The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [71]
None at this distance, he replied. Strong necrotic resonance, the same energies I’ve felt across the Mournland. Not especially powerful, though—nothing compared to the darkness around the Silver Tree.
The hooves of the hippogriffs left craters in the ground when they landed, cracks spreading out from the point of impact like fine spiderwebs. It wasn’t ice after all; it was glass. Thorn slid out of the saddle, carefully testing the surface. Not as bad as slick ice, she thought. But certainly treacherous footing. They’d come down in a wide avenue, and there were a few people standing on the edge of the road. Whether it was a function of the glass or an effect of the Mourning, they were perfectly preserved. Each spectator was covered in a layer of glass an inch thick, the surface smooth and clear.
There’s nothing magical about the glass itself, Steel told her. And no signs of burns of the flesh, as you’d expect if molten glass fell from the sky. I’m guessing that they suffocated.
“It must have happened within moments,” Thorn said. “Look at their expressions. No fear, not even surprise. It was over before they even knew what was happening.”
Drix dismounted, handing the reins of his hippogriff to the eladrin flight master. “Eerie, isn’t it?”
“You knew about this?”
Drix nodded. “I spent some time wandering after I left the Silver Tree, after it all happened. I just … Ascalin was on the route my father traveled. I’d survived. I hoped I might find him here.”
Thorn looked at the child trapped in glass. “And did you?”
Drix shook his head. “No. Not here. Not in Kethelfeld or Greenbarrow or any of the others. I walked the old path, and I never found him.” His eyes were distant for a moment, lost in the past.
“You just wandered across the Mournland by yourself? How did you survive?”
He smiled faintly, running a finger over his hidden crystal heart. “It’s easy to survive when you can’t die. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I’ve had my bones crushed and flesh burnt and far worse than that. It never lasts … bones mend the moment they break, clothes turn to ash but the flesh remains.”
“And you’re not afraid to give that up? To let them take the stone away?” Thorn was honestly curious.
“I want it to end,” he said. “I want to sleep again. I want an end to the pain. And this …” He gestured at the frozen city. “If this is somehow tied to me, if I can restore the land, any price would be worth that.”
“Do you really believe that? Do you think it’s that easy?”
“None of this makes sense,” he said. “Look around you. What could cause this? I know the idea that restoring my heart could somehow heal the land … it’s ridiculous. But this is a mad world, and if it’s possible, I won’t let that chance slip away.”
“You came here for a reason, and you waste time we do not have.” The flight master was one of Lord Syraen’s guards, and he shared his lord’s icy demeanor. “You, maimed one, you know where you need to go?”
Drix nodded. “I know the way to the Orien enclave. It’s not far.”
“I will wait here for a time, to ensure that you have accomplished your task. Then I will depart with my beasts.”
“Then lead the way, Drix,” Thorn said. She saw a rat crouched in an alley, frozen in glass yet still watching. “We may be heading toward a fortress of nightmares, but I’ll be just as happy to leave this place behind.”
They passed a cutpurse, frozen in the moment of his theft. A beggar with his hand held out, eyes pleading behind the glass. Finally they reached the enclave. It was located on the largest plaza in the little town, along with outposts of a few other dragonmarked houses. A gnome stood outside the Sivis message station, hand outstretched.
Something was wrong.
It took her a moment to make sense of it; then she realized. The gnome’s hand wasn’t encased in glass. She saw that there were others around the plaza and shards of glass scattered around the ground.
She paused by a dwarf dressed in the robes of a Kundarak banker. Glass still covered much of his body. His face was frozen behind