The Shattered Land_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [97]
Once before? Pierce had never seen this creature, though there was something strangely … familiar about his voice. “Who are you?”
The stranger’s entire body seemed to ripple, and his armor clinked and chimed. I am death to that which bleeds. I am the wind that scours flesh from bone. I am Harmattan, and I am your brother.
“Harmattan? I see no family resemblance,” Pierce said, “and the wind is not part of my family tree.”
Are you so certain? Do you know what forces went into your making? Do you know why you were brought into this world?
“To protect the nation of Cyre.”
No. That is what you were told, by fleshlings who knew nothing of your true purpose or potential. That is their use for you—it is not your destiny.
Daine! He glanced back, but the plaza was completely empty. There was little cover, and it was too large for Daine to have left it without Pierce hearing the sound of boots on stone. “Where are my friends?”
Your … companions … His voice was dry, but he indicated his disdain with a slow drawling of the word. …left you, it seems. Teleportation, I suspect. Apparently they didn’t care enough to bring you along. What else would you expect, from a former soldier? In his mind, you were built to die for him.
The dull heat of anger was as unfamiliar as curiosity. “So far I have heard nothing but arrogant mockery. If you know anything about me, speak quickly.”
What I know is far less important than what you may learn in my company.
“I do not understand.”
How could you? You have spent your life among creatures of flesh. In their eyes, you are nothing but a tool, a sword to be used in battle until you are broken or cast aside.
“Perhaps it is you who doesn’t understand them.”
And you do? Harmattan’s cloak rippled like smoke, setting off another series of chimes. Pierce realized that the cloak itself was made from metal fragments—making it all the more impossible for it to flow so freely. Your essence is magic, not flesh and bone. Your life is the product of artifice, not blood and lust. You are warforged—but do you even know what this means? You will never find out among humans.
As strange and foreboding as this Harmattan was, he had an undeniable charisma. His windy voice was almost hypnotic, like listening to the surf at night. And his conviction rang through each sentence; there was no question that he believed these words. Curiosity rose again. Pierce knew that Daine and Lei relied on him, but he rarely seemed to be a part of their conversations. He could feel emotions passing between them, but often the triggers made little sense to him, and there were so many little things—the endless quest for food, for shelter. The hours he spent alone as they slept. What would it be like to be among others who had no needs of these things?
Then he looked at the scouts, with their metal teeth and spiked arms. There might be something to Harmattan’s words—but were these the creatures he wished to learn from?
“I will consider your words,” he said at last, “but for now, I think I will remain with my friends, so unless you intend to help me find them, you may as well be on your way.”
We have given much to find you, little brother. You are more important than you know. I told you, you will not slip away again.
“Oh, I think he might.” Lei stepped out from behind the pillar. Light burst from her staff, illuminating the clearing and the long wand in Lei’s hand. Pierce flexed his fingers around the arrow he held at the ready.
Harmattan rustled again. You, he said, and there was a note of amused recognition in his voice. Of course, I should have known you would stay close to your …protector. What sort of friend