The Shattered Land_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [66]
Finally they reached an obelisk of polished red marble, fifteen feet in height. An image of the sun was engraved on the back, with a dragon coiled on the disk. Kess dropped to one knee before the monument.
“Master Hassalac! I bring two more before you.”
“WHO SEEKS HASSALAC?” Daine could feel the voice in his bones. Deep and powerful, the bass rumble seemed to shake the floor itself. Daine realized that the voice was coming from the other side of the obelisk, that the stone was most likely the back of an enormous throne. Lakashtai’s stories of giants flashed through his mind.
“I am Lakashtai of the kalashtar.” In the wake of the thundering proclamation, Lakashtai’s voice was little more than a whisper, but as always, though she spoke quietly, her words were clear and sharp as crystal. “I come with my companion, Daine of Cyre, in the hope that you will honor us with your words.”
“YOU WASTE MY TIME. I COULD BE CONTEMPLATING MYSTERIES BEYOND YOUR COMPREHENSION.”
“I am aware of this, Master Hassalac. We have brought a gift to show our appreciation for your time and our hope that you will heed and honor our request.”
“PRODUCE YOUR OFFERING.”
Lakashtai produced the steel coffer from the sack she was carrying it in. She lifted the lid, revealing the dragon scale that lay within. Daine hadn’t seen the shield himself; looking at it, he could see how Sakhesh might think it a piece of a god. This was no dull leather—it glistened, as if the scale were a shard of blue crystal with a flame burning on the other side. Daine had no training in the arts of magic, but when Lakashtai opened the coffer, even he could feel the energy that flowed from the scale.
Apparently Hassalac could feel it as well. “YOU MAY APPROACH.”
The path of fire extended, circling around to the right of the obelisk. Daine noticed that it stayed five feet away from the stone, and he resolved not to test Kess’s warnings. He let Lakashtai take the lead this time; he’d had enough of making embarrassing mistakes. Following Lakashtai, he walked around the edge of the great throne, coming face to face with Hassalac Chaar, the Dragon Prince, the mightiest sorcerer in Stormreach.
He had to choke to hold the laughter in.
A moment earlier Daine had wondered if Hassalac was a giant. Little could be further from the truth. The mighty sorcerer was a tiny, gaunt figure; by Daine’s estimation, Hassalac wouldn’t be much over two feet tall when standing. Hassalac’s skin was covered with rust colored scales, and his long snout was reminiscent of both lizard and dog. His head was crowned with two short black horns.
He was a kobold.
Eberron was home to a surprising number of humanoid species. Khorvaire alone possessed over a dozen distinct humanoid cultures, from the dwarves of the Mror Holds to the orcs of the Shadow Marches. Ogres, halflings, gnomes, trolls—out of this multitude of creatures, kobolds were possibly the most pathetic. They were the smallest and weakest of the humanoids; even a goblin could bully a kobold, and where the goblins and their kin had carved out empires, the kobolds had never risen above simple tribes. Kobolds were cowardly and reclusive by nature, and for centuries they were seen only when they built up the courage to ambush miners or merchant caravans. During the Last War, House Cannith had recruited a number of kobold tribes as laborers, and Daine had dealt with the creatures on a handful of occasions. His strongest memory was of their incessant chattering, and their voices: high-pitched yapping, like the bark of some tiny dog.
“SO YOU ARE THE ONE WHO STRUCK KRYSSH!”
Hassalac’s voice was no yammering yap. His words were like thunder. Even as Daine was wincing from the terrible sound, a wave of force slammed into him, throwing him back against the cavern wall. Hassalac was standing on his throne, his little hand stretched out before him; and Daine could feel that grip, magnified a thousandfold, crushing him into the stone.
“Master Hassalac, I ask that you forgive my companion,” Lakashtai said. “He