The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [78]
“You know as much as I do,” Drix said, plucking a long blade of glass from his forearm. “The gate … it was buried. Hidden, even from most Orien heirs who might use the podium. All I knew was that it was in the Whitepine Forest.”
“Lovely. A hidden gate, and far from civilization.” Thorn plucked the silver unicorn, the symbol of House Orien, from the sentry’s uniform. “This is a house operation. So what are they working on that they don’t want the world to see?”
“Do you think it’s important?” Drix said. He stood up gingerly, testing the strength of his legs.
“Everything’s important to someone. I’d love to know more about what’s going on. But this isn’t the mission. We need to get out of here and on our way as quickly as possible, preferably without dying in the process. What can you tell me?”
“Nothing?” Drix said, puzzled.
Steel’s answer was the one Thorn was waiting for. The unicorn pin has a faint aura. It’s likely protection against whatever wards are in this place.
“Define ‘likely,’ ” Thorn said. “Are we safe or aren’t we?”
I can’t be certain, but I can’t see any other explanation for the aura. If I had anything to bet on it, I would.
“And you’d also bet on the minotaur instead of the ogre,” Thorn muttered.
“You’re talking to your dagger, aren’t you?” Drix said. “What’s his name? Can you introduce us?”
“Not now,” Thorn said. “Guards could be here at any moment. We’ve got to figure out a way out of here, and we just don’t have enough information. And—” she stopped short. “How did you know he was a ‘he’?”
“He’s a dagger,” Drix said as if that explained everything.
Thorn shook her head and looked around the chamber: no windows, only the one door, the podium, the map studded with dragonshards. “See what you can do with that,” she said to Drix. “If I don’t come back soon, you may want to get that gate working and get back home.”
“I never had a home,” Drix said, more thoughtful than sad.
“That’s fascinating,” Thorn said. “Now see what you can find out.”
Thorn pinned the unicorn amulet to her collar. Closing her eyes, she pictured still water. She imagined her body settling into the pool, surrounded by water, becoming the water. Clear as glass. Invisible. “Shalassa,” she whispered, and the word was a lever, a bucket she lowered into the well of magical energy. She pulled, sinking her thoughts into the well of energy and pulling it over her, making her vision real.
The whole process took only seconds. She opened her eyes, raised a hand before herself, and saw nothing. She was invisible.
She moved quietly into the hall. The spell would last for only a few minutes, so she had to be as quick as possible. The corridor was fashioned from bare, white stone, lit with cold-fire globes. There were no windows, no other doors nearby, but the hallway merged with another corridor, and she could hear voices moving toward her—people in that corridor.
“I’m telling you, we should be working on the blood. The director is wasting time. Mark my words, a month from now, we’ll be working on the blood.” It was a woman’s voice, colored with annoyance. There was something else … a creak, the sound of metal on stone—a cart, perhaps.
“I’m just the axeman, Lady.” The voice was male, cheerful. “Such matters are beyond my simple understanding.”
Thorn peered around the corner. There were one woman and five men, two of whom were indeed wheeling a cart between them. She saw the glint of steel in the cold light, armor and the blade of a weapon, and slipped back around the corner. They shouldn’t be able to see her, but there was no point in taking chances. They were almost on top of her; better to let them pass and continue to observe.
A moment later they passed by her. Fortunately they kept going; whatever their destination, they weren’t going to the teleportation chamber.
“And you’re dulling