The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [98]
Shan Doresh’s face was hidden behind his battered mask, but that mask shifted as if it were made of soft flesh. He smiled. “Yes. I will remove the heart from this boy’s chest. I am afraid that it will take some time for the stones to come into alignment; you will have to endure my company for some time before I can bring this to a close. But there is no need for hatred here. You have played your part. Now let your burdens fall. And soon I will remove the heart and bring this story to an end.”
“It’s easier to relax when I can move my arms,” Thorn said. The bands of mystical force still held her tightly. “You know, since it’s just us friends here.”
Doresh shook his head. He walked slowly around the circle, running his fingers over each of the artifacts he’d stolen from the Silver Tree. “There is no need for us to be enemies, but I’m not such a fool to think that we are friends. You still do not understand this tale you are in. You believe that I am the villain.”
“Well, let’s see,” Thorn said. “Theft … manipulating me and my nation in an effort to shift the blame for that theft … arranging for poor Drix here to be stabbed … and if I can bring myself to believe the story, you might even be responsible for the Mourning. How is it that you’re not the villain?”
Doresh looked at her, his mithral eyes narrowing. “You don’t know how this all began. You don’t know why I’ve done any of this.”
“So tell me,” Thorn said. “It seems as though we have a little time on our hands. Tell me a story, Shan Doresh. Tell me how you’re not the bastard you seem to be.”
“I have other things to occupy my thoughts right now. You would do well to simply spend this time in silence. It will be over soon.”
“I’ve never been one for silence. The easiest way to get your peace is to answer the questions.”
Doresh turned to face her fully. “Understand this: The people of this world mean nothing to me—your kind, even less. It is the people of the Silver Tree who must listen to this tale and who will know how it ends soon enough.”
Thorn would have shrugged if she could have moved. “So consider me the rehearsal. Tira was all set to remove the heart. You betrayed her trust, stole these treasures, and tried to blame ‘my kind’ for it. And now you’re doing it yourself. I suppose you want me to believe that it’s all a matter of pride, that you need to be the one who gets to be the savior, and you couldn’t let Tira take the credit for it. That if not for me, you would have blamed the Cyrans for the theft, and you could have taken credit both for recovering the treasures and for removing the heart.”
Doresh smiled, the edges of the mithral mouth turning up. “You’re surprisingly clever for a creature made of dirt and ash. Perhaps that drop of my blood in you is worth something after all.”
“So all of this was so you could play the part of the wounded hero. The man who made the noble sacrifice. You wanted to cast Tira in the role of hotheaded fool, the one who brought doom on her people.”
“And she did,” Doresh said. “I may have placed the knife before her, but she struck the blow.”
“True enough,” Thorn said. “For all of your power, you all seem like children to me.”
Doresh ran the edge of his curved blade along the darkwood rod. “Mind your words, girl. I need you for this ritual. What happens to you after that is far from certain.”
“And now you can see why this whole situation is so relaxing for me. You’re suggesting that you’re doing the same thing as Tira. That you’re going to restore Drix and the Silver Tree. And this is all just about who gets to take the credit for this amazing victory.”
Doresh turned away, not even bothering to respond.
“It’s a good story. Exactly the kind of thing a human king might do—set up an enemy to fail so he could take credit for the victory. Make it all about propaganda. I just don’t believe it.”
Neither do I, Steel said. The ritual is certainly similar to what Tira was developing, but there’s a piece missing. I don’t see anything