can somehow restore Cyre, wonderful. But your primary mission is to acquire as much information about the eladrin as you can, including anything that could provide Breland with an arcane advantage in future conflicts.”
“I see.”
Zane frowned. “Cadrel is a problem. If there are secrets to be gleaned from the tower, we want them to benefit Breland.”
“Are you telling me to eliminate Essyn Cadrel?” Thorn wanted that point to be absolutely clear. She liked the old man. If Zane wanted him dead, he’d have to give an order.
Zane sighed. “It’s not your mission, Lantern Thorn. But the Mournland is a dangerous place, and I’m sure you’ll have your hands full protecting Drix. Make that your priority: don’t risk anything to keep Cadrel alive.”
“Understood. Is there anything else?”
“Yes.” Zane looked at her closely. “The man who attacked you. Cazalan Dal. You’re certain he died?”
“Steel was,” Thorn said. “He was dead center when he detonated the wand, and then the ceiling collapsed. Steel said there was little left of him.”
“Try ‘nothing.’ I received the report from the search teams while I was outside. No traces of any of the attackers, save for the damage of the battle. Bodies, equipment-nothing whatsoever.”
Thorn considered that. “So either someone purged the scene, and quickly, or they all survived.”
“Yes,” Zane said. “And we still don’t know what they were after to begin with. So be careful. Your assassin mentioned the prince by name, so odds are good Oargev is the target. We’ll keep a watch on him. Still, it’s an unknown, and I hate unknowns. Be careful.”
“Of course.”
“Good,” Zane said. “Report to the quartermaster for equipment. Your boat leaves the docks in three hours’ time.”
He left without another word. Thorn remained in the black room, staring at the glowing map. She sat down in one of the chairs and drew Steel.
“Did you get all of that?”
Of course. So now you’re going to fix the Mournland.
“Are we? I thought I was going to rob some elves and maybe kill an old man.”
I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for Breland.
“I always do,” Thorn said. “I always do.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Thunder Sea B arrakas 22, 999 YK
She knew she wouldn’t make it in time. She couldn’t find the path. She was running through the forest and searching for the light. Hundreds of fireflies swarmed through the woods, false sparks trying to lead her astray.
A wave of pain rolled through her. It wasn’t a scream. It was the agony of the land, shared by everything around her. Trees shook and a multitude of cries rose up in the night, wolf and songbird united in torment. If Thorn couldn’t find her way, they’d all be dead soon.
At last she reached the clearing, and there it was. A tree, its trunk cast in silver, polished to a mirror finish. Boughs spread wide enough to cover a great hall, covered with glowing leaves of gold. She ran and as she did, she could see that the tree was even taller than she’d imagined. Its limbs were twined with the stars, and she could feel its roots sinking deep down into the earth. The tree didn’t draw sustenance from the soil, no-it was the earth that drew strength from the tree. It was a tree of worlds, binding earth and sky together, forming a bridge between shadow and substance.
And she was too late.
The mirror finish was growing cloudy, cracks running up along the trunk. Leaves were falling and the stars with them. She couldn’t see the roots wither, but all around her, both plant and beast withered and died. She could feel the life running out of her own body, feel her flesh rotting on the bone. She could barely stand, and she staggered toward the tree, hoping that it might be different than before, that she would reach the tree in time to stop the decay, to save herself.
She never had and now it was no different. Her legs gave out beneath her and she fell. The earth cracked around her as razor-edged shards of silver fell from the sky. The tree was dying, and there was nothing she could do.
Thorn woke up with a start.
She desperately wanted a breath of fresh air, a cool, night wind to clear her thoughts. A glance at the window reminded her why that wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t a window at all; it was a porthole, with the murky depths of the Thunder Sea stretching out into the darkness. And all around her was a low thrum, a vibration that she could feel in the floor and air alike, the pulse of the elemental spirit driving the ship through the water.
Nightmares were nothing new for her, especially since Far Passage. She often dreamed of Lharen’s death and the shards ripping through her flesh. But this dream was something else. She’d been dreaming of the tree for almost a month. Although it was not every night-not quite-it was always the same, though each time the vision was stronger.
Stupid dreams. She’d hoped that Nandon might be able to tell her something about it, that it might be connected to her other troubles. She’d had other nightmares over the past years, visions of the horrific deeds of the dragon Sarmondelaryx and a woman who could be Thorn’s twin dressed in red leather and black silk, a woman who was also somehow Sarmondelaryx. Haunting as those were, those were of a different order of magnitude than the dreams of the silver tree. The vision that pulled her from her sleep had a visceral power that pulled at her.
Thorn was wearing her nightshirt; she whispered a word, and the fabric twisted and stretched, shifting to her traveling clothes. She picked up Steel.
“What’s the good word?”
Ten bells and all’s well, he said. At least, the ward preventing this vessel from cracking beneath the pressure of the water is stable, and the magic that purifies the air you breathe continues to function. Despite having been banished from her house, your captain seems to have the elemental empowering the vessel under control. For the moment.
“Yes… thanks for reminding me just how many things could go wrong on this little boat.” Thorn pulled on her gloves and slid her bracers into place on her forearms. She picked up Steel again and tapped the blade on her palm, sighing.
Is something troubling you?
“Our companion. Marudrix.”
I should like to properly analyze his aura. There’s a limit to what I can do when sheathed, and I would have liked to have observed his recovery when Oargev attacked him.
“We could stab him.”
You don’t like him?
Thorn sighed. “No… he seems like a good kid, I suppose, if a little strange. But I don’t like his family.” Just months earlier, Thorn had been assigned to infiltrate House Tarkanan, a criminal guild formed by people with aberrant dragonmarks, a group long oppressed by the dragonmarked houses. House Cannith had been the motive force behind the assignment, and Thorn was still angry about the merchants giving orders to the Brelish crown. “Merrix d’Cannith was operating a creation forge in Sharn. A direct violation of the Thronehold edicts and a threat to Brelish security.”
Then I suppose it’s lucky for him that someone destroyed the forge instead of passing the information to the proper authorities.
Thorn flushed. “It was necessary to maintain my cover. Besides, you know Sharn. Merrix would have just bought off the inspectors.”
I see. And is it your opinion that Merrix posed an imminent threat to Breland? You stopped him just before he could set his warforged army in motion?
“Perhaps you’ve forgotten the warforged assassins he had down there? It may not have been an army, but
