The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [42]
“Now where were we?” she said as the mystical cloak faded away.
“A stalemate at best.” It was one of the archers. His bow was still trained on Essyn Cadrel. “You may slay our commander, but your companion will fall. And should you kill your hostage, you will be the next to die.”
“That’s right. And maybe I’ll take two or three more of you with me. What good does that do any of us?” Taking a deep breath, she released the knight and took a step back. “We didn’t come to fight. We came here to protect Drix. He tells me your queen wishes to speak with me. And if you really do have a silver tree in your city … tell me, does it have leaves of gold? And is the bark beginning to crack? Because if it is, I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks now, and I really think I need to see your queen as quickly as possible.”
The archers had trained their bows on her, and the spearmen were ready to charge. But the knight in the horned helm held up a hand, and they took a step back. He turned to face her, blood still dripping down his leafy armor where the arrow was lodged in his shoulder. “I was right, halfblood. You do have spirit. And if you’ve heard the call of the Tree, then it is not my place to strip the stone from you. Let us go to the spire.”
“All of us,” Thorn said, pointing to Cadrel. “If your queen wants to meet me, she can meet my friend as well.”
“As you wish,” the knight said. He reached up and yanked the arrow from his shoulder, flinging it to the ground. He didn’t flinch or cry out, though blood flowed from the ugly wound. He pressed his hand over the gash, and when he pulled it away, the only trace of the injury was the blood drying on his armor. “Follow me, then. The Silver Tree awaits.”
CHAPTER TEN
The Mournland
Barrakas 24, 999 YK
Bless Arawai and her wonders,” Cadrel breathed as the city came into view.
Thorn could only agree. She’d seen it in her dreams, yet she’d failed to grasp its wonder. Shaelas Tiraleth … in the Elven tongue, it meant Court of the Silver Tree. And so it was—in more ways than one. Thorn remembered the tree in her dreams, the gleaming boughs reaching up toward the sky, and when she’d heard it was tied to the fey city, she’d imagined a vast courtyard open to the sky. The truth was far more spectacular.
The city was the tree.
In her dream, Thorn had seen ivy rising up along the trunk. The ivy was still there, but she could see tiny figures walking along it. There were windows in the great trunk, tiny slivers of light almost hidden within the creases of the metallic bark. This must be what it feels like to be an ant, Thorn thought as she stared up at the majestic tree.
Even as she let the awe wash over her, Thorn could see the rot that was setting in. In her dream, the trunk had been mirror bright, but the silver in front of her was dull and clouded. She could see long cracks running through the bark, and she remembered the shards that had fallen around her in the nightmare. In places, light spilled out as broken walls opened into interior chambers. If there were any golden leaves left on the tree, they were lost in the branches hidden in the mist. The rest of the branches were stripped bare.
“Sir Marusan,” Cadrel said, amazement still heavy in his voice. “It’s the tale of Sir Marusan.”
“I don’t know if we have time for another tale,” Thorn said. They were walking slowly, and the gates of the Tree were still far ahead of them.
“Oh,” he said, “it’s quicker than the last, my dear. The first version was recorded before Galifar was founded. Perhaps you’ve heard of Kessler’s Lost in the Woods? Marusan’s tale was the foundation. He was a knight—in most versions of the story, at least. In some he’s a farmer. In