The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [19]
The tinker pulled open his shirt. Thorn’s eyes widened.
There was a stone embedded in his flesh. A crystal set into his left breast, where his heart should be. They stared at the large, clear jewel that appeared to be filled with swirling gray mist.
“We don’t know exactly what it is,” Vron said. “Just that it holds a power unlike anything we’ve ever seen from Cannith or the Arcane Congress. It can’t be removed, and it heals any injury Drix suffers within moments.”
“They called it the Heart of the Spire,” Drix said. While his breathing was slightly ragged, his voice was steady and strong. “They said … that they took my heart, so they gave me theirs. That its strength would allow us both to survive until the wound could be healed.”
Oargev’s temper was building again. “What does this have to do with the Mourning?”
To Thorn’s surprise, Drix actually smiled. “I’m just a tinker. This sort of magic is beyond me. But they told me that if they could restore me, they could restore the broken land as well,” Drix said. “That when they’d struck at me, they’d been crippled as well. And that by healing my wound, they could heal all our wounds.”
Oargev scowled. “I was wrong to draw my blade beneath your roof, Vron. But you do me a disservice by subjecting me to these ravings.”
“Patience, Your Highness.” Cadrel was examining the stone. “We have been quick to judge and to lash out. We still haven’t heard all that Vron has to say.”
“Thank you,” the changeling said. “We are faced with a number of simple facts.” He pointed at the map on the wall. “The feyspires exist. The events in Karrnath show that these eladrin possess both military might and magical skill. And yet we knew nothing of their presence until after the Day of Mourning. Now we have word that the eladrin say that the disaster crippled them even as it destroyed Cyre, and it is the Mourning itself that brought the hidden cities into the open. Ridiculous? Perhaps. But when coupled with proof of magic we cannot duplicate, it’s something we at least have to consider. And then there is the claim that they can restore stricken Cyre. It sounds like a fairy tale. Yet it’s just possible that we are living in a fairy tale, and we have nothing to lose from testing their claims.”
“I agree with Vron,” Boranel said. “Listen to yourself, Gev. Mere moments ago you were complaining when I told you there might be no answer to the Mourning. Now one has been placed before you and you don’t even want to test it?”
Oargev raised his hands, cheeks flushed with shame and wine. “I apologize again. This … I … You must understand. I’ve struggled with this for years. I face nightmares both awake and asleep. Nothing I’ve tried has borne fruit, and just hours ago I was attacked by a man I once trusted as much as anyone in this room. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and we should follow any lead.”
Cadrel patted the prince’s arm. “We’ve all been under too much stress of late,” he said. “So what is the next step? We need to heal this lad, is that all?”
Vron glanced at Drix. He’d closed his shirt, and he ran a finger over the hidden stone.
“They need to remove the stone,” Drix said. “Cure the wound.”
“It sounds simple enough, I know,” Vron said. “Unfortunately, it’s anything but. Healing balms and spells treat the stone as if it was a living part of him. We’ve tried to cut it out ourselves, but any wound heals instantly. The artificers tell me there’s a phenomenal amount of power in the stone, and if there’s any truth to the idea that the stone is linked to the Mourning, well, we don’t want to do anything too dangerous. We can’t remove it. But they can.”
“So why haven’t they?” Oargev said. “What