“Well-”
Thorn cut Cadrel off before he could complete his sentence. “Oh, and Drix is both a Cannith heir and the prince of a long-forgotten kingdom.”
“I liked that part,” Drix chimed in. He tested the pull on the crossbow.
“Still-” Cadrel began.
“Oh, and let’s not forget that your Covenant of the Gray Mist was created to unlock the secrets of the Mourning so they could be used against the rest of us. Anything you’d like to add to that, Essyn?”
“You’re not a fool,” Cadrel said, “so don’t play the part. Yes, we wanted to harness the power of the Mourning. But tell me, do you truly believe that your Citadel isn’t working on the same thing? That the Royal Eyes of Aundair don’t have teams in the Mournland this very moment?”
“The Royal Eyes are bastards, I’ll give you that. But-”
“The Mourning is the greatest mystery of the age,” Cadrel continued. “And the greatest opportunity. We fought each other for a hundred years. The Mourning ended the war in one day, and fear of the Mourning is the only thing that keeps that war at bay. Whoever harnesses that power will dominate the next age.”
“And you want it to be Cyre?”
“I suppose you want it to be Breland? We had the best claim to the succession. We lost our home to this power. The Mourning took everything from us. If we could use it to get it all back, we had to try. Oargev never knew the true purpose of the Covenant, of course. There’s quite a lot the young prince doesn’t know. And now it seems the Covenant has its own ideas… unfortunately.”
Thorn sighed. “I wish I could argue with you, but I’m sure you’re right. Aundair, Karrnath, even Breland… I’m sure they’re all trying to harness the power of the Mourning. Which brings us to the next point. All of these nations, pouring their gold into studying the Mourning. And now they say it’s Drix. Do you think you can turn him into a weapon?”
“I don’t think I’d be a very good weapon,” Drix said. “But any design can be improved.”
Cadrel laughed. “No. I don’t think stabbing children is the next evolution of warfare. Besides that, if you believe that story, I don’t think it was simply a matter of someone stabbing Drix. I think it had to be the queen. And she had to act in anger.”
“And you believe that?”
“Honestly? No. But it makes a wonderful story. I’m sure it was a coincidence. But it’s brought us to this vault, given us this chance to study these treasures and tools. So what do you think? Once we steal them, how do we divide up the shards?”
He sounded utterly sincere, and Thorn looked over in surprise. For a moment he kept a straight face; then he burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, my dear. But it was worth it just for the look on your face. And tell me the thought hadn’t occurred to you.”
“Of course it occurred to me,” she said. “And I’m sure Lady Tira expected as much. We’re at war and if each of these shards has power to match the one in Drix’s chest, we’d be fools not to want them. But we have no idea what other powers the eladrin possess. Their friendship could be far more valuable in the days ahead than a handful of artifacts we can’t reproduce.”
“True, true.” Cadrel said. “Still, it’s an interesting exercise, isn’t it? And we have nothing but time. I’m sure you’re an expert when it comes to breaking and entering. I saw the guards, the thickness of the vault door; you’ve probably seen a dozen wards and traps that slipped by my old eyes. So what would you do if it was in your hands?”
“I wouldn’t,” Thorn said. “I don’t want to make enemies of these people. Any theft would surely be blamed on us. Right now the worst thing I can think of would be for someone to break in here and steal these treasures and somehow get away with it.”
“That’s unfortunate. Because that’s exactly our plan.”
It wasn’t Cadrel who spoke. The bard looked as surprised as she was.
It was Cazalan Dal. And he wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Shaelas Tiraleth, the Mournland B arrakas 24, 999 YK
When they’d been sealed in the vault, Lady Tira had made Thorn and the others surrender their weapons and magical equipment. “We are trusting you with our greatest treasures,” she told them. “Surely you can trust us with yours.” Drix had convinced them to leave him with his crossbow as a way to pass the time, but he had no bolts for the weapon. And all of Thorn’s tools were waiting for her outside the vault-her mithral vambraces, the gloves of storing that held the myrnaxe, her cloak with its myriad tools and weapons, even Steel-she was unarmed and outnumbered.
The Covenant of the Gray Mist carried the same weapons she’d seen them with before: shifting blades in one hand, and wands in the other. Surely they wouldn’t use fireballs in such an enclosed space, Thorn thought. That left far too many options, from paralysis to a burst of fire with a tighter focus.
Thorn’s first instinct was to attack, to strike as hard and fast as she could, to try to even the numbers before they could react. She held it in check. There were four of them-too many. And two of them had already grabbed Drix and Cadrel and were holding blades to their throats. Thorn rose to her feet as a third soldier approached her, a grim woman with gray eyes and a long blade.
“We won’t keep you long,” Cazalan said. His voice was the same dry rasp she remembered from the attack on the prince. He had a small sack in his hand, and he picked up the icy blade of Lord Syraen and slid it into the opening. The sword should have pierced the cloth, but instead it vanished into the bag.
An extradimensional bag. He’s going to walk away with it all, she thought.
“I thought you were dead,” she said. “I suppose I should have cut off your head and kept it as a keepsake.” It was half a joke, half serious. She studied the woman next to her. She was confident and that was to Thorn’s advantage.
“That might have worked,” he said. He dropped the emerald amulet of Lord Joridal into his sack. “Spend as much time in the Mournland as I have, and death becomes a friend. And for this… I forgive you my two deaths.”
“Forgive me?”
“We’ve known of this citadel for years now. We’ve been searching for a way to penetrate its defenses. But even teleportation is of little use if you don’t know where you’re going. Once we knew they’d let you inside, it was just a matter of getting close enough to establish a scrying focus. You became our eyes and ears.”
“Why this? What use could you have for these stones?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Cazalan said with a smile. He put the shimmering jewel of Lord Pyrial into his bag. “When we act, the world will know.”
“Teleportation. Scrying. That’s quite a lot of power in the hands of a ragtag band of scavengers.”
“We have our backers,” Cazalan replied as he took the Rose Queen’s sigil from its circle. “As you’ll learn.”
“No,” Drix said, catching Thorn’s eyes. “This ends here.”
His captor was pinning an arm behind his back and holding a blade to his throat. He threw his weight back against the soldier, knocking him off balance. But Drix was no soldier. Before he could break free, the man drew his knife across Drix’s neck. In that moment, all eyes were on Drix, and that was all Thorn needed. She slammed a foot down against the foot of her own guardian. The woman howled in pain, dropping her guard. Thorn pulled her wand from her weakened grasp then grabbed the woman and flung her at Cazalan, calling on her full reserves of strength. It was as easy as throwing a blade; the woman seemed to weigh nothing in Thorn’s arms, but she sent Cazalan tumbling to the floor. There was no time to waste; Thorn was already leveling her stolen wand at Cadrel’s captor, tracing the activation pattern in her mind.