“I haven’t slept since they brought me back either,” Drix said.
Thorn looked at him. “You’ve led a strange life, Drix Cannith. But if it means I’ll get a good night’s sleep, I’ll live with it.”
“Always glad to be of service.” He smiled and strangely that made Thorn feel better. They were deep in the Mournland, in an odd and haunted city, surrounded by fey of unknown power and purpose. On the one hand, it was unnerving. One the other, it was what she loved about being a Lantern. Who knew what challenges they would face in the morning?
“Let’s raise a glass of whatever they have, then,” she said. “To surviving the journey. And don’t worry, Drix, I’ll drink for you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Shaelas Tiraleth, the Mournland B arrakas 24, 999 YK
The giant towered above Thorn, a muscle-bound brute three times her height clad in glittering black chain mail. He swung his maul at her, the massive metal head of the weapon larger than she was, and she leaped out of the way, feeling the wind as it slammed into the ground just behind her. Thorn jabbed at him with her short spear, catching him on the arm before darting away. It was a solid blow, but against a beast of his size, all but futile. He was bleeding from a score of wounds, and yet he fought on, and one blow of his maul was all it would take to shatter her bones. She needed to finish the fight quickly. She stepped through space, catching a fleeting glimpse of the serene woods of Thelanis before returning to the ugly battle.
The jaunt brought her up onto the broad shoulders of the giant. As he turned his head to look at her, Thorn drove her spear into his eye, slamming it into the brain beyond. The soldier bellowed in rage and pain, dropping his weapon and trying to pull the spear free, but all he managed to do with his clumsy efforts was to drive it deeper still. Thorn knew a mortal wound when she gave one, but there was no time to wait for the beast to realize he was dead. Leaping from the shoulders of the stricken giant, she landed on her feet, drawing her sword as she searched the field for the banner of her lord.
Shan Doresh had committed the full force of the Fortress of Dreams to the struggle, but the Cul’sir host was a terrifying foe. All around her, Thorn’s brothers and sisters matched their speed and skill against the might of an army of giants. Steel and darkwood were the least of the weapons being brought to bear.
A giant raised his hand, and lightning lashed down from the sky, scattering Thorn’s kin. In return, one of the dreamshapers called forth a vision of hope-an image of their lord, as tall as a giant himself, wielding a curved sword that glowed like the moon itself. The dream titan charged the storm summoner, and lightning clashed with lunar radiance.
There was no time to watch the battle. Thorn had troubles of her own. She caught sight of the lord’s banner ahead, the half-closed eye held within the horns of the crescent moon, moon and eye shining in the darkness. But the enemy was upon her. The giant was smaller than the warrior Thorn had just brought down, and he wore robes instead of armor. He was a slaver, not a soldier, and was surrounded by a half-dozen thralls, the unfortunates Thorn’s people had come to save or, failing that, avenge. She’d heard that they had been twisted by foul magics, that they weren’t truly eladrin anymore, and looking at them, she could believe it. There was no light in their eyes, just dull whites and dark pupils. They were the eyes of a creature born of Eberron, not an heir to Thelanis. Could that spirit be returned? It was beyond her knowledge, but she didn’t want to kill them if she could avoid it. They had no such compunctions. Whether they were driven by enchantment or merely beaten into submission, they charged her, wielding knives and clubs. She tried to leap through space, but it was too soon; it was difficult to reach Thelanis in that time of shifting. If she could just push past the and, bring down the slaver, perhaps the slaves would be released.
It was a fine thought, but the slave warriors had no intention of letting her through. It was all she could do to stay alive as they slashed and swung at her, harrying her from all sides. She struggled to defend herself, but there were too many. The world went white as a club caught her in the back of the head. There was a flash of pain as a dagger tore the flesh of her arm. Her blade fell from stiff fingers, and she knew the end was near.
Then he was there. Shan Doresh, the lord of the fortress. His silver armor gleamed, the lunar eye at his breast blazing with his fury. He raised his hands, and the slaves dropped their weapons, falling to the ground in deep slumber. The slaver froze, his face a mask of fear.
For a moment she dared to hope. Then a voice thundered across the battlefield, louder than any mortal voice should be. “
She felt a strange tingling in her nerves as the voice roared around her, a terrible sense of vertigo. Was the world… was the world fading?
“
Her lord held his hands high, and she could see reality rippling around them. For a moment she hoped that he could counter whatever vile sorcery the Cul’sir emperor had prepared. But the chill was spreading throughout her. It was like shifting through space, but it wasn’t the warm woods of her home that were taking shape around her. Just cold darkness and she was falling into it, falling and falling and falling…
Thorn woke with a start. There were fingers brushing against her neck, a gentle touch against the stone. For a moment she thought of a man she’d met in Droaam, before sleep faded and instinct took over. She’d slept with Steel in her hand, and she rolled off the bed and onto her feet. A thought and the bracelets around her wrists extended along her forearms, becoming the blackened mithral vambraces she wore in battle. A second thought was all it took to shift her nightclothes into her working uniform.
“You need not fear me.” There was a woman sitting on the bed, a woman in a long, gray gown, her face hidden beneath a golden veil. “I have come to see my prophecy fulfilled.”
Thorn remained on her guard. The dream of battle had been so vivid, so real, and she still felt the adrenaline rushing through her veins. She was angry and the stone in her neck burned against the bone. She wanted to lash out…
She took a deep breath and tried to center herself. “Your prophecy. The stone wrapped in Thorn.”
“Yes.” The woman laughed and rose to her feet. She was taller than Thorn expected, easily six feet. Her arms were sheathed in long gloves of golden silk, and a circlet of golden leaves held her veil in place. Thorn could see that the gray of her dress was actually silver, gleaming in the light. But there were dark lines running all through the fabric, as if it were tarnished. “That’s the thing about prophecy. You never know how it will be fulfilled. I knew that Marudrix would find the stones, that all the stones would come to the circle. I assumed it was literal thorn, that he’d have to make his way through a maze of briars to find our lost treasures. Instead he brings you.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Tira of Shaelas Tiraleth, the Lady of the Silver Tree. Casoran told me that you’d heard my call. I have summoned the stones and their keepers, so together we may heal this wounded land. Come, Lady Thorn. Your companions await, as do the stranded lords of Thelanis.”
“Drix? Cadrel?”
“As I said, they await you at the heart of the tree. Come, I will explain all, but let me tell the tale to all of you at once.”
Something about the fey queen troubled Thorn. Her voice was beautiful, but the veil… something was wrong with the silhouette beneath it. Or perhaps it was just the pain. The stone in Thorn’s neck felt like a white-hot dagger digging into her spine. The shrapnel had caused her great pain after the accident, but in the past few months she’d thought she’d finally made her peace with it. But it burned as badly as ever. She thought back to the lessons she’d learned in her time with House Tarkanan, dispersing the agony and anger, letting it flow through blood and muscle, giving her strength.
Tira’s eyes gleamed behind the veil. “Relent, spirits,” she said suddenly. “Whatever has happened to you, it is not her doing. All of you, release your anger and be at peace.”
