The Shattered Land_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [118]
“And Lei?”
“Irrelevant. For decades I have waited for the child of war and the woman of two worlds, the man guided by voices from the past, who will open the way to our future. broken from his family, yet—”
“Oh, enough already!” Daine said. “I get it, so I’m—broken from my family? What do you know about that?”
“I did not lie to you earlier, Daine … well, not very much. I made many contacts in my decades in Stormreach, and Alina Lyrris did ask me to look out for you. She told me a great deal about you. Then you slew Sakhesh, and my hopes were confirmed.”
“So you really do work for Alina, and you’re going to cross her? You’re even stupider than you look, and that’s saying a lot.”
Gerrion rolled his eyes, rising to his feet. “You have no idea what is at stake here. The wrath of a gnome half a world away? By the time we’re finished, a whole nation of gnomes could not harm us.”
“Sounds to me like you don’t know many gnomes, but—”
A flaming blade smashed into the ground in front of Daine’s face. “Silence, worm!” Zulaje called. “The Keeper of the Burning Gate approaches. On your knees for the speaker of law!”
“Do you want me to get up on my knees?” Daine asked. “Far be it for me to be rude to the speaker of law.”
His only answer was the point of a red-hot blade, pressing into his back. He winced but didn’t cry out. “Right. Stay down. Understood.”
He could hear footsteps approaching—a troop of soldiers, by the sound. Raising his head, he looked past Gerrion. He’d been so consumed by anger, he hadn’t even noticed the chamber he was in.
It was enormous.
All surfaces were polished obsidian. The ceiling was a curved dome that rose nearly forty feet off the ground. He could see fire mirrored in the glass … but he was looking straight up, and there was no conflagration below to be reflected. It was as if the memory of fire had been trapped in the ceiling, a dim image of what had gone before. There were a few huge braziers scattered around the floor, providing more than enough light for Daine to see. A vast altar—twice the size of any he’d seen in a human church—was flanked by two basalt statues. Each of these figures was twenty feet high. They appeared to be squat, heavyset men, each holding a greatsword, but the statues had been defaced, features chiseled away. At this point they were little more than massive silhouettes, black and featureless, towering over the chamber with swords at the ready.
A column of dark elves filed into the chamber, entering from a wide hallway to the north. The old priest Holuar walked at the head of the troop, carrying a long stone staff. Two acolytes followed him; their heads were shaved, revealing rings of flame tattooed around their scalps, and each carried an incense burner on a long chain. A squad of soldiers walked behind them. In the midst of these troops, Daine saw another familiar face: Lakashtai. The kalashtar had been stripped of her cloak, and there were burns and bruises across her pale skin, but her expression was as serene as ever, and she walked with no signs of a limp or pain. She inclined her head slightly when she caught sight of Daine. It was then that he noticed the unusual collar around her neck, an assembly of bronze, leather, and obsidian.
Are you all right? Daine thought, trying to push his thoughts in her direction. He’d grown so used to telepathic conversation that he expected an immediate response, but this time, there was none. Lakashtai smiled slightly as their eyes met, but if she could hear his thoughts, she gave no sign of it.
Holuar walked to the center of the chamber. Moving slowly and solemnly, he struck the floor of the chamber with his staff, calling out in a tongue Daine did not recognize. On the third blow, fire burst up around him. A pattern of golden flames spread out across the floor, a complex seal some thirty feet across and inscribed