The Shattered Land: The Dreaming Dark - Book 2 (37 page)

Gerrion—Don’t just stand there! Back away. Keep your distance, and Aureon’s shattered teeth! Tell me what is going on here!

The half elf met his gaze and gave the slightest nod. As Daine moved forward, Gerrion darted back, pulling at the tough vine that bound them together. Hopefully Daine’s slow movement seemed like sensible caution.

These … they aren’t the elves you know from Khorvaire. Thousands of years ago, the elves fought the giants that ruled this land. Giant wizards captured elves and experimented on them, created their own soldiers to go places the giants could not. It’s said that they wove dark magic into the elven form, and that these are the result. The first elves call them the drow
.

I’m going to attack
, Daine thought.
Careful
. He lunged forward,
launching a few cautious blows—the goal was to appear to be testing Gerrion’s reflex, not yet attacking in earnest. The half-elf leapt back, and Daine just brushed his cloak.

These … The leader called himself ‘vulk n’tash of the qaltiar’. That means ‘scorpion wraith of the broken oath.’ Whatever you do—I wouldn’t place much trust in his word
.

“Just die, you bastard!” Daine cried, darting forward again, pulling his blow at the last moment so Gerrion could slip away.
So why’s he got it in for you? What’s a ‘firebinder’? And fight back next time I come close—kick me or something
.

My mother was human. They don’t like half breeds. There’s a longer story, but somehow I don’t think this is the time
.

Daine charged forward but allowed himself to be caught off-guard by Gerrion’s well-placed kick.
Agreed. Lakashtai—can you just put them to sleep or tell them to let us go?

I could not exert direct control over so many—and the elvish mind can be difficult to command. I could perhaps slow them for a time, but they would not be completely helpless
.

Hold that thought. What else can you do that could affect them all? If I don’t start hurting Gerrion—I don’t want to have you get hurt as well
.

I can shift their perceptions …

And make us invisible?
Daine thought hopefully.

No, nothing so great. I might be able to hide an object in your hand, make your armor seem to be clothing, turn a whisper into a shout, shift the color of skin or hair, but I could not hide you
.

Could you … make a scrape appear to be a bloody wound?

Daine could feel Lakashtai contemplating the idea.
Yes. I think I could
.

Then this is what we’re going to do …

The battle was carefully choreographed. Daine barely touched Gerrion, but Lakashtai assured him that the drow were seeing a brutal fight. She made the club seem to disappear when Gerrion “disarmed” him—but it never left his hand, and as soon as she had slipped free from her bonds, Daine and Gerrion brought the battle to a close.

I told you not to trust him
, Gerrion thought as Shen’kar drew his weapon and pronounced Daine’s fate.

Whatever
. Daine smashed the drow across the face with the club, and before the surprised elf could react, he brought the club down on his enemy’s wrist, forcing him to drop Daine’s dagger. With one fluid movement, Daine dropped to one knee, snatched the dagger, and cut the vine binding him to Gerrion.

Shen’kar was not surprised for long, and Daine barely raised the club in time to parry the spiked rod. The drow warrior cried out in Elvish, his fury marring the beautiful speech.

You don’t want to know what that was
, Gerrion added helpfully.

Though smaller than Daine, Shen’kar was swift and skilled. Daine slashed at the drow’s weapon with his dagger, hoping to split the rod, but the elf dodged the blow as if it were an approaching ox, and before Daine could raise his guard he felt the scrape of chitin spikes against his cheek. Fire burned in the wound, and Daine mustered his strength to ignore the pain of the poison.

The other elves were spreading out. The chain-wielder set his weapon in motion, creating a whirling disk of steel.

Lakashtai, if you’ve got something prepared, now would be the time
.

Very well
.

For an instant, the night was lit up with an emerald glow, and Daine felt a wave of power pass over him, pressing against his thoughts, then releasing them. The elves froze in place. Daine aimed a quick blow at Shen’kar, but to his surprise, the drow warrior ducked down beneath it.

Don’t fight!
Lakashtai thought.
They can’t act directly, but they can still defend themselves. Flee as fast as you can—if we’re lucky, we’ll have a minute or two before they recover!

Gerrion?
Daine thought.
I believe you’re the guide
.

So why aren’t you following?

Gerrion was already halfway across the clearing. They raced into the jungle, leaving the dark elves behind.

They ran hard and fast, redoubling their efforts when Lakashtai reported that the elves had broken free of the trance. Branches tore at Daine’s skin, and more than once he stumbled on the uneven terrain, but Lakashtai was always
just behind him, pulling him up and pushing him on. His injury ached, but it seemed that he’d only received a tiny dose of venom—the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as when he’d been stabbed by the scorpion itself.

Daine couldn’t say how long they ran, but eventually Gerrion slowed to a walk. “I think … we should be safe now. We’re almost to the city.”

Daine could smell smoke in the air, and now that he was moving more slowly, he could see an orange glow in the sky ahead. “There?”

“Yes. We’ve probably been spotted by the patrols already—let me see if I can summon guards.” With that, he called out, a long, loud verse in Elvish—and Daine couldn’t help but notice that he spoke with the accent of the elves they’d just left behind, not the slower speech of the Valenar.

A moment later, another call came in response, echoing through the jungle. “We’re safe,” Gerrion said. “Even if we’ve been followed, they won’t attack us once my friends arrive. Come daylight, they can help us find the others.”

