The Shattered Land_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [49]
“This Hassalac can cure me?”
“It is not so simple. Hassalac has gathered many relics of the past. It is possible that he has already found the weapon we require to drive the darkness from your mind, but he is arrogant and proud, and he will not help us out of kindness. It is my hope that a suitable gift will serve as our gateway to his vault.”
“So we’re going on a bold expedition to the market?”
“Hassalac is a powerful and wealthy man, and the things that he desires are not sold in the market square. Fortunately our guide is familiar with Hassalac and the lay of this land, and Gerrion has suggested a suitable gift. This is not a time for discussion. Finish your meal swiftly, and let us set ourselves in motion; I shall explain everything in time.”
Daine shrugged and turned his attention to his bowl of sour milk and bitter berries. Beneath the table a gray cat with glittering silver stripes rubbed against his leg, purring in strange fluting tones.
Stormreach was a different place by the light of day. With the sun in the sky, Daine could see the buildings that dominated the center of the city … although building was a generous term. Stormreach was filled with ruins: remnants of stone and densewood, vast archways and broken walls.
“Tens of thousands of years,” Lei murmured. “These were the homes of giants. Imagine what these walls have seen.”
At the moment, Daine had little interest in history; he was more concerned with the Riedran warriors. While Lakashtai said they’d need time to recover, there was no way to know how many allies they had in the city. Daine studied each weed-choked wall, each stranger to cross his path. Many of the settlers had used the old walls as the foundations for their homes and businesses; these ranged from shabby tents to solid stone structures that looked like they could last another thirty thousand years. Pox-ridden beggars, vendors hawking strange and disturbing foods, and colorfully dressed missionaries all sought to bar their path, but Pierce pushed the strangers aside.
Gerrion led the way. He followed a strange path, and his choices seemed almost random. Wide roads alternated with narrow alleys where they needed to walk in single file, and Daine was certain they were moving in a wide circle instead of a straight line. The war had taught him that the shortest path was not always the safest one, and this time they did not encounter any ambushes.
“I think it’s about time you told us who this Hassalac is,” Daine told Lakashtai, as they made their way past a band of dwarves—miners, by the look of it. The sharp stench of roasting lizard-meat filled the air, fighting with the salty tang of the ocean. “Judging from our guide’s reaction last night, I gather there’s a story to tell, and I’m not going into this blind.”
“Hassalac Chaar,” Lakashtai said. “The Prince of Dragons. The most powerful sorcerer in Stormreach, or so it’s said—possibly one of the mightiest in the world. He claims that the blood of dragons runs through his veins and that this is the source of his power.”
“‘Prince of Dragons?’ Don’t tell me he actually has dragons as servants.” Daine had never seen a dragon, but he had heard the legends. It was said that a single dragon could lay waste to an army.
“No,” Lakashtai said. “It is just a title, derived from his beliefs about his bloodline.”
“That’s something, I guess, and he collects old things?”
“Yes. This was my original purpose in coming to this place—to gain access to his vaults and study the relics that he has acquired, to learn if he has found anything better left unknown.”
“Like what?”
“In ancient times, Xen’drik was ruled by a race of giants. Their civilizations lasted tens of thousands of years, and in that time they learned much of magic. They developed mystical weapons and tools far beyond the capabilities of the wizards of Khorvaire.”
“You’re worried that he’s found some sort of weapon built by these giants?”
“No,” said Lakashtai.
There was an angry roar coming from behind them. Glancing over his shoulder, Daine saw a massive, filthy