The Shattered Land_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [114]
Firebinders, Daine thought. He took another swallow of gruel. He turned to the elf to his right as they walked down the hall. The man’s face was devoid of expression; he might have been carved from volcanic glass.
“Really great,” he said. “Do you eat this yourself?”
The guard said nothing.
“Really. Have you tried the prison food?”
Daine guessed that the man didn’t speak the Common tongue of Khorvaire, but he wasn’t waiting for an answer. Instead, he was waiting for the soldier to glance toward his commanding officer, hoping for a cue on how to deal with the noisy human—and a moment later, he did just that.
“See what you think.”
Daine brought the bowl up in a sweeping motion, flinging cold porridge into the guard’s face. Reversing the motion, he then brought it down in a vicious arc, slamming the obsidian bowl into the man’s fingers. The guard didn’t cry out, but he pulled back his hand—leaving only one hand on his spear. Dropping the bowl, Daine grabbed the spear in both hands and jerked backwards, yanking the weapon free from the dazed man’s grip. The elf opened his mouth to cry out, to warn his fellows—but he wasn’t fast enough. Daine jabbed the point of the spear into the man’s throat, silencing his cry before it could begin. The elf fell to his knees, gurgling and clutching his neck.
The other elves didn’t need any warning; the motion alone had been sufficient to attract their attention. Zulaje and her companion turned to face Daine, and he barely had time to step back against the wall.
“Tend the fallen, Xuxajor.” Zulaje was speaking Elvish, but Daine found he could still understand the words—whatever Lakashtai had done before, the power was still in effect. “I will take this one.”
Daine slowly backed away, keeping the bloody point of his spear leveled at the drow woman. “I don’t know what this is about or what Gerrion has told you,” he said, “but it’s a mistake.”
“This I know,” Zulaje said softly. She held her weapon in a vertical guard, concealing her true reach. She slowly moved toward him, keeping her blades in slight but constant motion; the pattern of the burning steel was hypnotic and distracting. “Too long have we looked to the world beyond—it is time for our flames to sweep across this land.”
Daine tried to keep his eyes on Zulaje, to ignore the flickering flames. Her smoldering red armor was almost as distracting, pulsing with inner heat. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“No fear.” She ran her unarmored right hand up along the shaft of her sword, and wrapped her fingers around the burning blade. The flame tattoos around her eyes glowed with an inner light, but she showed no signs of pain. “I am the child of fire. My blood burns, and you will not spill it this day.” She released the blade, restoring her two-handed grip. “Come. Holuar’s worm calls you the child of war. Let us see if you are worthy of the name.”
“I’d say cousin, at best.” She’s overconfident at least, he thought. That’s something.
He let her move forward another foot. Then he launched into a full lunge, a deep thrust with the short spear.
Zulaje reacted instantly, spinning her blades to form a shield of fire, but Daine was prepared, and he swiftly spun the tip of the spear, matching her speed and spiraling toward her.
Close—but not enough. She leapt back just before the tip of the blade could strike her chest. She bared her teeth and slashed crosswise at his spear, but Daine pulled back before she could shatter it.
Overconfident … with good reason. “Well, I’ve shown you my trick as the cousin of war. What’ve you got, fire child?”
He was hoping to goad her, to provoke her into rash action. Her response surprised him. She hissed a word in a crackling tongue, and a moment later a wreath of crimson flames spread across her body.
She darted forward, a burning shadow wielding a shaft of light. As surprised as he was, Daine still had the presence