Keith Baker - The fading dream

The Orien sentry had struck the floor hard, and she had cut open her scalp, but she was still conscious and completely limp, unable to move a muscle. There was no telling how long the effect would last, and Thorn smashed Steel into the side of her head. It wasn’t easy to tell if the blow had any effect, but her eyes seemed to lose focus. Good enough, Thorn thought. She dragged the woman back to the circle chamber. Drix was sitting on the floor, pulling pieces of bloodstained glass from his legs.

“Good catch,” he said.

“Aureon’s name! You’re lucky I don’t have time to slap you right now,” Thorn said. She reached into her pouch, calling a length of silk rope from the extradimensional space within. “I need answers, and she’s not about to give them. Where have you brought us, and why do they have guards ready to strike on sight?”

“You know as much as I do,” Drix said, plucking a long blade of glass from his forearm. “The gate… it was buried. Hidden, even from most Orien heirs who might use the podium. All I knew was that it was in the Whitepine Forest.”

“Lovely. A hidden gate, and far from civilization.” Thorn plucked the silver unicorn, the symbol of House Orien, from the sentry’s uniform. “This is a house operation. So what are they working on that they don’t want the world to see?”

“Do you think it’s important?” Drix said. He stood up gingerly, testing the strength of his legs.

“Everything’s important to someone. I’d love to know more about what’s going on. But this isn’t the mission. We need to get out of here and on our way as quickly as possible, preferably without dying in the process. What can you tell me?”

“Nothing?” Drix said, puzzled.

Steel’s answer was the one Thorn was waiting for. The unicorn pin has a faint aura. It’s likely protection against whatever wards are in this place.

“Define ‘likely,’ ” Thorn said. “Are we safe or aren’t we?”

I can’t be certain, but I can’t see any other explanation for the aura. If I had anything to bet on it, I would.

“And you’d also bet on the minotaur instead of the ogre,” Thorn muttered.

“You’re talking to your dagger, aren’t you?” Drix said. “What’s his name? Can you introduce us?”

“Not now,” Thorn said. “Guards could be here at any moment. We’ve got to figure out a way out of here, and we just don’t have enough information. And-” she stopped short. “How did you know he was a ‘he’?”

“He’s a dagger,” Drix said as if that explained everything.

Thorn shook her head and looked around the chamber: no windows, only the one door, the podium, the map studded with dragonshards. “See what you can do with that,” she said to Drix. “If I don’t come back soon, you may want to get that gate working and get back home.”

“I never had a home,” Drix said, more thoughtful than sad.

“That’s fascinating,” Thorn said. “Now see what you can find out.”

Thorn pinned the unicorn amulet to her collar. Closing her eyes, she pictured still water. She imagined her body settling into the pool, surrounded by water, becoming the water. Clear as glass. Invisible. “Shalassa,” she whispered, and the word was a lever, a bucket she lowered into the well of magical energy. She pulled, sinking her thoughts into the well of energy and pulling it over her, making her vision real.

The whole process took only seconds. She opened her eyes, raised a hand before herself, and saw nothing. She was invisible.

She moved quietly into the hall. The spell would last for only a few minutes, so she had to be as quick as possible. The corridor was fashioned from bare, white stone, lit with cold-fire globes. There were no windows, no other doors nearby, but the hallway merged with another corridor, and she could hear voices moving toward her-people in that corridor.

“I’m telling you, we should be working on the blood. The director is wasting time. Mark my words, a month from now, we’ll be working on the blood.” It was a woman’s voice, colored with annoyance. There was something else… a creak, the sound of metal on stone-a cart, perhaps.

“I’m just the axeman, Lady.” The voice was male, cheerful. “Such matters are beyond my simple understanding.”

Thorn peered around the corner. There were one woman and five men, two of whom were indeed wheeling a cart between them. She saw the glint of steel in the cold light, armor and the blade of a weapon, and slipped back around the corner. They shouldn’t be able to see her, but there was no point in taking chances. They were almost on top of her; better to let them pass and continue to observe.

A moment later they passed by her. Fortunately they kept going; whatever their destination, they weren’t going to the teleportation chamber.

“And you’re dulling your axe to no good purpose, I tell you.” The woman was quite striking; she had smooth skin; silky, black hair; brown eyes with flecks of gold that caught the light of the cold fire as Thorn studied her. She could have been an artist’s model or an actress, but she wore a leather harness loaded with vials, short wands, and thin blades-the tools of an alchemist or medical savant. She wore a brown robe with green trim, and the gold pin over her left breast was carved in the shape of a griffon. They were the colors of House Vadalis, and the griffon was its sigil; the three men accompanying her were dressed in the uniform armor of House Deneith mercenaries. And we’ve already seen Orien, Thorn thought. A house operation, it seems, but doing what?

House Vadalis worked with animals, breeding and training all manner of creatures. They were best known for magebreeding-rituals that used the power of the house dragonmark to twist the flesh and blood of an unborn creature, weaving specific strengths into the child. Through the techniques they had produced horses with remarkable speed and strength, hunting dogs that could track the merest trace of a scent, beasts of burden and battle. The house had produced the mighty warbears that Breland had used in the Last War, the Breland coat of arms brought to fierce life. They’d created the “dark eyes,” ravens with an exceptional vocabulary and the ability to recognize and report on enemy activities; they weren’t truly intelligent, but sometimes it was hard to tell. The Korth Edicts prohibited the house from experimenting on humans or other sentient species, but there were always rumors that they were trying to magebreed a better human. With her angelic appearance, the Vadalis savant was exactly the sort to add fuel to that fire. Her appearance wasn’t truly unnatural but still remarkable for a healer.

The five with her were soldiers; that was plain to see. Whatever that place was, they took security seriously. Even at a glance, Thorn could see scars on their skin and nicks on their chain mail; they’d been through battles and come out alive. Four were common Blademarks, with crossbows slung across their backs and swords sheathed on their belts. The one walking next to the woman was an officer, with a golden chimera pinned to his collar; beyond that, Thorn could see the lines of a dragonmark running along his neck and up to his ear. He was resting a two-handed axe across one shoulder, an ugly weapon with a long blade. He was a muscular man, and if not for the web of scars on almost every inch of his exposed skin, he would have been quite handsome. More to the point, Thorn had no doubt he’d be able to wield the brutal axe with ease.

“Perhaps I am. I still enjoy the dulling of it,” he said with a grin.

Thorn followed them quietly as they continued down the hallway. She traced a cross on Steel’s hilt.

Well equipped for common sentries, he told her, though nothing so impressive as our friends in the Mournland. Still, even the two pushing the cart have mystically reinforced armor and enchantments woven into blade and bow alike. Low-grade Cannith work, I’d say. The axe is on par with that of the royal executioner; enchanted to sever a head or a limb, but drawing on its full might would take time-the sort of thing one would use on a stationary target. And the woman… nothing powerful, no weapons, but a great many minor auras. The tools of a chirurgeon as opposed to an alchemist.