The Fading Dream (25 page)

There was a chill in the air, and Thorn could feel a charge building, the pressure of a rising storm. Then the
circle burst into life, cold flames licking across the quicksilver runes. The points on the map flickered, flaring up one at a time then fading again.

“Are those the other gates?” Thorn said.

“Yes,” Drix murmured. “This … is a conduit for the power of the dragonmark. The links … are here.”

“You don’t have the dragonmark,” Thorn said. The scraping of glass against the door was growing louder, and her thoughts raced as she tried to come up with another idea to keep them alive. There was no furniture whatsoever in the room, nothing that she could use to reinforce the door.

“No. But I have power. It’s like … a lock pick. You need to feel the shape of the lock, to let the energy flow into the pattern it’s searching for.”

“We don’t have much time, Drix. Can you do this?”

The glow from Drix’s crystal heart was brighter, the pulse speeding up. “It’s not right. It’s not … what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can feel them. I can
feel
the circles. The map. And something else. Another layer. Hidden.”

“That’s fascinating,” she said. “And perhaps you’ll have a chance to investigate it when we don’t have an angry spirit carving its way through the door. Can you get us to Tantamar?”

“Closer,” he said. His eyes were closed and sweat ran down his face, mixed with blood from his wounds. “Closer. I can feel it. Pull away the shroud. Yes …”

“We don’t have time, Drix!” Thorn shouted. “Get this thing working and—”

She broke off as new sparks spread across the walls. They were darker, points of crimson light. Some were clustered close around the original gates; there were two additional gates in Wroat, and Sharn was a burning
knot of lights. Others were off on their own, scattered in the wilds.

Secret gates? Thorn thought. House Orien has a network hidden from the public eye?

Any other time Thorn would have been desperate to study the map, to make a note of every location. But the sound of glass scraping against wood was growing ever louder.

She held Steel in front of her. “Study these points. Remember what you can.” Her attention was focused on the east coast, the great expanse of the Whitepine Forest. “There! Drix, you’re right. South of Tantamar, near Mutiny Harbor. Can you isolate that gate?”

“Trying,” Drix said through clenched teeth. The sparks flared up, one at a time, coming ever closer to the gate they needed. Even as the focal point drifted east, there was a splintering sound and a few fragments of wood fell to the floor.

“Flame!” Thorn swore. “If you can’t isolate it, then get us to Tantamar.”

“One more moment …”

“We don’t have another moment! Get us as close as you can, but do it
now!
”

Another chunk of wood struck the floor. A shard of glass fell through and shattered against the ground. As Thorn’s spirits fell, Drix cried out. The crystal heart pulsed with a brilliant radiance, a beacon of light even beneath Drix’s torn clothes. The glittering flames shrouding the teleportation ring rose up toward the ceiling, a curtain of cold fire. Drix staggered away from the podium, and Thorn caught him before he fell.

“Now,” he cried. “It won’t last long.”

Lifting him up in her arms, Thorn dived into the light. She heard the door shattering, the storm flowing into the room. Then it all fell away. For a moment she
was tumbling through space, vertigo surrounding her, then gravity and reality seized her and forced her back to the world. Her mind reeled, senses rebelling at the sudden change in her surroundings. The disorientation passed in a moment, as her new surroundings became clear. There were maps on the walls around them, a gleaming circle carved into the floor. But walls and floor were stone instead of wood, brilliant white marble that seemed to harness the light from the cold-fire lanterns. The chamber was smaller. And there was a woman standing right in front of them … with a wand leveled at Thorn’s head.

“You’ve got exactly five words to save your life,” she said.

H
ouse Orien was in the business of transportation. The challenge had been getting the abandoned gate to function without a guide. Once they were through, they should have been welcomed as customers who had just contributed a great deal of gold to the house coffers, not threatened.

It seemed someone had forgotten to tell the woman.

Burdened by Drix, there was no way Thorn could bring Steel to bear before the stranger could unleash the power bound in her wand. “I’ve no time for this,” she snapped. “My companion is a Cannith heir in need of immediate medical assistance. Either help me or get out of my way, unless you’d like to explain things to his parents.”

There was a flicker of doubt in the woman’s eyes. She played a dangerous game, but every moment Thorn was drawing new cards. They were standing on an Orien circle, there could be no doubt about that—a circle that could be used by only a dragonmarked heir. The woman with the wand was dressed in a uniform; while Thorn didn’t recognize it, the matching studs on her wrists and the silver unicorn on her collar suggested rank and hierarchy.
Whether she ran an Orien operation or something else, if this woman had a rank, there was surely someone above her, someone she wouldn’t want to upset.

Bluff it might be, but Drix was covered with drying blood and broken glass. Letting a prayer to Olladra pass through her thoughts, Thorn took a step forward. The sentry took a step back, tensing up, and let her wand fall out of line.

That one moment was all Thorn needed. Summoning all her strength, she tossed Drix directly into the other woman. Whatever the sentry might have expected, she wasn’t prepared for a flying tinker. She fell to the ground, Drix on top of her. Thorn was there before the other woman had caught her breath. She kicked the wand from the guardian’s hand and placed Steel against her throat.

Another interesting situation
, Steel said.

“I want information,” Thorn snapped. Drix shifted to better pin the sentry to the ground. The action drove shards of glass deeper into his skin, blood smearing across the guard’s uniform, but he didn’t cry out. “Tell me what I want to know, and you’ll survive this. Struggle or lie—and I’ll know if you lie—and this blade goes through your throat. Do you understand?”

“I understand—” she began.

Then she was gone.

