The Shattered Land_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [138]
The sun was beginning to fall toward the horizon, and Daine was kneeling in the shadow of an enormous tree, nestled against the edge of a wide path. The weathered trunk was covered with fiery orange moss, hardly ideal for camouflage. Luckily, shrubs and the flow of the land provided stronger cover, and there was little chance of being spotted by the foe. “The firebinders favor force,” Shen’kar had told them. “The spear, the sword, the flow of flame and spell. They sharpen blades, not eyes, and will not see us in the shadows. The scout in the sky is a danger, but I shall pluck out his eyes.” For an instant, a black mist flowed around the dark elf’s hands, before being drawn back into his skin. “Darkness is our birthright. The firebinders turn from it, clinging to flame and light. But the scorpion strikes unseen, and as children we are taught to fight without the use of sight. We will draw them into darkness, and there will they fall.”
Gerrion is mine, he thought.
So you have said, Lakashtai responded. She was close by, but her skills with stealth were a match for any drow, and even Daine had lost sight of her. Lakashtai had offered to link the thoughts of the oathbreaker elves, but the drow had declined. They were willing to plan strategies, to agree on critical signals, but they had no intention of letting this outlander touch their thoughts. It may surprise you, but I had not decided to steal his death from you in these last few moments.
I’m sorry. It’s just that the thought of that worm gloating over Lei … I can’t tell you how much I want to kill him.
You don’t have to, she replied. I can feel it.
Why did we trust him?
What reason was there to question him? she countered. He saved our lives, Daine. Now we know why, but at the time, it seemed a gift of good fortune.
Good fortune? What’s that?
He sighed and studied his sword. Shen’kar had taken excellent care of the weapon; if anything, better than Daine had. The blade was polished, and the eye on the pommel flashed as a beam of sunlight found its way through the canopy. Daine’s thoughts drifted, and he remembered finding the blade in his grandfather’s hand, still covered with blood.
The sword holds many memories.
The foreign thought jerked Daine from his reverie. It’s a sword. Steel and leather. The memories are mine.
Just a sword? Not at all. It is a symbol. A relic. I think it has many tales to tell—but you have not been listening.
Is there a point to this? Daine thought.
His concern for Lei already had him on edge, and his family history was a subject he had always pushed away. When he’d left his house he had disfigured the blade, gouging out the Watchful Eye of House Deneith. It had been Alina Lyrris who restored it … a strange turn of events, given her role in his earlier life.
Perhaps. Symbols and memories have power. You weaken yourself by ignoring your past.
Even as Daine struggled to frame his response, he heard the long, low call of one of the orange and gray monkeys. The call was repeated, twice, and Daine knew it was no monkey. It was the warning of the Qaltiar—the firebinders were coming.
A few moments later, a firesled appeared, drifting some fifteen feet above the path. The sled was moving slowly, no doubt scouting the way for the troop behind. The elf holding the carved staff was studying the brush, and Daine held his breath as the cold white gaze swept over his hiding place … and paused. Daine cursed silently. The soldier seemed uncertain, but if he’d spotted Daine, one blast from the staff could incinerate him and alert the others. Where was Shen’kar?
It was a question with an immediate answer. A shadow rose up along the side of the path behind the sled. In one smooth motion, Shen’kar leapt into the air, and gravity stood aside and let him fly. He landed on the back of the sled and brought one hand down against the