The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [36]
“To be honest—”
“Are you sure this is the right time for that?” Thorn said.
Cadrel sighed. “My dear, we may be allies this month, but we both know that there can only be one king of Galifar, and if you’re being honest with yourself, you know who that should be. You serve your king. I serve mine.”
“Does there really have to be a king of Galifar?” Drix yelled back.
“Yes,” Thorn told him. “We fought a war about it. Perhaps you remember.”
“Oh. That’s what we were fighting about? Are you sure?”
Thorn sighed. “Master Cadrel, I believe you were about to be honest with me, which would be a refreshing change. When was the last time you had a report from the Covenant?”
“They never reported to me,” Cadrel said. “The Covenant was handpicked by the prince and reported to him directly. I remember when Cazalan Dal was chosen, and I remember seeing him at New Cyre once or twice. But they always found their way to the prince without me; I heard their news from him.”
“Why would they avoid you?”
“I don’t think they were avoiding me as such,” Cadrel said. “You saw the situation in New Cyre. Today I may be Oargev’s closest confidant. But he’s had quite a few favorites over the years, some more trustworthy than others. I think the agents of the Covenant consider themselves to be the direct servants of the Cyran crown and consider any intermediary to be beneath their notice.”
“Servants who now see fit to destroy that crown.”
“Which brings us back to madness.”
“I think it’s going to rain,” Drix called back. A faint roll of thunder followed his words.
“They’re well organized for madmen,” Thorn told Cadrel. “And I’d like to find out how they knew we’d make landfall at Seaside when we never planned on it. I hope you’re being honest with me, Cadrel.”
Cadrel spread his hands. “I am as transparent as glass, my dear.”
“Perhaps you weren’t listening,” Drix said again. “Rain.”
Something in his tone gave Thorn pause. “You’re wearing a cloak, Drix.”
“Yes, but it’s—oh. You don’t know.”
Cadrel heard the fear. “What is it, lad?”
“The rain … it’s dangerous.”
“I don’t understand,” Cadrel said. “It burns? How bad is it?”
“You know in Seaside? The way the clothes were left behind, but no bodies?”
“What about it?” Thorn was afraid she already knew the answer.
“That’s because it rained. The cloak will be fine. But if it gets too wet, well …”
Dolurrh. Literally. “We need shelter. How much time do we have?”
Drix looked at the sky. All Thorn could see was the swirling, gray mist; she had no idea how he was predicting the weather. Perhaps it was just something he felt, like the emotional currents in the mist itself. “Three minutes. Maybe four.”
There was no time for a clever response and no shelter to be found. The ground around them was gray and barren; perhaps the deadly rain wiped out all life. Whatever the truth, there wasn’t so much as a tree trunk to be seen.
“You’ve been here before,” Thorn said. “You survived it then. What did you do the last time?”
“I climbed in a hole,” Drix said.
“We don’t have time to dig now.”
“I know,” Drix said. “And I’m not sure it’s big enough for all of us.”
The thunder came again, louder. Cadrel looked up at the sky. “Perhaps we could make a sort of tent of our cloaks …”
Ask him about the hole, Steel said. Quickly. Ask him how big it is.
Brilliant, Thorn thought. But she repeated the question.
“We might all fit,” Drix said. “I just don’t know about the air. We’d have to leave it open a bit. More than I’d like. It might drip in, and that’s no good.”
“What do you mean?” Thorn said. The thunder rolled again. There was no time for guessing games. “Just … show us the hole!”
Drix laid his cloak down across the ground. He stuck a few stakes into the hem, securing it against the ground.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Cadrel said. “But if this … rain … soaks through the cloth, it will kill us, yes?”
“I don’t know if it kills,” Drix said. “But we’d certainly go away. That’s why I’ve got the hole.” Reaching into