The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [53]
Thorn was moving even as he drew the sword. The words had barely left his mouth when she kicked him in the chest, calling on every ounce of her unnatural strength. The fey warlord staggered backward, gasping for air. The others got on their feet. Thorn rolled away just in time to evade the net of emerald lights that flashed through the air. The Rose Queen raised her hands, and bramble vines unfolded from her hair. Only one of the fey remained distant and uninvolved—a gnome dressed in robes that shimmered with the shifting colors of a rainbow.
Drix was at her side, his tiny crossbow in his hand. Cadrel was there as well, his rapier gleaming. It seemed impossible that they could stand against the eladrin and their retinues, but she was glad for the help.
The battle ended as quickly as it had begun. “Enough!” Tira roared and her voice had the force of a gale, slamming the combatants back. Once again she towered above them, her eyes blazing and her golden crown gleaming. “Her blood may be mixed with the soil, but this woman is a guest beneath my boughs, and you will not harm her here!”
Syraen’s warriors were standing at his side, blades of ice glistening in the silvery light. “Then perhaps we shall take our leave and await her beyond your gate. How can you allow this to occur? Two of the greatest treasures of our people, in the hands of a mortal? This is our chance to reclaim what we have lost!”
“You’re all mad,” Thorn said. “These are no treasures in my back. This is shrapnel from an explosion. I’m lucky I lived through it. I was struck by dozens of shards; these are just the ones they couldn’t remove.”
“Both of you know nothing,” Tira said. “Thorn, these are no common crystals in your spine. Syraen is correct. They are two of Ourelon’s shards. The Quiet Stone in the base of your spine was the heartstone of our spire in Xen’drik, the city that fell to the giants. The Preserving Shard holds the spirits of our greatest leaders; it was placed in the care of Marusan’s line and lost when the vile wyrm laid waste to the woods.”
“Then how—?” Thorn began. She shut her mouth when Tira looked at her, before the fey queen turned to her magic to do the job.
“Syraen, I have devoted myself to the study of the shards. Once they are bound to mortal flesh, they cannot be removed by force. Aside from killing the bearer, the blood and anger would taint the shard forevermore. This curse began with an act of violence; you cannot end it with another. You shame our people with your behavior, and if I did not need you to bring this curse to an end, I would order you to return to the Winter Citadel immediately. Sheathe your weapons now. I remind you that though the walls may crumble around me, this is my seat of power, and you will show me due respect!”
Thorn was barely listening. Her thoughts were racing. What did she mean? Vile wyrm … holds the spirits of our greatest leaders.
The winter lord slowly sheathed his sword. “I will aid you, Tira, because you speak the truth. The fates of our spires are linked. My people wish to return to the land of the long night, and if it is your curse that binds us here, we will help you break it. But know this: I will not forget how you have treated me this day. Nor will I forgive you for bringing this plague upon us to begin with. I stand beneath your boughs, and I will bow to your will today. I suggest you never seek my hospitality again.”
“So be it.”
“I see one problem with your plans, Lady Tira.” It was the gnome. His voice was soft and pleasant, and the colors of his robe swirled as he spoke. “You said that all eight shards would be required. You have found two of the lost shards. But what of the third? Where is the Stone of Dreams?”
Tira’s eyes dimmed behind her veil. “I do not know. In my visions I saw all eight of the stones in our circle. I never saw how they arrived, and it seems my vision was clouded.