The archers had trained their bows on her, and the spearmen were ready to charge. But the knight in the horned helm held up a hand, and they took a step back. He turned to face her, blood still dripping down his leafy armor where the arrow was lodged in his shoulder. “I was right, halfblood. You do have spirit. And if you’ve heard the call of the Tree, then it is not my place to strip the stone from you. Let us go to the spire.”
“All of us,” Thorn said, pointing to Cadrel. “If your queen wants to meet me, she can meet my friend as well.”
“As you wish,” the knight said. He reached up and yanked the arrow from his shoulder, flinging it to the ground. He didn’t flinch or cry out, though blood flowed from the ugly wound. He pressed his hand over the gash, and when he pulled it away, the only trace of the injury was the blood drying on his armor. “Follow me, then. The Silver Tree awaits.”
CHAPTER TEN
The Mournland B arrakas 24, 999 YK
Bless Arawai and her wonders,” Cadrel breathed as the city came into view.
Thorn could only agree. She’d seen it in her dreams, yet she’d failed to grasp its wonder. Shaelas Tiraleth… in the Elven tongue, it meant Court of the Silver Tree. And so it was-in more ways than one. Thorn remembered the tree in her dreams, the gleaming boughs reaching up toward the sky, and when she’d heard it was tied to the fey city, she’d imagined a vast courtyard open to the sky. The truth was far more spectacular.
The city was the tree.
In her dream, Thorn had seen ivy rising up along the trunk. The ivy was still there, but she could see tiny figures walking along it. There were windows in the great trunk, tiny slivers of light almost hidden within the creases of the metallic bark. This must be what it feels like to be an ant, Thorn thought as she stared up at the majestic tree.
Even as she let the awe wash over her, Thorn could see the rot that was setting in. In her dream, the trunk had been mirror bright, but the silver in front of her was dull and clouded. She could see long cracks running through the bark, and she remembered the shards that had fallen around her in the nightmare. In places, light spilled out as broken walls opened into interior chambers. If there were any golden leaves left on the tree, they were lost in the branches hidden in the mist. The rest of the branches were stripped bare.
“Sir Marusan,” Cadrel said, amazement still heavy in his voice. “It’s the tale of Sir Marusan.”
“I don’t know if we have time for another tale,” Thorn said. They were walking slowly, and the gates of the Tree were still far ahead of them.
“Oh,” he said, “it’s quicker than the last, my dear. The first version was recorded before Galifar was founded. Perhaps you’ve heard of Kessler’s Lost in the Woods? Marusan’s tale was the foundation. He was a knight-in most versions of the story, at least. In some he’s a farmer. In others, a prince. Not Harryn Stormblade or the Shield of Making, but a good man. On the day of his wedding, he goes riding in the woods. There he finds a great city that is also a tree, and he’s imprisoned by the cruel elves that live there.”
“They aren’t that cruel,” Drix said. “They’re just skittish, really.”
Thorn glanced at the nearest soldier, but his closed helmet hid his expression. “I’ll take your word for it. So what happened to this Marusan?”
“Apparently it had been some time since these elves had encountered a human. Their greatest wizards were curious to learn more about him. So they starved him and froze him and burned him… never enough to kill, just to see what it would take to bring him to the edge of death.”
“They did this at this Silver Tree? The one we’re going to now?”
“So the story has it,” Cadrel said.
Drix shrugged. “They were kind enough to me. Well, aside from the stabbing.”
“Perhaps the wizards learned all they needed from Marusan,” Cadrel said. “So time and again, they pushed him to the edge of death. But Marusan was a man in love. And that love gave him strength he’d never known he’d possessed. He was determined to survive so he could return to his beloved. And that courage impressed one of the daughters of the king, who freed him from the pit and told him how to find the path to his home. But there at the gate, the faerie king blocks his path. The elf lord is armed for war and orders Marusan to return to the pit. The knight knows that he can never defeat this otherworldly champion. And so he does one of the hardest things he’s ever done. He begs. He drops his sword and falls to his knees. And he tells his story-tells the fearsome king exactly what he left behind, and why he cannot wait any longer. Tears fall from Marusan’s eyes as he speaks of his beloved, and his warm tears melt the heart of the dreadful warlord.”
“Let me guess,” Thorn said. “The king lets him go, Boldrei herself appears to bless the union, and everyone lives happily ever after?”
“That’s how it plays out in Tasker’s play,” Cadrel replied. “The original story is darker. In this tale, Marusan learns that the city of the tree moved between Thelanis and Eberron, and that time passes differently in the faerie court than it does here. In the week that he’s been imprisoned by the elves, a century has passed in the world beyond. His beloved is long dead, having married another.”
“Well,” Thorn said. “I do love a happy ending.”
“What happens next?” Drix said.
Cadrel smiled. “Marusan realizes that he left his heart in the city of the tree, with the woman who helped him escape the grim pit. He tries to go back to the city, but he can’t find it; the forest has swallowed up the trees. He spends the next few years wandering the woods, trying to find the lost path, and when he finally returns to his domain, he finds the elf woman waiting for him. She’d followed him out, leaving her city behind.
“The story ends there. Maybe they were married and ruled a great kingdom. Perhaps it didn’t last.” Cadrel shrugged. “A week ago, I would have told you that it was just a story. That it was a fable about patience. That was before I saw this. A city that is a tree, hidden in what was once one of our greatest forests. It still seems amazing that it could have been here all this time.”
“I don’t think it was,” Drix said. “They were reluctant to talk about it when I was there, but I think the city does move between the planes, that it isn’t always in the woods. And even when it was, it was hidden. Somehow, when they stabbed me, that concealment was wiped away.”
Cadrel looked over at Thorn. “Tell me that doesn’t interest you, my dear. Magic that could hide a thing like that-keep it hidden so well that we know of it only through an all-but-forgotten story.”
“I’m sure it interests you as well… and for the same reason.”
Cadrel smiled. “Ah, Thorn. We live in different worlds, you and I. You serve one of the greatest powers of Khorvaire. Your masters seek to determine the fate of Galifar and Khorvaire. I am only concerned with protecting my people. There are so few of us left. I wish to know the truth that lies behind the Mourning. But it will take more than a cloak of invisibility to bring back fallen Cyre.”
He sounded sincere and for a moment, Thorn wondered if she’d misjudged him. Then she remembered the sorrow in his voice when he’d spoken of the torments Marusan had faced in the dungeons below the city of the tree. He told a good story, but he was a spymaster too. “And your friend Cazalan Dal? Any new thoughts on him?”
Cadrel heaved a great sigh, and for an instant, he seemed to be a much older man. “I still have no idea what those madmen hope to accomplish. It was a mistake for my lord to send our best into such peril and a loss to our nation that they have fallen to madness. There are too many mysteries in this world. At least the answer to one of them lies before us.”
“Let’s hope so,” Thorn said. They’d almost reached the great tree, and she could see a gate down at the very base of the trunk, nestled in the valley formed by two spreading roots. “It’s interesting that the Mourning destroyed all the other trees and left this one alone.”
“We are the ones who felled the trees.” It was the knight in the horned helm, the first time he’d spoken since they’d begun traveling. “You saw what became of them in the grove where we found you. After the blood of our prince and this one soaked the soil, the greenery that survived the tainting grew thirsty. The plants sought our blood, and the region had to be cleansed. The hungry trees you saw are mild compared to the savage roots that besieged us in the first days.”
“What else can you tell me?” she said to the eladrin warrior, tapping Steel’s hilt as she spoke.
