Dreamstrider Read Online Free

battle plans.
    The Commandant shuttles three of the war vessels to a port city on the western shore. I squint to make out the stylized lettering of the city’s name. Grast. “The Second Fleet will await your troops in Grast in one month’s time,” the Commandant says. “Will they be ready by then?”
    Were this the older Commandant we’d prepared for, I would know it’s not a question at all, but an order, unless I fancy getting Cold Sun’s head conveniently detached from his body for him while he sleeps. This Commandant, however, seems more casual than the man described in our reports. Nonetheless, I’d rather err on the side of caution. I suspect one doesn’t become Commandant without an explosive blend of shrewdness and egomania.
    “Whatever the Iron Winds…” I glance toward Brandt, but he’s looking through the living space on the other side of the dais, searching for additional clues while the Commandant’s focus is on me. I cast about for a suitably formal word. “Demands.”
    The Commandant nods. “And what of the battle preparations I proposed?”
    A spicy curse springs to my tongue—well, the general’s—but I stop from voicing it. I knew I’d have to sink deeper into the general’s thoughts sooner or later, and this is far too important not to take the risk.
    In Oneiros, I dip my feet into the stream, settling my bare feet into the loose dirt at the bottom. Suddenly a cloud passes over the sun, flooding the forest with darkness. The birds cease their chatter. Am I interfering too much with Cold Sun’s thoughts? I fight to rein in my panic. Focus, Livia, I remind myself . Direct the stream and nothing more. The battle preparations. How did the Commandant send them to Cold Sun? By raven, by horseback messenger? Hurry, General, yield your secrets . Awaken just enough to provide the answer.
    The stream churns, frantic, agitated by my probing. Elite squadrons, it cries. Troops from the west. But the water is leaping up, crashing against the banks—I’ve pushed too far; I’m letting him wake too much. He’ll remember this conversation as more than just a hazy dream. I need to hurry and leave the Citadel before he wakes up completely.
    “We shall have two of the elite squadrons prepared for Barstadt City’s dockside gates.” I’m rushing through the answers I gathered from the general’s thoughts. “And the ground troops will arrive from the west.” Please, Dreamer, don’t let him awaken. But then another thought of the general’s reaches his lips before I can stop it—“You’re not seriously considering the mystic’s proposal, are you?”
    Brandt’s back is to me, but I see him pause, hands withdrawing from whatever he’d been reaching for. The Land of the Iron Winds is supposed to be stern, revering subservience to the Commandant above all else. Nothing in our research indicates they are given over to mysticism about anything but the Commandant’s supremacy.
    “That isn’t your concern,” the Commandant says. “If his aid ensures our victory, then I must seize such an opportunity.” But the Commandant’s gaze lingers on the heart of the Land of the Iron Winds map, a hatchmarked patch of earth labeled only as “Quarry.”
    The general leans forward with a determination I’m not controlling. “It’s madness, you know.” The stream rushes faster now, threatening to sweep me under, as his thoughts pour out of his mouth before I can rein them in. “We should leave the dreamworld to the Barstadters who understand it. We have no right to meddle in metaphysical gibberish—”
    “You think I don’t know that?” the Commandant hisses. “But the mystic has shown us proof of what he can do. If he can pull that off with the entire fleet, then Barstadt’s navy won’t stand a chance.”
    I strain to get ahead of Cold Sun’s thoughts—I could take advantage of this outburst of information by asking the Commandant what exactly he means to pull off—but the general purses