Free The Fading Dream by Keith Baker

least it’s not poisonous. So that takes care of basic survival.”
    “There’s nothing basic about survival in what lies ahead of us,” Drix said. “Food’s good but let’s not forget about the ghosts. And the hungry wind. And the voices in the mist.” He smiled slightly, as if he were remembering a childhood vacation.
    “Good questions,” Thorn said, privately wondering how many of those things were real and how many existed in only the tinker’s head. “I need to know what you can do in a fight.”
    “I was stabbed through the heart,” Drix said. “Does that count as a fight?”
    “You walked away from it, so I guess that counts. That stone of yours … just how effective is it? Will it really protect you from any sort of injury?”
    “I don’t know,” Drix said with a shrug. “It healed me from the stabbing. And the boulders. And the bear. And the crab that glued me to its back …”
    I know he sounds slightly mad
, Steel said as Drix continued to list his misfortunes.
    “Slightly?” Thorn smiled at Drix, drumming her fingers against Steel’s hilt. She wondered how many of his supposed injuries actually occurred.
    Nonetheless, the power I’m sensing in that stone is remarkable. And something that will stand out to anyone else who might look for it
.
    Lovely, she thought. “Do you know how to use that crossbow?”
    “Hmm?” Drix said, ceasing his reverie of pains. “Well, not that one specifically. I’m still working on her. She’s not finished. But she means well. When I’m done, she’ll aim herself.”
    Thorn sighed. “And you, Cadrel? I see you’re wearing a blade today. Do you know how to use it?”
    “Indeed.” Cadrel stepped away from the table, and suddenly his short sword was in his hand. “I know I didlittle to impress you in our last altercation; I thought it best that I stay by the prince. I’m no match for you, my dear, but I’ve fought a few duels in my day.”
    “And magic? I know you can weave a disguise. What other surprises do you have?”
    “It’s a poor entertainer who reveals every trick,” Cadrel began.
    “And a foolish one who goes to the Mournland,” Thorn said. “This is no stage, Cadrel. I need to know exactly what you’re capable of.”
    “You wound me, my dear. Still, this is an adventure unlike any I’ve ever been on; I suppose I must bend my own rules. I do know a few tricks of illusion, yes. I can disguise my own face and form. I can cast a false image for a minute or two, though one without sound or substance. Once upon a time, I could hone this to craft a burst of bright light, dazzling an opponent for a few moments, though I’m afraid it’s been some time since I’ve tried such a thing.”
    Thorn nodded. It was still more than she’d expected; perhaps the old man wouldn’t be the liability she’d thought. Still, an elderly duelist and a tinker with an unfinished crossbow? Not the most impressive team she’d worked with.
    “Cadrel, would you give me a moment alone with Drix?”
    Essyn smiled, giving a slight bow. “Certainly. I’ll go check with our lovely captain; we must be close to our destination by now.”
    Thorn turned back to Drix as Cadrel left the room. The tinker was looking wistfully at his crossbow. She studied him, noticing the curve of his eyes, the slight points to his ears. “It seems we have something in common,” she said.
    He looked up at her, puzzled.
    She tapped an ear. “Elf blood. How far back in your line does it go?”
    “I don’t know,” he said. “My father was Khoravar, and his mother.” The word literally meant
child of Khorvaire
, but the more common term was
half-elf—
the blended race formed from the mingling of human and elf blood. Thorn was Khoravar herself, but first generation; her mother was an elf from the island nation of Aerenal.
    “I didn’t realize there were Khoravar in House Cannith,” she said. “I thought only humans could carry the Mark of Making.”
    “That’s what