With those soft words, the pain flowed away like water. The stone was quiet again.
“How did you do that?” Thorn said.
“All things in time,” the lady said. “Come now. Let us find your friends and bring the seven stones together. Trust me, Thorn. Sheathe your weapon.”
Unlikely, she thought. But she was there to gather information, and that was clearly the path to follow. She returned Steel to his sheath.
“The other lords and ladies may greet you with anger,” the woman said. “You are a surprise in many ways. Let me explain, to you as well as them. Now take my hand, and let the story begin.”
Thorn held out her hand as the woman approached, but she kept her free hand on Steel’s hilt.
For a moment, she felt the woman’s skin, warm against her hand. Then the world fell away again.
The world took shape around her in a blur of warmth, silver, and voices. She was in a large chamber with a domed roof. A round table filled the heart of the room, and Thorn and the lady had appeared in the open center. Walls and table alike were formed of the silver wood of the tree, beautiful and polished. People were sitting all around them. She heard Cadrel before she saw him then caught a scent of his cologne; he was sitting behind her, next to Drix.
“Lady Tira. Good of you to finally grace us with your presence.” It was a man’s voice, hard and cold. The speaker was an eladrin, but like Tira herself, he was unusually tall. His skin was pale, his hair dark, his eyes filled with a bitter blue light. He and his retinue were girded for war, wearing ivory armor that Thorn recognized from the briefing in Wroat. They were the eladrin of the north, from the ice citadel in Karrnath. “And what have you brought us?”
“Patience, Lord Syraen.” Tira placed her hand on Thorn’s shoulder and gestured to Drix. “Be seated and I will begin.”
“Good.” The eladrin sitting across from the winter lord was dressed in robes of green and gold, and sparks of emerald light drifted around his head like fireflies. “We have troubles of our own. Even now, the goblin hordes are howling at my gates. To leave now, taking the heart of power… you had best know what you are doing, Tira. And I trust you will repay this favor in full.”
“Favor?”
Whoever the green lord was, he’d gone too far. Thorn was looking away, making her way over to Drix, but she felt the woman’s anger, a charge building in the air like lightning in a storm. When she looked back, Tira’s eyes burned like the sun. Whether it was magic or the sheer power of her personality, Tira seemed to tower over the others.
“Lord Joridal, I advise you to remember who I am and where you are.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but the floor seemed to shake with her words. “The Silver Tree. First of our seven cities. The bridge between worlds. Your city is just one branch of the tree-and no branch can live if the trunk rots away. This is no favor you do me. This is about our survival.”
“So you say.” The woman who spoke wore armor made from overlapping leaves, and roses were woven within her long, red-gold hair. Her eyes burned with golden light. “The city of Rose and Thorn prospers as it always has. I came out of respect, not need.”
Tira’s anger had calmed. “Your city has always been close to this world of mud. But surely you realize that the period of the shift has continued for longer than it ever has before. The problems of Joridal, the threat facing Syraen… none of these would be an issue if we could just return home. But we can’t. And we never will until we restore the roots of the Tree itself.”
“I know I’m last to the party,” Thorn said. “But Aureon’s word! What are you talking about? Who are you exactly?”
Cadrel smiled and Drix laughed aloud. Hmm, Steel whispered. Thorn wished she could draw the blade, but the best she could do was to keep her hand on his hilt. You don’t want to be too subtle, now.
All of the fey turned to look at her, and the lords all began to speak at once, anger and curiosity flowing together in a mass of words. Then Tira raised her hand, and silence fell across the chamber. It was utter and unnatural, and Thorn could see a few of the lords still trying to speak; no sound would fill the air. At last they settled, and Tira spoke again.
“I said that I would explain all when we were gathered. And now we are. By my own hand, I brought a curse down upon our people. It is my fault that we are stranded in this world, revealed and threatened by those we thought unable to touch us. And it is by my hand that the curse shall be broken. This is no simple task. It will take all our strength and all our power. I need Ourelon’s Gift brought together again. And this is why I have petitioned you for all these years, why I have spoken to you through the shards. You know my sight reaches far, and I know what must be done if the curse is to be broken. This is the time. The light of Irian shines upon the world. The influence of Lammania grows. Now we can wipe the bloodstains from the soil and restore our bond to our beloved homeland.”
“That’s fascinating,” Thorn said before anyone else could speak. “With the understanding that when I say ‘fascinating,’ I mean ‘completely incomprehensible.’ I’m still waiting for an actual explanation.”
The ice lord hissed and started to rise, but Tira raised her hand, and he returned to his seat. She looked at Thorn, her eyes gleaming beneath her veil. “We are lords and ladies of the Faerie Court. Each among us holds dominion over a realm within perfect Thelanis, or consorts with the ruler of such a realm.”
“So what brings you here?” Cadrel said.
Tira’s eyes flashed. “Human, you are only in this place out of respect for those you travel with. Speak out of turn, and I will sew your mouth shut with a glance.”
Cadrel raised his hands in a placating gesture. “My apologies, Lady. As a storyteller myself, I have heard many tales of your land and your people; my curiosity got the best of my manners. Please, continue.”
“Thelanis and your world have always been closely bound. Surely you know that there are times and places where it is possible to pierce the veil that lies between the two. So it is with our spires. Long, long ago our cities fell from Thelanis into this world. The first of our rulers met with the dragons, who at that time were the rulers of Eberron. We exchanged gifts, formed bonds between our people. And the Silver Tree became the bond between our worlds, a living link that would hold the two together.”
“So why haven’t we heard of you before now?” Thorn said.
“We made our pact with the dragons before humans had learned to speak, before the race of elves even existed. And we spent but a little time in this world, as you measure things. As the moons wax and wane, so it is with the planes. When all things were in proper alignment, our spires would fall from Thelanis to your world, and when the influence changed, we would return to the realm of our birth.”
“So you come and go,” Thorn said. “That still doesn’t explain how the Cyrans missed the enormous tree city shifting in and out of alignment.”
Tira nodded. “Trusting as we were, we had no fear of this world. And this cost us dearly. Seven cities came to this world. One was destroyed long ago, sacked and leveled by the giants who rose to power when the dragons fell back to their lairs in Argonnessen. A second fell in battle. You see the representatives of the five surviving spires before you.”
“Only one fell in battle?” Cadrel said. “How did that happen? Surely you all fought to-”
He never finished the sentence. The Lady of the Silver Tree gazed at him, her eyes blazing, and his voice died in his throat. “I warned you once. I did not call you here, human.”
“But you called me here,” Thorn said, “and he is with me.”
“And for that reason I shall restore his voice when we are done here and not before.”
Thorn considered protesting, but a glance around the room changed her mind. It was clear that Cadrel had touched a nerve; all of the fey were watching him, eyes burning with anger. “Very well, then,” she said. “Two of the spires fell. And so…”
“Most of us realized that your world held nothing for us but danger and ill fortune,” Tira said. “And so we wove a great glamour, a cloak that spread out from the roots of the Silver Tree to conceal every branch. Your kingdoms rose around us, but the power of the glamour kept them from ever building too close to us or from seeing our spires when they fell back to your world. A few individuals found us, yes, and through these few, we formed bonds to your world. But we were content to watch from afar, seeing your kingdoms rise and fall.”
If this is true, the power is remarkable, Steel whispered. A spell channeled through a single focus, cloaking a
