Keith Baker - The fading dream

And high in the chamber above, Thorn found Marudrix Juran Cannith bound in the center of a circle of fey symbols. She’d seen its like before, at the heart of the Silver Tree. She’d also seen the other artifacts in the room: the Sword of Winter, the Stone of Joy, and the sigils of all the mighty ghaele.

And there her luck finally ran out.

Thorn set the silver mask on the floor next to the spear and drew Steel. “What can you tell me?”

That you should never have made it this far unchallenged.

Thorn rapped the blade against her knuckles. “Kalashtar sermon, remember? Be positive. What can you tell me about this seal?”

The power is immense-enough that it shows up clearly, even against the background energies of the fortress. Binding, abjuration, what you’d expect from defensive wards. There is something else. The power… Marudrix is the focal point. All the others… the energy feeds to him.

“To what end?”

That is unknown.

“What do you think? Can I cross it safely?”

By my analysis, the wards are purely defensive in nature-powerful, yes, but merely holding the artifacts in place.

Thorn nodded. “That’s what it looks like to me.” Avoiding the nexus points of the wards where the air rippled around the artifacts, she strode over to Drix and knelt by his side. “Well, he’s still warm,” she said.

It’s a start, I suppose.

“Yes. Still…” she took a pinch of silver dust from a pouch and blew it toward Marudrix. When it vaporized, she tested the ward with a thin probe. “Whatever this is, my confidence isn’t enough to get through.”

Unfortunate. It seems confidence isn’t everything.

“I guess not,” Thorn said. “Strange, though. Look at the shape of this ward.”

I see, Steel said. There are gaps in it. Not wide enough to pull him out, I’m afraid.

“No,” Thorn said. “But why have them at all?”

There’s far too much we don’t know about any of the eladrin, and it would seem these are stranger than most.

Thorn crouched down next to Drix, rocking back and forth. “So let’s concentrate on what we do know.”

Which is?

“It’s all about stories. One kiss puts the princess to sleep for a thousand years. Kill the ogre and his spine becomes a ladder.”

Do we need a ladder?

“Not that I know of. But if you believe what they said in the Silver Tree, I’m sitting next to a sleeping prince.”

Which means?

Thorn looked down at Drix. She thought about her brother Nandon, the memories of childhood, the stories he’d told her in the dark, and the distance that had come between them over the years. She thought about how much she missed him. And leaning down through the gaps in the shielding ward, she gently kissed Drix.

At first nothing happened. Then there was a pulse of light at his chest… and another. Then he opened his eyes. He glanced at her, moving only his eyes.

This is insane, Steel said.

“Kalashtar sermons,” Thorn said quietly. She looked down at Drix. “Can you talk?”

“Thorn?” he said. His jaw didn’t move, and she had to struggle to hear him.

“I’m here,” she said. “We don’t know how to get you out or what this is all about.”

“G-g-g…” he said, struggling.

“Slowly,” Thorn said. “Calm.”

“Go,” he said. “Go now.”

A new voice filled the room. “Oh, it’s far too late for that.”

There was only one door to the highest chamber in the Fortress of Fading Dreams. Shan Doresh stood in it, a curved blade gleaming in one outstretched hand.

Thorn rose to her feet, but she wasn’t fast enough. The Lord of Dreams raised his darkwood scepter, and a wave of force closed around her, pushing her back and pinning her arms to her sides.

“By now you should know the futility of battle, Lady Thorn.” Shan Doresh had not bothered to restore his glamour. His armor was battle worn and tarnished, and he studied her with pools of shadow held behind his battered mithral mask. His voice was a chill wind, echoing through an empty helm. “There is to be no dramatic duel between us. You have a role to play, but it is not the part of the champion.”

Thorn struggled and the dragon’s fury flowed through her. She’d broken an ogre with that strength, but physical power alone could not break the bonds that held her. “I’ll never help you,” she snarled.

“I need nothing from you but your presence,” Doresh replied, striding into the circle. The wards had been restored, and Drix could no longer speak. “And yet there is no need for such anger. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you see?” Doresh said. “The stones. The boy. I’m going to finish this and save your friend.”

Though Thorn couldn’t move her arms, she could still rub a finger across Steel’s hilt. “You’re going to perform the ritual Lady Tira had prepared?”

It’s possible, Steel told her. The stones are here. Drix is at the center of it. There’s something troubling me, though. Let me continue to analyze the energies.

Shan Doresh’s face was hidden behind his battered mask, but that mask shifted as if it were made of soft flesh. He smiled. “Yes. I will remove the heart from this boy’s chest. I am afraid that it will take some time for the stones to come into alignment; you will have to endure my company for some time before I can bring this to a close. But there is no need for hatred here. You have played your part. Now let your burdens fall. And soon I will remove the heart and bring this story to an end.”

“It’s easier to relax when I can move my arms,” Thorn said. The bands of mystical force still held her tightly. “You know, since it’s just us friends here.”

Doresh shook his head. He walked slowly around the circle, running his fingers over each of the artifacts he’d stolen from the Silver Tree. “There is no need for us to be enemies, but I’m not such a fool to think that we are friends. You still do not understand this tale you are in. You believe that I am the villain.”

“Well, let’s see,” Thorn said. “Theft… manipulating me and my nation in an effort to shift the blame for that theft… arranging for poor Drix here to be stabbed… and if I can bring myself to believe the story, you might even be responsible for the Mourning. How is it that you’re not the villain?”

Doresh looked at her, his mithral eyes narrowing. “You don’t know how this all began. You don’t know why I’ve done any of this.”

“So tell me,” Thorn said. “It seems as though we have a little time on our hands. Tell me a story, Shan Doresh. Tell me how you’re not the bastard you seem to be.”

“I have other things to occupy my thoughts right now. You would do well to simply spend this time in silence. It will be over soon.”

“I’ve never been one for silence. The easiest way to get your peace is to answer the questions.”

Doresh turned to face her fully. “Understand this: The people of this world mean nothing to me-your kind, even less. It is the people of the Silver Tree who must listen to this tale and who will know how it ends soon enough.”

Thorn would have shrugged if she could have moved. “So consider me the rehearsal. Tira was all set to remove the heart. You betrayed her trust, stole these treasures, and tried to blame ‘my kind’ for it. And now you’re doing it yourself. I suppose you want me to believe that it’s all a matter of pride, that you need to be the one who gets to be the savior, and you couldn’t let Tira take the credit for it. That if not for me, you would have blamed the Cyrans for the theft, and you could have taken credit both for recovering the treasures and for removing the heart.”