The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [49]
“Lady Tira. Good of you to finally grace us with your presence.” It was a man’s voice, hard and cold. The speaker was an eladrin, but like Tira herself, he was unusually tall. His skin was pale, his hair dark, his eyes filled with a bitter blue light. He and his retinue were girded for war, wearing ivory armor that Thorn recognized from the briefing in Wroat. They were the eladrin of the north, from the ice citadel in Karrnath. “And what have you brought us?”
“Patience, Lord Syraen.” Tira placed her hand on Thorn’s shoulder and gestured to Drix. “Be seated and I will begin.”
“Good.” The eladrin sitting across from the winter lord was dressed in robes of green and gold, and sparks of emerald light drifted around his head like fireflies. “We have troubles of our own. Even now, the goblin hordes are howling at my gates. To leave now, taking the heart of power … you had best know what you are doing, Tira. And I trust you will repay this favor in full.”
“Favor?”
Whoever the green lord was, he’d gone too far. Thorn was looking away, making her way over to Drix, but she felt the woman’s anger, a charge building in the air like lightning in a storm. When she looked back, Tira’s eyes burned like the sun. Whether it was magic or the sheer power of her personality, Tira seemed to tower over the others.
“Lord Joridal, I advise you to remember who I am and where you are.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but the floor seemed to shake with her words. “The Silver Tree. First of our seven cities. The bridge between worlds. Your city is just one branch of the tree—and no branch can live if the trunk rots away. This is no favor you do me. This is about our survival.”
“So you say.” The woman who spoke wore armor made from overlapping leaves, and roses were woven within her long, red-gold hair. Her eyes burned with golden light. “The city of Rose and Thorn prospers as it always has. I came out of respect, not need.”
Tira’s anger had calmed. “Your city has always been close to this world of mud. But surely you realize that the period of the shift has continued for longer than it ever has before. The problems of Joridal, the threat facing Syraen … none of these would be an issue if we could just return home. But we can’t. And we never will until we restore the roots of the Tree itself.”
“I know I’m last to the party,” Thorn said. “But Aureon’s word! What are you talking about? Who are you exactly?”
Cadrel smiled and Drix laughed aloud. Hmm, Steel whispered. Thorn wished she could draw the blade, but the best she could do was to keep her hand on his hilt. You don’t want to be too subtle, now.
All of the fey turned to look at her, and the lords all began to speak at once, anger and curiosity flowing together in a mass of words. Then Tira raised her hand, and silence fell across the chamber. It was utter and unnatural, and Thorn could see a few of the lords still trying to speak; no sound would fill the air. At last they settled, and Tira spoke again.
“I said that I would explain all when we were gathered. And now we are. By my own hand, I brought a curse down upon our people. It is my fault that we are stranded in this world, revealed and threatened by those we thought unable to touch us. And it is by my hand that the curse shall be broken. This is no simple task. It will take all our strength and all our power. I need Ourelon’s Gift brought together again. And this is why I have petitioned you for all these years, why I have spoken to you through the shards. You know my sight reaches far, and I know what must be done if the curse is to be broken. This is the time. The light of Irian shines upon the world. The influence of Lammania grows. Now we can wipe the bloodstains from the soil and restore our bond to our beloved homeland.”
“That’s fascinating,” Thorn said before anyone else could speak. “With the understanding that when I say ‘fascinating,’ I mean ‘completely incomprehensible.’ I’m still