Drix struck the floor, and Thorn stumbled forward as her target simply disappeared. First eladrin, now Orien! Thorn cursed. The heirs of House Orien carried the Dragonmark of Passage. Channeled through a focus like the circle, the mark could transport its bearer across a continent, but an unaided heir could still use her mark to leap through space.

Fortunately, she couldn’t go far, and Thorn had a partner who could track teleportation.

The hallway!
Steel told her.
Just outside this chamber!

There was no time to explain to Drix. Thorn leaped over the tinker and bolted to the door, snatching the wand from the floor as she went. Luck was with her; the sentry was still catching her breath, drawing in air to raise the alarm. Thorn raised the woman’s wand and let her anger flow through it, unleashing the power bound within. The sentry stiffened but didn’t cry out; she didn’t make a sound as she tumbled to the floor.

How did you know it would paralyze her?
Steel asked as Thorn sprinted down the hall.
You might have unleashed a fireball in here
.

“I didn’t know what it would do,” Thorn said. “But she was prepared to use it on me and in a small room. And it only seemed fair to let her suffer whatever she had planned for me.”

The Orien sentry had struck the floor hard, and she had cut open her scalp, but she was still conscious and completely limp, unable to move a muscle. There was no telling how long the effect would last, and Thorn smashed Steel into the side of her head. It wasn’t easy to tell if the blow had any effect, but her eyes seemed to lose focus. Good enough, Thorn thought. She dragged the woman back to the circle chamber. Drix was sitting on the floor, pulling pieces of bloodstained glass from his legs.

“Good catch,” he said.

“Aureon’s name! You’re lucky I don’t have time to slap you right now,” Thorn said. She reached into her pouch, calling a length of silk rope from the extradimensional space within. “I need answers, and she’s not about to give them. Where have you brought us, and why do they have guards ready to strike on sight?”

“You know as much as I do,” Drix said, plucking a long blade of glass from his forearm. “The gate … it
was buried. Hidden, even from most Orien heirs who might use the podium. All I knew was that it was in the Whitepine Forest.”

“Lovely. A hidden gate, and far from civilization.” Thorn plucked the silver unicorn, the symbol of House Orien, from the sentry’s uniform. “This is a house operation. So what are they working on that they don’t want the world to see?”

“Do you think it’s important?” Drix said. He stood up gingerly, testing the strength of his legs.

“Everything’s important to someone. I’d love to know more about what’s going on. But this isn’t the mission. We need to get out of here and on our way as quickly as possible, preferably without dying in the process. What can you tell me?”

“Nothing?” Drix said, puzzled.

Steel’s answer was the one Thorn was waiting for.
The unicorn pin has a faint aura. It’s likely protection against whatever wards are in this place
.

“Define ‘likely,’ ” Thorn said. “Are we safe or aren’t we?”

I can’t be certain, but I can’t see any other explanation for the aura. If I had anything to bet on it, I would
.

“And you’d also bet on the minotaur instead of the ogre,” Thorn muttered.

“You’re talking to your dagger, aren’t you?” Drix said. “What’s his name? Can you introduce us?”

“Not now,” Thorn said. “Guards could be here at any moment. We’ve got to figure out a way out of here, and we just don’t have enough information. And—” she stopped short. “How did you know he was a ‘he’?”

“He’s a dagger,” Drix said as if that explained everything.

Thorn shook her head and looked around the chamber: no windows, only the one door, the podium, the map studded with dragonshards. “See what you can do with that,” she said to Drix. “If I don’t come back
soon, you may want to get that gate working and get back home.”

“I never had a home,” Drix said, more thoughtful than sad.

“That’s fascinating,” Thorn said. “Now see what you can find out.”

Thorn pinned the unicorn amulet to her collar. Closing her eyes, she pictured still water. She imagined her body settling into the pool, surrounded by water, becoming the water. Clear as glass. Invisible.
“Shalassa,”
she whispered, and the word was a lever, a bucket she lowered into the well of magical energy. She
pulled
, sinking her thoughts into the well of energy and pulling it over her, making her vision real.

The whole process took only seconds. She opened her eyes, raised a hand before herself, and saw nothing. She was invisible.

She moved quietly into the hall. The spell would last for only a few minutes, so she had to be as quick as possible. The corridor was fashioned from bare, white stone, lit with cold-fire globes. There were no windows, no other doors nearby, but the hallway merged with another corridor, and she could hear voices moving toward her—people in that corridor.

“I’m telling you, we should be working on the blood. The director is wasting time. Mark my words, a month from now, we’ll be working on the blood.” It was a woman’s voice, colored with annoyance. There was something else … a creak, the sound of metal on stone—a cart, perhaps.

“I’m just the axeman, Lady.” The voice was male, cheerful. “Such matters are beyond my simple understanding.”

Thorn peered around the corner. There were one woman and five men, two of whom were indeed wheeling a cart between them. She saw the glint of steel in the
cold light, armor and the blade of a weapon, and slipped back around the corner. They shouldn’t be able to see her, but there was no point in taking chances. They were almost on top of her; better to let them pass and continue to observe.

A moment later they passed by her. Fortunately they kept going; whatever their destination, they weren’t going to the teleportation chamber.

“And you’re dulling your axe to no good purpose, I tell you.” The woman was quite striking; she had smooth skin; silky, black hair; brown eyes with flecks of gold that caught the light of the cold fire as Thorn studied her. She could have been an artist’s model or an actress, but she wore a leather harness loaded with vials, short wands, and thin blades—the tools of an alchemist or medical savant. She wore a brown robe with green trim, and the gold pin over her left breast was carved in the shape of a griffon. They were the colors of House Vadalis, and the griffon was its sigil; the three men accompanying her were dressed in the uniform armor of House Deneith mercenaries.
And we’ve already seen Orien
, Thorn thought.
A house operation, it seems, but doing what?