The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [35]
Drix took a step back when she walked into the store, and she let the glamour fall.
“Wake him up,” she said. “We need to find out where their camp is, how many more there are. Sovereigns and Six, were they expecting us?”
“I’m afraid you won’t get those answers from Cazalan Dal.” Cadrel was kneeling next to the fallen soldier. “He’s dead.”
“Impossible,” Thorn said. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”
Cadrel looked up at her, a strange expression on his face. “Perhaps you don’t know your own strength. You fractured his skull with that final blow.”
She noticed the blood spreading across the floor. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t even noticed the surge of draconic strength, for all that she’d banked on her immunity to fire to save her life when she set off the wand. “There’s no time to waste. Cadrel, search the body. Drix, do you know where we are?”
“Yes,” he said. “The Street of Crowns. We need to get to the eastern gate.”
“Then lead the way. Quicker is better.”
“Nothing,” Cadrel reported, standing up. “Nothing at all. No coins in his pouch. No traveling papers. Nothing whatsoever.”
“Strange,” Thorn said. “It probably means they have a base nearby … and that means we’d better leave before they come looking.”
Drix had already stepped outside. When Thorn and Cadrel followed, they found him rummaging around on the ground. Standing up, he turned and tossed something to Thorn, a tarnished, silver disk that glittered in the light of the ever-burning torch. It was the battered locket, the chain snapped off, the rim of the lid bent and jammed. If there had ever been a picture inside, it had been burned away.
“You never know when it might be needed again,” he said. Then he started jogging down the street. “Come on, then!”
“There’s something strange about that boy,” Cadrel said.
“I can’t argue that,” Thorn said. “But I just might like it.”
She ran after him, Cadrel close on her heels.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Mournland
Barrakas 23, 999 YK
They’re your people,” Thorn said. “Surely you’ve got some idea. They were waiting for us.”
It was difficult to keep track of time. The sky was hidden by the glowing, gray mist; it might have been midnight, but it might have been noon. They’d run for as long as they could stand it, trying to get away from the empty city and to escape possible pursuit. The land around them was withered and gray. They followed the old trade road, which proved to be a gloomy path. Seaside was a port town, and most of the traffic came by sea. But there had been travelers on the northern road on the Day of Mourning. The first caravan had been devoid of all signs of life, just like Seaside itself. Horses’ harnesses stood empty, coachmens’ uniforms caught in the seats or on withered branches. The second was perfectly preserved with no signs of cause of death or even fear on the faces of the travelers. Their eyes were still open, and they looked as if they’d be warm to the touch. They were simply frozen, caught halfway on a journey they’d never complete.
“They aren’t my people,” Cadrel said. “They might have been once, but now they are creatures of the Mournland. Who can explain the madness this place might bring?”
“I can see how spending too much time here might drive you mad,” Thorn said, glancing at Drix. The tinker was whistling cheerfully, ignoring the conversation. “But that doesn’t explain the breacher. Or how Dal survived the first attack. Or how he got to Seaside before us. You anticipated the attack on the prince. So you must have known something.”
“I told you. Angry words, the presence of the Fifth Crown … it was a danger, nothing more. I didn’t even realize that the Covenant of the Gray Mist was involved.”
It’s possible he’s telling the truth, Steel whispered. But it seems unlikely. He’s supposed to be Oargev’s eyes and ears.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Thorn said, addressing