The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [57]
“And you believe that?”
“Honestly? No. But it makes a wonderful story. I’m sure it was a coincidence. But it’s brought us to this vault, given us this chance to study these treasures and tools. So what do you think? Once we steal them, how do we divide up the shards?”
He sounded utterly sincere, and Thorn looked over in surprise. For a moment he kept a straight face; then he burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, my dear. But it was worth it just for the look on your face. And tell me the thought hadn’t occurred to you.”
“Of course it occurred to me,” she said. “And I’m sure Lady Tira expected as much. We’re at war and if each of these shards has power to match the one in Drix’s chest, we’d be fools not to want them. But we have no idea what other powers the eladrin possess. Their friendship could be far more valuable in the days ahead than a handful of artifacts we can’t reproduce.”
“True, true.” Cadrel said. “Still, it’s an interesting exercise, isn’t it? And we have nothing but time. I’m sure you’re an expert when it comes to breaking and entering. I saw the guards, the thickness of the vault door; you’ve probably seen a dozen wards and traps that slipped by my old eyes. So what would you do if it was in your hands?”
“I wouldn’t,” Thorn said. “I don’t want to make enemies of these people. Any theft would surely be blamed on us. Right now the worst thing I can think of would be for someone to break in here and steal these treasures and somehow get away with it.”
“That’s unfortunate. Because that’s exactly our plan.”
It wasn’t Cadrel who spoke. The bard looked as surprised as she was.
It was Cazalan Dal. And he wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Shaelas Tiraleth, the Mournland
Barrakas 24, 999 YK
When they’d been sealed in the vault, Lady Tira had made Thorn and the others surrender their weapons and magical equipment. “We are trusting you with our greatest treasures,” she told them. “Surely you can trust us with yours.” Drix had convinced them to leave him with his crossbow as a way to pass the time, but he had no bolts for the weapon. And all of Thorn’s tools were waiting for her outside the vault—her mithral vambraces, the gloves of storing that held the myrnaxe, her cloak with its myriad tools and weapons, even Steel—she was unarmed and outnumbered.
The Covenant of the Gray Mist carried the same weapons she’d seen them with before: shifting blades in one hand, and wands in the other. Surely they wouldn’t use fireballs in such an enclosed space, Thorn thought. That left far too many options, from paralysis to a burst of fire with a tighter focus.
Thorn’s first instinct was to attack, to strike as hard and fast as she could, to try to even the numbers before they could react. She held it in check. There were four of them—too many. And two of them had already grabbed Drix and Cadrel and were holding blades to their throats. Thorn rose to her feet as a third soldier approached her, a grim woman with gray eyes and a long blade.
“We won’t keep you long,” Cazalan said. His voice was the same dry rasp she remembered from the attack on the prince. He had a small sack in his hand, and he picked up the icy blade of Lord Syraen and slid it into the opening. The sword should have pierced the cloth, but instead it vanished into the bag.
An extradimensional bag. He’s going to walk away with it all, she thought.
“I thought you were dead,” she said. “I suppose I should have cut off your head and kept it as a keepsake.” It was half a joke, half serious. She studied the woman next to her. She was confident and that was to Thorn’s advantage.
“That might have worked,” he said. He dropped the emerald amulet of Lord Joridal into his sack. “Spend as much time in the Mournland as I have, and death becomes a friend. And for this … I forgive you my two deaths.”
“Forgive me?”
“We’ve known of this citadel for years now. We’ve been searching for a way to penetrate its defenses. But even teleportation is of little use if you don’t know where you’re going. Once we knew they’d let you inside, it was