The Shattered Land_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [7]
Only—something was wrong. It was too quiet. Where were the sounds of his soldiers sharpening blades, praying to the Sovereigns, and going through the dozens of other preparations for battle? He looked back toward the camp, and the answer became clear.
He was alone.
When he’d last seen it, there had been three dozen soldiers clustered around the salvaged tents. Now the campsite was empty, and the only movement was the rustling of torn cloth in time with the faint night wind. Daine slowly drew his sword, only to discover another unpleasant surprise. Instead of Deneith steel, the blade was now formed from glass; one solid blow and it would shatter into a dozen fragments.
As he stared at the fragile blade, memories slowly began to slip into place. The Mourning. Sharn. His uninvited guest.
“Lakashtai!” Daine looked up at the night sky. “What is this? What do you want with me?”
This is not my doing.
The voice was right behind him. Daine whirled toward the sound, blade raised. The glass sword might shatter against steel, but it could still pierce soft flesh.
No one was there.
I did not bring you here, Daine. Your thoughts are under siege, and this is the moment your enemies seek.
“What enemies?”
The answer lies here, hidden in your dreams. Search the battlefield, and you will find your foe.
Daine scowled. “You break into my home, drag me into my dreams, and now you’re telling me what to do. What happens if I don’t go along with your plan? What if I just stay here?”
Feel free. Stay here as long as you like, because you aren’t going to wake up until I let you.
“I see. Fine. I’ll play your little game, but I should warn you—after all this is done, you’d best be gone when I wake up.”
There is more to this than you know, Daine. Far more than your mind is at risk. I cannot be bound by your pride.
Daine moved through the empty camp, prodding at blankets and bundles of arrows with his glass sword. He studied the pallet where Jode had set up the infirmary, and he could still see spots of his own blood staining the moldy cloth. For a moment, he thought he saw the halfling out of the corner of his eye—but the phantom vanished when he turned, if it had ever existed.
“There’s nothing here,” he said to himself as much as to Lakashtai.
This is your refuge. It is not the site of the battle.
“You could have told me that before.”
This is your battle, not mine. I can only observe.
Cursing meddling kalashtar, Daine walked to the barricade wall and hoisted himself over it. Instinct kept him close to the shadows; perhaps there was something to this hidden enemy after all.
The battlefield was eerily familiar, every detail exactly as he remembered it. He stepped over the bodies of fallen soldiers and shattered warforged, looking for any signs of life, but the field was just as cold as the campsite and far too silent. Even the flames made no sound. As he approached the burning wreckage of the airship, there was no crackle of flame, no aura of heat. If anything, he felt a slight chill, a shivering cold that seemed to pass through leather and cloth. Then he saw it: a dark blot stretched beyond the ruined vessel. From a distance, it had seemed to be the shadow of the shattered ship, but as he moved closer, he could see that it was nothing so natural. It looked like a pit of glittering tar, but he could see that the surface was in constant motion—not bubbling, but shifting, tiny tendrils rising up and collapsing back into the darkness. He moved slowly toward the pool. With every step, the chill increased.
“You’ve come too late.” The voice was distant, as though cast onto the wind. It was female, low, and despite the distortion he could hear the predatory satisfaction. “We have claimed this place, and this is only the beginning.”
A figure stepped out from behind the burning wreckage, moving forward into the light. Her cloak was woven of pure shadow, and green eyes gleamed beneath the deep hood.
“Lakashtai?” Daine