a far cry from saying they aren’t magical.

“So you think they’re shielded.”

It’s the most logical explanation. “The Quiet Stone,” they called it. What if its power is to conceal? I know that you’re trained to resist divinations, but your talent for it has always been remarkable. I’ve never been able to detect the aura of any item in your possession. Even now, I know your inventory-your gloves, bracers, shiftweave, pack-but I can’t read the auras of any of it.

“So let’s pretend that is indeed the case, that there’s a magic stone in my back and I’ve never known about it. How is that possible?”

The shards were already there when I was assigned to work with you. I was told it was an accident during the mission at Far Passage.

“That’s right. We were sent to sabotage an arcane core. There were hundreds of dragonshards bound to the core-I was struck by a score of them. Our fey friends said one of these stones was stolen by a dragon. How’d they end up in the hands of an Aundairian arcanist? And how does it just happen to be the stone that hits me?”

It does seem rather unlikely. I fail to see any more logical alternative, however.

“I wish I did. None of this makes sense.”

I’m more concerned about Essen Cadrel. If we are to believe what he said, it sounds as though this eladrin had been impersonating him for an extended period of time… since he first reappeared following the Mourning and took his position in Oargev’s retinue.

“It would explain how Oargev’s childhood jester developed the skill to be a spymaster,” Thorn said.

To what end? This Shan Doresh seems focused on vengeance against the other eladrin. So why infiltrate the Cyran court? And if he accomplished that so easily… Do they have agents in other nations?

“You’re right,” Thorn said. “Something doesn’t add up. Keep thinking about it. That’s our destination up ahead. Stay alert. Strange auras, the slightest fluctuation in mystical energy… if you sense anything, you tell me.”

Understood.

The hippogriffs dropped down toward Ascalin. Thorn blinked, squinting down at the streets below. There were people on the streets, and the cold-fire lanterns were still burning. She could see a crowd gathered around a street performer, a man performing tricks with trained animals. After the lonely desolation of Seaside and the slow rot of the Silver Tree, it seemed impossibly mundane. She could see farmers selling their wares in the small market square, a group of children playing circle games, a procession leaving the temple of the Sovereign Host. For a moment she smiled. Then she realized something was terribly wrong.

No one was moving.

The children were frozen in their game. The spectators were raising their arms to cheer for the performing, but there were no cries of joy, no laughter, no applause. It was a moment frozen in time. And there was something else. Where the cold-fire lanterns spread their light, Thorn could see that the city was gleaming. It seemed as though the city were covered with a thin layer of ice, for all that it was too warm for anything to freeze. But she could see the light reflecting off every surface and even off the people standing around the lampposts.

Thorn held Steel out as the hippogriff swooped toward the ground. “Impressions?”

None at this distance, he replied. Strong necrotic resonance, the same energies I’ve felt across the Mournland. Not especially powerful, though-nothing compared to the darkness around the Silver Tree.

The hooves of the hippogriffs left craters in the ground when they landed, cracks spreading out from the point of impact like fine spiderwebs. It wasn’t ice after all; it was glass. Thorn slid out of the saddle, carefully testing the surface. Not as bad as slick ice, she thought. But certainly treacherous footing. They’d come down in a wide avenue, and there were a few people standing on the edge of the road. Whether it was a function of the glass or an effect of the Mourning, they were perfectly preserved. Each spectator was covered in a layer of glass an inch thick, the surface smooth and clear.

There’s nothing magical about the glass itself, Steel told her. And no signs of burns of the flesh, as you’d expect if molten glass fell from the sky. I’m guessing that they suffocated.

“It must have happened within moments,” Thorn said. “Look at their expressions. No fear, not even surprise. It was over before they even knew what was happening.”

Drix dismounted, handing the reins of his hippogriff to the eladrin flight master. “Eerie, isn’t it?”

“You knew about this?”

Drix nodded. “I spent some time wandering after I left the Silver Tree, after it all happened. I just… Ascalin was on the route my father traveled. I’d survived. I hoped I might find him here.”

Thorn looked at the child trapped in glass. “And did you?”

Drix shook his head. “No. Not here. Not in Kethelfeld or Greenbarrow or any of the others. I walked the old path, and I never found him.” His eyes were distant for a moment, lost in the past.

“You just wandered across the Mournland by yourself? How did you survive?”

He smiled faintly, running a finger over his hidden crystal heart. “It’s easy to survive when you can’t die. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I’ve had my bones crushed and flesh burnt and far worse than that. It never lasts… bones mend the moment they break, clothes turn to ash but the flesh remains.”

“And you’re not afraid to give that up? To let them take the stone away?” Thorn was honestly curious.

“I want it to end,” he said. “I want to sleep again. I want an end to the pain. And this…” He gestured at the frozen city. “If this is somehow tied to me, if I can restore the land, any price would be worth that.”

“Do you really believe that? Do you think it’s that easy?”

“None of this makes sense,” he said. “Look around you. What could cause this? I know the idea that restoring my heart could somehow heal the land… it’s ridiculous. But this is a mad world, and if it’s possible, I won’t let that chance slip away.”

“You came here for a reason, and you waste time we do not have.” The flight master was one of Lord Syraen’s guards, and he shared his lord’s icy demeanor. “You, maimed one, you know where you need to go?”

Drix nodded. “I know the way to the Orien enclave. It’s not far.”

“I will wait here for a time, to ensure that you have accomplished your task. Then I will depart with my beasts.”

“Then lead the way, Drix,” Thorn said. She saw a rat crouched in an alley, frozen in glass yet still watching. “We may be heading toward a fortress of nightmares, but I’ll be just as happy to leave this place behind.”

They passed a cutpurse, frozen in the moment of his theft. A beggar with his hand held out, eyes pleading behind the glass. Finally they reached the enclave. It was located on the largest plaza in the little town, along with outposts of a few other dragonmarked houses. A gnome stood outside the Sivis message station, hand outstretched.

Something was wrong.

It took her a moment to make sense of it; then she realized. The gnome’s hand wasn’t encased in glass. She saw that there were others around the plaza and shards of glass scattered around the ground.