The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [46]
The old bowyer looked up at her as they passed. He wore a wooden mask, carved with elf features, the expression calm and impassive. Something about it troubled her. It was so mundane. Why wear a mask with so little expression if not to conceal something below?
Farther and farther they rose along the trunk of the tree, and they passed more and more people. Most were eladrin, their faces hidden by masks, and most were somber and still, like mourners at a funeral. Then a group of gnomes ran past them, laughing and shouting at one another; they were dressed in clothing of many vivid colors, and their unmasked faces were filled with mirth. It was as surprising as a flash of lightning on a dark night, and over just as quickly.
At last they reached their destination, a suite of rooms at the end of a hallway. A sentry stood in the hall outside, but closer observation revealed that it was another statue, the spear and the hand that held it both formed of smooth darkwood. Were you alive too? Thorn wondered. Are you watching even now, or are you just a warning?
“Stay here until someone comes for you,” Casoran said. His eyes gleamed within his horned helm, points of silver fire. “This is for your safety as much as ours. Until you have the blessing of the lady, the Tree will not accept you, and you would be in grave danger if you walk these halls alone. Rest. You will find food and drink within. Take a moment of ease.” He glanced at Thorn and Cadrel. “If the lady does not approve of your presence, it may be the last chance you have.”
“There’s that famous Mournland hospitality,” Thorn said. She smiled at her companions and held out her arms. “Well, gentlemen, shall we see what the chef has prepared for us?”
“Anything would be better than those thrice-damned troll sticks of yours,” Cadrel said, taking her arm. “Of course, in the tales, it’s often unwise to eat the food of the fey.”
Thorn glanced at Drix as they walked into their quarters. “Well, sir? You’ve been here before. Did they enchant you with their wines and culinary wonders?”
Drix shrugged and ran his hand over his hidden heart. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to keep food down since they brought me back.”
“Not exactly encouraging,” Thorn said. “But for a good bottle of wine, I think I’ll take my chances. Let’s eat, my friends. Then we can determine watches. I know I could use some sleep, but I want a pair of eyes open at all times.”
“I haven’t slept since they brought me back either,” Drix said.
Thorn looked at him. “You’ve led a strange life, Drix Cannith. But if it means I’ll get a good night’s sleep, I’ll live with it.”
“Always glad to be of service.” He smiled and strangely that made Thorn feel better. They were deep in the Mournland, in an odd and haunted city, surrounded by fey of unknown power and purpose. On the one hand, it was unnerving. One the other, it was what she loved about being a Lantern. Who knew what challenges they would face in the morning?
“Let’s raise a glass of whatever they have, then,” she said. “To surviving the journey. And don’t worry, Drix, I’ll drink for you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Shaelas Tiraleth, the Mournland
Barrakas 24, 999 YK
The giant towered above Thorn, a muscle-bound brute three times her height clad in glittering black chain mail. He swung his maul at her, the massive metal head of the weapon larger than she was, and she leaped out of the way, feeling the wind as it slammed into the ground just behind her. Thorn jabbed at him with her short spear, catching him on the arm before darting away. It was a solid blow, but against a beast of his size, all but futile. He was bleeding from a score of wounds, and yet he fought on, and one blow of his maul was all it would take to shatter her bones. She needed to finish the fight quickly. She stepped through space, catching a fleeting glimpse of the serene woods of Thelanis before returning to the ugly battle.
The jaunt brought her up onto the broad shoulders of the giant. As he turned his head