The Shattered Land_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [100]
He stepped back, allowing Daine to get a better look at his enemy. The elf was dressed for the jungle heat. Much of his skin was exposed, inky black marred by intricate white designs. He wore a few pieces of armor, pale white shell attached to straps of leather. In addition to his cap, he wore long vambraces over each forearm, shinguards, a plate covering his upper torso, and an armored loincloth. He wore a belt of dark leather, with a wooden throwing wheel hanging down along each hip. Daine could see the hilts of some sort of swords or knives, but the weapons were slung behind the elf’s back, and Daine couldn’t get a good look at them.
A moment later, the elf knelt down again, but now he was holding something in his hand. At first Daine thought it was just another piece of white chitin—until it moved. It was a scorpion—a pale scorpion, which must have been hiding in the man’s armor.
“Xan’tora aids and inspires,” the elf said. “She shows the hunter’s path, silent motion and deadly strike.”
“Charming,” Daine said. “When I was growing up, I had a lallis hound, myself.”
The elf set his hand down, and the scorpion scurried off onto the ground. A moment later Daine felt the tiny creature climb up his shoulder and onto his back, its footsteps faint drops of rain through his clothing. He shivered, remembering the swarms of insects beneath Sharn.
“Xan’tora listens as I ask my question. You do not answer, you feel her blade. One touch brings pain. Twice is far worse. You should not survive a third—though some time passes before the pain ends.” The elf paused to let this sink in. “Why are you here?”
“I told you, we’re just trying to find our friends and leave.” Daine waited for the scorpion’s sting, but apparently the answer was sufficient.
“Then what have you done already? You do not belong in our land. You come only to steal, to desecrate. If you are to leave, you must have already taken.”
“I’m sick. We thought we could find a cure … somewhere around here. Then our thrice-damned guide touched the wrong stone and we found ourselves here.”
“Sickness?” The elf took a step back, speaking in Elvish, and a dagger appeared in his hand—Daine’s dagger. “What is this sickness? You seem to be in health.”
“It’s a disease of the mind. It doesn’t spread.” He sighed. “Look. We haven’t taken anything of yours. All we want to do is leave. Just undo these ropes and you’ll never see us again.”
“Because you go to the city of glass?”
“Yes! Do you want to search our belongings?” He glanced at the point of his own dagger, in the hand of the elf. “Assuming you haven’t already? From where I’m lying, we don’t seem to be the thieves here.”
The elf’s eyes narrowed, and Daine felt a needle in the small of his back—the jab of the tiny stinger, pressing through the links of his chainmail and piercing his shirt. Where the last dose of poison had a chilling, numbing effect, this venom felt like acid; Daine could swear that his flesh was melting around the wound, and fire spread through his blood.
“We aren’t here to STEAL!” he growled.
The elf watched him closely, as if he could read his pain. “It may be as you say, but you are friend to the firebinders. Tell me what they plan.”
“I don’t know any firebinders!” Daine cried. His back was in agony, and he could feel his heart pounding.
“You travel with their child!” The elf hissed, and for the first time he truly seemed angry. “They are fools and foul, blind to the wisdom of the wilds, but to sell their blood to the outlands—I had thought it untrue, until it was seen.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His inquisitor raised a hand, and Daine braced himself for another jolt of poison, but the elf paused.
“No? You are not the servant of the firebinders? Speak truly, or Xan’tora strikes again.”
“I don’t … know … what you are talking about!”
The tattooed elf tapped the fingers of his left hand against the blade of the dagger. “You have spirit. More than the last of your kind I killed. Perhaps you are not a thief, but only a fool.”
“Those are my only choices?”
“Prove