Daine nodded and took a deep breath, struggling with his beating heart. “I won’t say no to a bed and a meal. Here.” Gerrion’s arms were still bound behind his back, and Daine cut the vines.

“My thanks, and for your efforts earlier.”

Daine shrugged. “You saved me before. I guess this makes us even.”

People were approaching, and from the noise it was clear they weren’t the silent stalkers they had fought in the clearing. There was flickering light, most likely from a torch.

It wasn’t a torch—and when the soldiers finally reached them, Daine was in for another surprise.

They were drow.

The soldiers wore leather jerkins studded with bronze scales and conical bronze helmets with chunks of black glass embedded around the rim. Beneath the helmets, their eyes were large and white, with no iris or pupil. Their skin was jet black, as black as the obsidian chunks decorating their armor, and tattooed with brilliant patterns of flame—designs much like those Gerrion wore. The “torch” turned out to be the
weapon of the leader—a short spear with a long, blackened head that was wreathed in crackling flames.

Daine put himself on guard, and only then did he realize—
My sword!
He’d reclaimed his dagger from Shen’kar, but he’d left his grandfather’s sword behind.
Elves!
He cursed.

“Daine! Stop! They aren’t going to hurt us!” Gerrion jumped between Daine and the soldier, speaking rapidly in Elvish. The soldiers lowered their weapons, and the captain with the flaming spear spoke with Gerrion.

They recognize Gerrion
. Lakashtai’s thoughts drifted into Daine’s mind.
He says that he has brought us to see the high priest, a man named Holuar. The warrior seems suspicious—something to do with thin blood—but he is going to show us the way
.

So … not all of these dark elves are vicious scorpion killers?

It would appear that way
.

“My apologies,” Gerrion said, turning back to them. “I should have made that more clear. These are my father’s people—the Sulatar. Comparing them to the savages we met earlier … oh, it’s like comparing Cyrans to barbarians from the Demon Wastes. Trust me, you’ll get that bed and meal.”

One of the elves wasn’t wearing armor—a scout, Daine supposed. The captain spoke to her and she raced off into the darkness, most likely to deliver word of their arrival. The other soldiers spread out around them, spears and bronze swords at the ready. Their faces were grim, and Daine found his hand back on the hilt of his dagger.

“They don’t seem that happy to see us.”

“It’s not you. I told you—the jungle isn’t safe at night. We’re just lucky we didn’t stumble into any cesspits or briarghosts on our way here.”

Indeed, the elves turned their attention outward, and the captain led the way with his flaming spear. They continued on in silence. The smell of wood-smoke grew stronger with each passing minute, then they came to the edge of the jungle and saw the city.

It was a castle sculpted from glowing volcanic glass. The orange glow Daine had seen in the sky was coming from the walls themselves, and Daine could feel heat radiating out from the city, but the glowing walls were only one of the strange
features of the castle. It was enormous; the gates were at least thirty feet high, and the walls might have been fifty feet in height.

And it was a ruin.

The towers that rose above the walls were shattered and broken, and the walls themselves were cracked and uneven. Set against the vast walls, the dark shapes of the elves seemed like insects crawling around a broken toy.

A troop of elves was waiting for them as they approached the gates. A dozen soldiers in bronze armor stood in a semi-circle, arranged around a man and a woman. The man wore a black robe and what appeared to be a prayer shawl inscribed with letters of flame. There was an obsidian crown with three tall spikes on his head, and Daine guessed that this was the priest Holuar. The woman next to him was a warrior. She was holding a double-bladed sword—a shaft of wood with a long blade on either end, much like the double scimitars of the Valenar elves. However, these blades were straight—and wreathed in flame. Her armor was quite different from her comrades. She wore chainmail made with lines finer than Daine had ever seen, but the metal was glowing cherry-red with heat. It should have seared her alive, burning flesh and bone—but it didn’t seem to harm her in any way. Her helmet was sculpted to resemble a bonfire, and her pale eyes were surrounded by tattooed flames. She met Daine’s gaze and showed her teeth in what might have been a smile—but probably wasn’t.

The priest and the warrior exchanged a few words with Gerrion; Lakashtai immediately began to translate.

The man with the crown is Holuar. The woman is their war leader, Zulaje
.

War leader. Well, good to know they’re peaceful hunter-gatherers
.

The woman pointed the blade of her sword at Gerrion, but the priest spoke sharply and she stepped back, scowling. Gerrion raised his hands in a placating manner.

Holuar welcomes Gerrion, but Zulaje is suspicious of him. She believes he is wasting time again
.

Again?

Daine could feel Lakashtai’s frustration.
Let me try to forge a stronger link between us—to allow you to draw on my knowledge of the language
.

There was a sharp, twisting pain in Daine’s head, and he almost cried out. For a moment all sensation was blocked out by the pain. Then the sing-song voices of the elves returned—but he realized that he understood the words of the song, the meaning of pitch and inflection.

“… Foolish prophecy?” said the woman, Zulaje. “We should be eradicating the oathbreakers, not wasting our time on legends.”

“You know nothing but the sword.” Holuar was old; his face was not wrinkled, but it was gaunt and drawn, and his voice was rough. “This is where our destiny lies. This is the vow that gives our lives meaning. You are certain?”