City of Towers_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [120]
“Sure,” Daine said. “I can see it. I mean, there’s a hundred of you, right? Aside from the ones we killed, of course. That’s an unstoppable army, no question.”
A second slap slam med his head against the wall. “This is only the beginning,” Teral said. “Our numbers grow every day. Our master can reshape body and mind, granting gifts or stripping strength away.”
Daine remembered the old woman with the basilisk’s eye, who had been fully human only a few weeks earlier. He saw movement in the vats of liquid and wondered what they contained—and how long he could avoid finding out.
“You will see,” Teral said, gripping Daine’s chin with one moist hand and staring into his eyes. “You have strength. Yes. I think you shall serve at my side once your mind has been properly … adjusted.”
A chill ran down Daine’s spine, but he kept talking. “So by day you fan the anger of the Cyran refugees, and by night you turn them into monsters?”
“My master gives us the power to act on our anger, Daine. He allows us to take our rightful place in the new age that lies ahead.”
“And Jode?”
“The powers of your companion will be most useful—as will the gifts of the young lady,” Teral said, glancing back at the unconscious Lei. “All flesh is as clay in the hands of my master. He strips the powers away from the beasts of earth and air and grafts these powers to our flesh. Now, at last, the gifts of the dragons are ours for the taking. He gestured to the far end of the room, where Daine could just make out a shelf of flasks and clay vials. “With the power of the binding stones, the dragon’s mark can be stripped from this weak human flesh. Once it has been concentrated into this purest form, it is only a matter of time until that power is mine.”
it is time, Daine thought, then he frowned. Time for what?
“He approaches,” Teral whispered.
Lei heard voices, but she couldn’t make out the words. She couldn’t move, even to open her eyes. Where was she?
Lying down, that much she could tell. The sound of water was all around her, and there was a horrible smell—yet one that seemed strangely familiar.
How quickly we forget, she thought. Or did she? Why would she have thought such a thing?
Her body was tilted, her head lower than her feet, and the blood was pounding in her forehead. The surface beneath her was cool and smooth. She could see vague, flickering illumination to either side of her, as if light was shining through water. She could almost hear a voice in the distance, calling her name … or was that just another stray thought?
A figure moved into the light, blurred and indistinct. “All is well, my dear,” said the figure. It was Hadran. His hand touched her forehead, brushing the hair back from her face. Her vision was still blurry, but she could see him in her mind, proud and stately in his robes of blue and gold. His gray mustaches were carefully waxed, and he pulled at one as he smiled at her. “There is much to be done, but you’re safe now.”
Hadran picked up a tall, thin urn and poured the contents out next to her. Due to the curved surface and the tilt of the table, the fluid gathered at the back of her head and the small of her back. It was cold, and a tingling sensation spread across her skin.
She tried to speak, but her mouth still wouldn’t move. How could this be?
“There are many mysteries in the world,” Hadran said, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. He poured the contents of a second beaker into the basin, and the tingling increased to a sharper sting. “Only the mad can understand them all, for they have gone beyond understanding. Relax, my love.”
Despite the pain at her neck, Hadran’s words were soothing, and she began to drift. But then the image of Councilor Teral flashed through her mind, his skinless armor wet with blood.
I do not take orders from excoriates. You have no place here. Those had been Domo’s words. Domo the warforged. Hadran’s warforged.
The thought