“You and the others-you think that Drix somehow stopped the Mourning from spreading. You weren’t expecting that. You thought it was going to spread across the entire nation, that it would reach all of the fey cities, not just the Silver Tree.”
“Yes,” Doresh hissed. “We wanted them all to suffer as we have. Let every living thing feel our pain. And yes, I will remove the stone from this boy’s chest, and once he is dead, the blight will spread again. And my armies will be ready. We will move through that darkness, a force of nightmare ready to bring this tale to its proper conclusion. To end in glorious battle, as it began.”
Try as she might, Thorn still couldn’t bring herself to believe that Drix had anything to do with the Mourning, either causing it or holding it in check. Nonetheless, she’d seen the horrors Shan Doresh was readying below; that was enough cause for concern. When he killed Drix and the Mourning didn’t spread, the forces assembled there could still cause carnage. Then there was Cadrel.
“Wait,” she said. “You needed Drix and me to come here.”
He nodded, smiling again.
“In the end, you didn’t even expect the blame to fall on the Cyrans. You wanted Cadrel to get caught so they’d know you had the stones and, knowing that you would sense them coming, that they’d send us to get them.”
“Yes,” Doresh said. “That was Kalas’s part, to let them know that we had defeated them, beginning to end. That we’d placed the blade in the queen’s hand and that she had driven it into the heart of the Silver Tree. That they would have to rely on creatures of dirt to win back their greatest treasures.”
“So Cadrel, the Cyran scheme-you expected me to see through it. You had a spy in place for years so that, when the time came, he could fail.”
“You cannot understand us. One of your years is as nothing to us. The people of my citadel-we have spent thousands of your lifetimes wandering nightmares.”
“And that’s the strangest part of this,” Thorn said. “You set up this impossibly complicated scheme, all to show your cousins how clever you are before watching them suffer and die. You’re doing nothing but gloat. And yet, moments ago, you lied to me about what you’re about to do. I’m northing, dirt, a mere piece in your puzzle. So why lie now?”
Doresh ignored her, examining the relics in the circle.
“Why lead me to believe that this is all for Drix’s benefit, that I should just relax and let it happen, when I can’t possibly escape and battle is futile?”
Doresh looked at her again. “Perhaps cruelty isn’t in my nature. I need you alive for this piece of things. I thought to let you die with peace in your soul.”
“I’ve seen things in these towers that redefine cruelty for me. You’re not doing this for me. Which means there’s only one reason for you to lie. You’re afraid.” A warm glow was spreading up Thorn’s back as she spoke and she smiled.
A sneer spread across Doresh’s mithral mask. “And what could I possibly be afraid of?”
“Me.” Thorn took a step forward, feeling only the slightest tingle as she passed through the ward. “The Quiet Stone is the stone of stealth, and there’s more to that than concealment, isn’t there?”
“You won’t escape again,” Doresh said. “You know you can’t defeat me. I am a champion of my people. I was fighting giants before your kind existed. I am a master of steel and spell.”
“You keep saying that,” Thorn said. “But you know what?”
Doresh stared at her, the empty sockets of his mask cold and hollow.
She shifted Steel into a fighting grip. “I don’t believe you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY — FIVE
Taer Lian Doresh B arrakas 25, 999 YK
You know nothing, mortal,” Doresh growled, and the stone in his brooch pulsed with light. “And I will not demean myself by fighting you. I am the Lord of Dreams made real, and to face me is to face your fears.”
They weren’t alone any longer. Cazalan Dal was between them, along with his companions in the Covenant of the Gray Mist. Shadowy blades were raised, and arcane energy crackled along the lengths of half a dozen wands.
Thorn could see the move in her mind, and she executed it flawlessly, an acrobat’s dream. She rolled forward, passing beneath the blast from Dal’s wand and driving Steel into his chest with the full strength of the dragon within her. Even as he grunted in pain, she lifted him up and threw him into the swordsman darting toward her.
“You can’t stop me with these dreams,” Thorn snarled. “They’re not real. They’re not my fears.”
It was true. The first time she’d fought Cazalan Dal, she had been afraid. She’d been concerned about the safety of the people in her charge. She’d wanted to take the assassin alive. Knowing that those things were just specters, images of people she’d never known-there was no fear in her, no reason to hold back. Thorn knew she would defeat them. She was a whirlwind of steel and fury. No blade could touch her, and every blow she struck was true. Within seconds her enemies had fallen, and she faced Doresh again.
“Are you ready to demean yourself now?”
Doresh hissed, his mask twisting in fury. His curved knife warped, the fluid metal stretching into a long, crescent blade suffused with a pale light. Then he was upon her.
Fighting the dreams had made Thorn overconfident. With his tattered cloak and threadbare armor, it was all too easy to think of Shan Doresh as a faded soldier, a spirit whose time had passed. Yet he struck with lightning speed and deadly precision. A thrust of the gleaming blade was an instant away from piercing her heart. She parried just in time, but he was already swinging the heavy scepter in his left hand; she felt a burst of pain as the rod struck her temple. It was only a momentary distraction, but in such a struggle, one moment could make all the difference. Abandoning all thought of offense, Thorn threw herself backward. The lunar blade slashed open her thigh as she rolled away.
If Doresh had followed her, that might have been the end, but once his blade was bloodied, the fallen eladrin wished to savor the battle. He smiled. “In truth, it has been decades since I have relied on my sword to finish a fight.”
As Thorn rose to her feet, she could practically see him remembering past victories.
“Come,” he said. The opalescent radiance of his sword pulsed, the flashing beat one more distraction. “Show me what little skill you possess.”
“I can do that from here,” Thorn said, flinging Steel at his throat.
The Stone of Dreams flashed as Doresh raised his scepter. He struck Steel out of the air with a casual disdain, and the dagger clattered across the floor. Thorn reached out with her thoughts… and nothing happened. Steel should have flown back to her hand; instead he remained still, a lump of cold metal on the floor.
Her moment of concern nearly cost her her life. Shan Doresh struck the moment her attention faltered. The light faded from his crescent blade, and it was almost invisible as he lunged. It was sheer instinct that saved her. She leaped back the moment she saw movement, and the distance gave her just enough room to catch the blade against a bracer. Doresh maintained the attack. Steel wasn’t in her hand, and Doresh unleashed a flurry of blows, moving forward as Thorn fell back. Her arms ached as she caught blow after blow against her vambraces.
“You’re unarmed,” he said as Thorn swept aside a stroke that would have torn open her throat. “Tiring. One mistake will end it all. Just one mistake.”
He was trying to plant doubts in her mind because in that place those doubts would become truth. She’d already learned the trick, and despite the danger, she hadn’t given up hope. Drix needed her. Breland needed her. Walking the halls, she’d imagined those beasts she’d seen in the kennels unleashed on Sharn, imagined her brother, Nandon, fighting for his life against the terrors she’d seen. No. She’d walked strange paths to get there, and if she fell, it wasn’t going to be because of doubt.
The thought gave her renewed vigor. She was learning the rhythms of Doresh’s attacks and letting his confidence grow. But he was wrong. She wasn’t unarmed.
For a moment, she let her guard falter, leaving the barest opening. Doresh struck. The edge of his blade cut
