Keith Baker - The fading dream

Doresh smiled, the edges of the mithral mouth turning up. “You’re surprisingly clever for a creature made of dirt and ash. Perhaps that drop of my blood in you is worth something after all.”

“So all of this was so you could play the part of the wounded hero. The man who made the noble sacrifice. You wanted to cast Tira in the role of hotheaded fool, the one who brought doom on her people.”

“And she did,” Doresh said. “I may have placed the knife before her, but she struck the blow.”

“True enough,” Thorn said. “For all of your power, you all seem like children to me.”

Doresh ran the edge of his curved blade along the darkwood rod. “Mind your words, girl. I need you for this ritual. What happens to you after that is far from certain.”

“And now you can see why this whole situation is so relaxing for me. You’re suggesting that you’re doing the same thing as Tira. That you’re going to restore Drix and the Silver Tree. And this is all just about who gets to take the credit for this amazing victory.”

Doresh turned away, not even bothering to respond.

“It’s a good story. Exactly the kind of thing a human king might do-set up an enemy to fail so he could take credit for the victory. Make it all about propaganda. I just don’t believe it.”

Neither do I, Steel said. The ritual is certainly similar to what Tira was developing, but there’s a piece missing. I don’t see anything that’s going to actually heal Drix’s injury once the stone is removed.

Doresh looked back at her. “Arrogant child. You think you understand me?”

“I have no idea what you want. I just know what you don’t want, and that’s to restore the Silver Tree. I’ve seen the army of terrors you’re building in this place, and I know you didn’t show this face to the Council of the Silver Tree. Cadrel-or whoever he really was-said that you’ve suffered. He said that you’ve been dragged through nightmares and now you want to drag the others with you.”

Doresh said nothing.

“Which means that what you’re doing now isn’t for their benefit. I just don’t know what it is.” She glanced at Drix.

Then she saw it.

“You never expected Tira to make the sacrifice in the first place. You knew she’d stab Drix. You never expected her to save him.”

Doresh watched her silently, his shadowy eyes unreadable.

“You and the others-you think that Drix somehow stopped the Mourning from spreading. You weren’t expecting that. You thought it was going to spread across the entire nation, that it would reach all of the fey cities, not just the Silver Tree.”

“Yes,” Doresh hissed. “We wanted them all to suffer as we have. Let every living thing feel our pain. And yes, I will remove the stone from this boy’s chest, and once he is dead, the blight will spread again. And my armies will be ready. We will move through that darkness, a force of nightmare ready to bring this tale to its proper conclusion. To end in glorious battle, as it began.”

Try as she might, Thorn still couldn’t bring herself to believe that Drix had anything to do with the Mourning, either causing it or holding it in check. Nonetheless, she’d seen the horrors Shan Doresh was readying below; that was enough cause for concern. When he killed Drix and the Mourning didn’t spread, the forces assembled there could still cause carnage. Then there was Cadrel.

“Wait,” she said. “You needed Drix and me to come here.”

He nodded, smiling again.

“In the end, you didn’t even expect the blame to fall on the Cyrans. You wanted Cadrel to get caught so they’d know you had the stones and, knowing that you would sense them coming, that they’d send us to get them.”

“Yes,” Doresh said. “That was Kalas’s part, to let them know that we had defeated them, beginning to end. That we’d placed the blade in the queen’s hand and that she had driven it into the heart of the Silver Tree. That they would have to rely on creatures of dirt to win back their greatest treasures.”

“So Cadrel, the Cyran scheme-you expected me to see through it. You had a spy in place for years so that, when the time came, he could fail.”

“You cannot understand us. One of your years is as nothing to us. The people of my citadel-we have spent thousands of your lifetimes wandering nightmares.”

“And that’s the strangest part of this,” Thorn said. “You set up this impossibly complicated scheme, all to show your cousins how clever you are before watching them suffer and die. You’re doing nothing but gloat. And yet, moments ago, you lied to me about what you’re about to do. I’m northing, dirt, a mere piece in your puzzle. So why lie now?”

Doresh ignored her, examining the relics in the circle.

“Why lead me to believe that this is all for Drix’s benefit, that I should just relax and let it happen, when I can’t possibly escape and battle is futile?”

Doresh looked at her again. “Perhaps cruelty isn’t in my nature. I need you alive for this piece of things. I thought to let you die with peace in your soul.”

“I’ve seen things in these towers that redefine cruelty for me. You’re not doing this for me. Which means there’s only one reason for you to lie. You’re afraid.” A warm glow was spreading up Thorn’s back as she spoke and she smiled.

A sneer spread across Doresh’s mithral mask. “And what could I possibly be afraid of?”

“Me.” Thorn took a step forward, feeling only the slightest tingle as she passed through the ward. “The Quiet Stone is the stone of stealth, and there’s more to that than concealment, isn’t there?”

“You won’t escape again,” Doresh said. “You know you can’t defeat me. I am a champion of my people. I was fighting giants before your kind existed. I am a master of steel and spell.”

“You keep saying that,” Thorn said. “But you know what?”

Doresh stared at her, the empty sockets of his mask cold and hollow.

She shifted Steel into a fighting grip. “I don’t believe you.”

Taer Lian Doresh B arrakas 25, 999 YK

You know nothing, mortal,” Doresh growled, and the stone in his brooch pulsed with light. “And I will not demean myself by fighting you. I am the Lord of Dreams made real, and to face me is to face your fears.”

They weren’t alone any longer. Cazalan Dal was between them, along with his companions in the Covenant of the Gray Mist. Shadowy blades were raised, and arcane energy crackled along the lengths of half a dozen wands.

Thorn could see the move in her mind, and she executed it flawlessly, an acrobat’s dream. She rolled forward, passing beneath the blast from Dal’s wand and driving Steel into his chest with the full strength of the dragon within her. Even as he grunted in pain, she lifted him up and threw him into the swordsman darting toward her.

“You can’t stop me with these dreams,” Thorn snarled. “They’re not real. They’re not my fears.”

It was true. The first time she’d fought Cazalan Dal, she had been afraid. She’d been concerned about the safety of the people in her charge. She’d wanted to take the assassin alive. Knowing that those things were just specters, images of people she’d never known-there was no fear in her, no reason to hold back. Thorn knew she would defeat them. She was a whirlwind of steel and fury. No blade could touch her, and every blow she struck was true. Within seconds her enemies had fallen, and she faced Doresh again.

“Are you ready to demean yourself now?”

Doresh hissed, his mask twisting in fury. His curved knife warped, the fluid metal stretching into a long, crescent blade suffused with a pale light. Then he was upon her.