Oargev scowled. “I was wrong to draw my blade beneath your roof, Vron. But you do me a disservice by subjecting me to these ravings.”
“Patience, Your Highness.” Cadrel was examining the stone. “We have been quick to judge and to lash out. We still haven’t heard all that Vron has to say.”
“Thank you,” the changeling said. “We are faced with a number of simple facts.” He pointed at the map on the wall. “The feyspires exist. The events in Karrnath show that these eladrin possess both military might and magical skill. And yet we knew nothing of their presence until after the Day of Mourning. Now we have word that the eladrin say that the disaster crippled them even as it destroyed Cyre, and it is the Mourning itself that brought the hidden cities into the open. Ridiculous? Perhaps. But when coupled with proof of magic we cannot duplicate, it’s something we at least have to consider. And then there is the claim that they can restore stricken Cyre. It sounds like a fairy tale. Yet it’s just possible that we are living in a fairy tale, and we have nothing to lose from testing their claims.”
“I agree with Vron,” Boranel said. “Listen to yourself, Gev. Mere moments ago you were complaining when I told you there might be no answer to the Mourning. Now one has been placed before you and you don’t even want to test it?”
Oargev raised his hands, cheeks flushed with shame and wine. “I apologize again. This… I… You must understand. I’ve struggled with this for years. I face nightmares both awake and asleep. Nothing I’ve tried has borne fruit, and just hours ago I was attacked by a man I once trusted as much as anyone in this room. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and we should follow any lead.”
Cadrel patted the prince’s arm. “We’ve all been under too much stress of late,” he said. “So what is the next step? We need to heal this lad, is that all?”
Vron glanced at Drix. He’d closed his shirt, and he ran a finger over the hidden stone.
“They need to remove the stone,” Drix said. “Cure the wound.”
“It sounds simple enough, I know,” Vron said. “Unfortunately, it’s anything but. Healing balms and spells treat the stone as if it was a living part of him. We’ve tried to cut it out ourselves, but any wound heals instantly. The artificers tell me there’s a phenomenal amount of power in the stone, and if there’s any truth to the idea that the stone is linked to the Mourning, well, we don’t want to do anything too dangerous. We can’t remove it. But they can.”
“So why haven’t they?” Oargev said. “What are they waiting for?”
“The stones,” Drix replied. “The queen of the feyspire told me that she’d gather the lords when the time was right. But she needed me to find two more stones, and bring them with me to the spire.”
“It seems these eladrin have been hidden on Eberron far longer than we knew,” Vron said. “The shard used to preserve Drix’s life is one of a set. Apparently some of these crystals have been lost, and Drix needs to find two more before he can return to the spire to be healed.”
“She said I’d find them in the last days of the searching moon, in the shadow of a broken blade,” Drix said. “Two kings would meet, and I would find two stones, wrapped in thorn.”
“Interesting,” Cadrel said. “The searching moon would presumably be Barrakas, and we are in its last days.”
“The Citadel stands in the shadow of Brokenblade Castle,” Vron said.
Cadrel nodded. “And if we grant his highness his true title as King of Cyre, two kings are indeed meeting tonight.”
“Which leaves…” Thorn paused. “You can’t be serious.”
“We haven’t worked closely in the past, Lantern Thorn, but I assure you, I’m always serious.”
“What do you mean?” Oargev said. “ ‘Wrapped in thorn.’ Do you know where these stones are hidden?”
“Come, Lantern,” Vron said. “Show us a stone wrapped in Thorn.”
Turning her back to the others, she pulled up her hair, revealing the glittering crystal embedded in the base of her skull. It was far smaller than Drix’s stone heart, and there was no mist swirling within, but the tinker gasped when he saw it.
“Yes!” Drix said. “That’s one of them. She showed me, in my thoughts. The queen.”
“This is no fey treasure, Lord Commander,” Thorn said. “You know exactly how I came by it.” The shards in her spine were shrapnel, the scars of the explosion at Far Passage. There had been thousands of dragonshards surrounding the arcane core, and Thorn had been struck by dozens; the two she retained were simply the only shards they couldn’t remove.
“There’s still a great deal we don’t know about that incident,” Vron said. “Could you show the other shard, Lantern?”
“Yes, sir.” None of this makes any sense. Still, she pulled her shirt up, revealing the lighter stone embedded in her spine.
“Two stones,” Drix whispered. “And you’re Thorn.”
Oargev and Boranel seemed equally baffled by the turn of events.
Cadrel spoke first. “And so it seems that our life is just a fairy tale,” the old bard said. “Grand in its way. What comes next? A ritual under the towering oaks of the Eldeen Reaches with five moons in the sky?”
“I have no idea, my lord.” Vron gestured to Drix. “The boy is supposed to take the stones back to the feyspire in Cyre. The stones can’t be removed from Thorn, so clearly she has to go with him.”
“Now young Thorn has irremovable shards?” Boranel grumbled. “What happens when hers are removed? Will Galifar be restored?”
“We can only hope so, Your Majesty,” Vron said. “When I first heard Drix’s tale, I thought of you, Lantern. It seems improbable to say the least, yet no more than the idea that the Mournland could be restored.”
The stones removed… The stone in her neck was like a dagger digging into Thorn’s flesh. She’d been told that she’d simply have to bear the pain; the idea that it might be possible to have the stone removed was unhoped for. “Where are we going?”
“To Shaelas Tiraleth, the spire in Cyre,” Vron said. “You may be the first Brelish citizen to see the inside of an eladrin fortress, Thorn.”
“In Cyre,” Thorn said. “In the Mournland?”
“Surely we’ll be sending a team,” Boranel said. Thorn could see the general in him coming to the fore. “I’ll put the full resources of the Citadel to the task. Wands, Swords, Shields-it will be our war against the Mournland.”
Drix raised a hand, but it was Vron who spoke. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Your Majesty. If you’ve been listening to the tale, you know just how paranoid these eladrin are. Drix was told to bring the stones when he returned and nothing else. Even if that wasn’t a concern, you know just how dangerous the Mournland is. With all due respect, Lantern Thorn, you are expendable. We’ll give you the supplies you need, but should you fail in this, it will not be a dramatic blow to Breland. Placing a massive chunk of the Citadel’s forces in such a dangerous field-I cannot condone it, Your Majesty.”
Boranel sighed and the spark in his eyes faded. “Very well, Lord Commander. You were chosen for your judgment. The Lanterns have shed light in the shadows before. I trust you will do so again.”
“You’re not going alone.” It was Oargev.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness?” Vron seemed genuinely perplexed.
“You’re talking about the fate of my kingdom. The quest I have grappled with for five years. If you think I will stand by while you battle for my nation, you are sorely mistaken.”
“You can’t,” Drix said. As before, the tinker didn’t seem to be concerned with the fact that he was refusing the demands of a king. “I’m just supposed to bring the stones. They don’t like strangers.”
Essyn Cadrel stepped between the two before Oargev’s wrath could grow. “While the boy is impertinent, this time I must agree, Your Majesty. We’ve discussed this before. You are the last of your line, and if you fall, Mishann’s claim is lost. You must remain safe. For Cyre’s sake.”