The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [96]
Intriguing as that was, at the moment it was more inconvenient than useful. She couldn’t reach any further within the stone. The rage that burned within it was too great. She let the image of the stone drift away and brought her focus down, to the shard in the base of her spine.
That stone had never brought her pain, though it occasionally grew cold. The Quiet Stone, Tira had called it. And compared to the raging shard above, it certainly was silent. Thorn tried to explore it with her thoughts and found nothing. If not for the voices she’d heard just seconds earlier, she might have given up, dismissed it as madness. This time …
This time I learn your secrets.
That one thought—that moment of determination—was all it took. It was as though she’d been pressed against a wall of glass only to have it turn into air. She felt her consciousness slip inside the stone, and she knew it for what it was, for what it could do. The Quiet Stone had been made to conceal and to warn. Thorn knew that she’d only touched a fraction of its power, and then only by instinct. She had no idea yet how to unlock its greater functions, but she could feel the depth of it, a deep pool of still energy. And as she studied it, she could sense the echo of others nearby. She knew then that there was a time when the stones had all been together. Words flashed through her mind—Ourelon’s Gift—and the dragons at the Silver Tree, a pact made in an age past. The vision faded in an instant, but she could still feel the echo of the others, feel them calling to be rejoined.
She opened her eyes and drew Steel.
So, he said. Have you found Marudrix?
Thorn spun the dagger in the air and caught him. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I believe I have.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Taer Lian Doresh
Barrakas 25, 999 YK
Thorn strode through the halls of the Fortress of Fading Dreams, following the call of the crystal heart. She walked through streams of blood and chambers of writhing eyes, through halls where shrouded eladrin were harvesting fears from imprisoned dreamers and the kennels where those phobias were bound and trained for battle. No guardian gave her a second glance, nor did the strange and terrible beasts challenge her approach. Perhaps it was the Quiet Stone, responding to her touch. Perhaps the world of dreams was responding to her belief in herself. And perhaps it was simple arrogance on the part of the ancient fey. Thorn wore the long cloak of the guardian who’d walked the halls, and she hid her face behind his silver mask. Perhaps the disguise and the confidence with which she walked was all it took to remove all obstacles to her path.
There were many moments when something could have gone wrong, many times when a casual twist of fate could have revealed her deception and brought the full force of the citadel to bear. Yet at every turn, Olladra smiled, and fortune favored the Lantern.
The call of the heart led her to the highest tower in the central keep, to a chamber that looked out over the fortress and the haunted woods around it. In the courtyard the forces of the Fading Dream were preparing for battle. Sages in bronze masks assembled weird weapons of war, things torn from the most horrible dreams of mortal artificers. Nightmares writhed and twisted in the skies, howling in a multitude of voices.
And high in the chamber above, Thorn found Marudrix Juran Cannith bound in the center of a circle of fey symbols. She’d seen its like before, at the heart of the Silver Tree. She’d also seen the other artifacts in the room: the Sword of Winter, the Stone of Joy, and the sigils of all the mighty ghaele.
And there her luck finally ran out.
Thorn set the silver mask on the floor next to the spear and drew Steel. “What can you tell me?”
That you should never have made it this far unchallenged.
Thorn rapped the blade against her knuckles. “Kalashtar sermon, remember? Be positive. What can you tell me about this seal?”
The power is immense