The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [97]
“To what end?”
That is unknown.
“What do you think? Can I cross it safely?”
By my analysis, the wards are purely defensive in nature—powerful, yes, but merely holding the artifacts in place.
Thorn nodded. “That’s what it looks like to me.” Avoiding the nexus points of the wards where the air rippled around the artifacts, she strode over to Drix and knelt by his side. “Well, he’s still warm,” she said.
It’s a start, I suppose.
“Yes. Still …” she took a pinch of silver dust from a pouch and blew it toward Marudrix. When it vaporized, she tested the ward with a thin probe. “Whatever this is, my confidence isn’t enough to get through.”
Unfortunate. It seems confidence isn’t everything.
“I guess not,” Thorn said. “Strange, though. Look at the shape of this ward.”
I see, Steel said. There are gaps in it. Not wide enough to pull him out, I’m afraid.
“No,” Thorn said. “But why have them at all?”
There’s far too much we don’t know about any of the eladrin, and it would seem these are stranger than most.
Thorn crouched down next to Drix, rocking back and forth. “So let’s concentrate on what we do know.”
Which is?
“It’s all about stories. One kiss puts the princess to sleep for a thousand years. Kill the ogre and his spine becomes a ladder.”
Do we need a ladder?
“Not that I know of. But if you believe what they said in the Silver Tree, I’m sitting next to a sleeping prince.”
Which means?
Thorn looked down at Drix. She thought about her brother Nandon, the memories of childhood, the stories he’d told her in the dark, and the distance that had come between them over the years. She thought about how much she missed him. And leaning down through the gaps in the shielding ward, she gently kissed Drix.
At first nothing happened. Then there was a pulse of light at his chest … and another. Then he opened his eyes. He glanced at her, moving only his eyes.
This is insane, Steel said.
“Kalashtar sermons,” Thorn said quietly. She looked down at Drix. “Can you talk?”
“Thorn?” he said. His jaw didn’t move, and she had to struggle to hear him.
“I’m here,” she said. “We don’t know how to get you out or what this is all about.”
“G-g-g …” he said, struggling.
“Slowly,” Thorn said. “Calm.”
“Go,” he said. “Go now.”
A new voice filled the room. “Oh, it’s far too late for that.”
There was only one door to the highest chamber in the Fortress of Fading Dreams. Shan Doresh stood in it, a curved blade gleaming in one outstretched hand.
Thorn rose to her feet, but she wasn’t fast enough. The Lord of Dreams raised his darkwood scepter, and a wave of force closed around her, pushing her back and pinning her arms to her sides.
“By now you should know the futility of battle, Lady Thorn.” Shan Doresh had not bothered to restore his glamour. His armor was battle worn and tarnished, and he studied her with pools of shadow held behind his battered mithral mask. His voice was a chill wind, echoing through an empty helm. “There is to be no dramatic duel between us. You have a role to play, but it is not the part of the champion.”
Thorn struggled and the dragon’s fury flowed through her. She’d broken an ogre with that strength, but physical power alone could not break the bonds that held her. “I’ll never help you,” she snarled.
“I need nothing from you but your presence,” Doresh replied, striding into the circle. The wards had been restored, and Drix could no longer speak. “And yet there is no need for such anger. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you see?” Doresh said. “The stones. The boy. I’m going to finish this and save your friend.”
Though Thorn couldn’t move her arms, she could still rub a finger across Steel’s hilt. “You’re going to perform the ritual Lady Tira had prepared?”
It’s possible, Steel told her. The stones are here. Drix is at the