The Shattered Land: The Dreaming Dark - Book 2 (23 page)

T
he reptilian guard led them through a labyrinth of twisting passages. Though the caverns appeared to be natural, Daine noticed a few places where the stone had been smoothed down or where a tunnel appeared to have been widened. Torches were embedded directly into holes in the stone; Daine could feel the heat of the flames, but as the tunnels stretched deeper and deeper, he could only imagine that they were sustained by magic. The only sounds were the scrape of the beast’s talons against the stone, and the labored hiss of its breathing.

“What is it with this town and dragons?” Daine muttered to Lakashtai. “I thought Sakhesh was obsessed with his little eggshell collection, but at least he didn’t live in a cave.”

“Have you ever seen a dragon?”

“Has anyone?”

“I have not seen one with my own eyes, but I carry the memories of those who have. It is easy to understand why people like Sakhesh would consider them to be divine. A dragon—it carries a sense of majesty that I have seen in no other mortal creature.”

“Except me?”

Lei would have rolled her eyes at the comment, but Lakashtai didn’t even acknowledge it. “Long before human civilization arose in Sarlona, Xen’drik was the realm of giants. In the dawn of their civilization, these giants learned the art of magic from the dragons of Argonnessen, and with this knowledge they
created wonders you cannot begin to imagine.”

“If these dragons are so great, why haven’t they taught us these magical secrets?”

Lakashtai shook her head. As always, the movement was minimal, yet somehow Daine
felt
her deep disappointment, as clearly as if she’d heaved an enormous sigh. “Where are the giants today? Power without wisdom can be a terrible thing. The giants unleashed terrible forces to bring an end to their war against the spirits of Dal Quor. They disrupted the very alignment of the outer planes—the fundamental order of reality itself. It brought an end to the war, certainly, but it devastated the land, and we may still be suffering the consequences of their rash action.”

“But they beat these nightmare creatures.”

“Perhaps, but that is the danger of fighting immortals. The quori still exist, even if they have been banished to the outer darkness of reality. The empires of the giants are only memories.”

Daine considered this. “I thought we were talking about dragons.”

“The giants did not fall to the horrors of Dal Quor, but it was the beginning of the end. The elves had long been slaves of the giants, and in the wake of the quori incursion, many of the slaves rose in revolt.”

“The dragons?”

Lakashtai spared a glance. “You have no patience. All things come in time, and all things fall in time. The elves slowly turned the tide against their former masters, and it became clear that the civilization of the giants would not survive. In their pride, the greatest wizards among the giants decided to unleash the same powers that had been used on Dal Quor against Eberron itself. The consequences of such actions—it is impossible to say. The world could have been torn apart, and it would have been, if not for the dragons of Argonnessen.”

“Finally. So dragons beat giants?”

“To say the least. The details are largely unknown, even to the elders of the kalashtar. The ancestors of the elves of Aerenal had fled before the disaster came. The dragons swept across the
land, and all that can be said for certain is that when they left, the civilization of the giants was ash and ruin. In the present day, the giants are largely savages—or at the least, no more sophisticated than your people.”

“Thanks,” Daine said.

“Many look to that power—the strength that leveled one of the greatest civilizations in the history of Eberron—and seek to claim it for their own. Many believe that these secrets are hidden here in Xen’drik.”

“Including … “Daine paused in midspeech, distracted by another group coming down the tunnel toward them. The strangers had a reptilian guard of their own, and Daine only caught a glimpse of the silver hem of a cloak, fluttering as its wearer moved.

It was enough. Daine grabbed Lakashtai’s shoulder, pulling her back. His sword was in his hand.

“What an unexpected surprise.” The soft voice was all too familiar. The lizardfolk had shifted to the sides of the tunnel so the two groups could pass one another. There, ten feet away, stood the Riedran man who only last night had threatened Daine with a crystal sword.

“Put the sword away, Daine.” Lakashtai’s voice was firm. “This is no place for a battle, and he knows it.”

Indeed, the Riedran had not drawn his weapon. His hood and veil were drawn down, revealing finely chiseled, slightly effeminate features. His dark hair was drawn back into a single braid, and in the flickering light there seemed to be deep blue highlights mixed among the black strands.

“Of course. Master Hassalac disapproves of those who spill blood in his manor.” He smiled at Daine, who had the uneasy feeling that the Riedran—and Hassalac—knew about his ill-advised battle with the guard. Daine slowly returned his blade to its leather sheath, keeping his eyes on the stranger.

“What brings you here?” Lakashtai’s voice was as close to cordial as Daine had ever heard it. They might have been at a dinner party.

“Oh, the same thing as you, I imagine,” the man said. “I have heard so much of Master Hassalac’s collection—I had hoped for the chance to see it with my own eyes.” He studied Lakashtai,
his gaze lingering over the sack that held the dragonscale shield. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck.”

“Perhaps we will. Providing we do not keep our host waiting.”

The Riedran nodded slightly. “Please, do not let me detain you. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

He tapped his guard on the shoulder, and they squeezed past Daine and Lakashtai. Daine’s hand was resting on the hilt of his dagger, and he yearned to draw and strike as his enemy squeezed past him; in the confined space, it would be impossible to miss. One mistake was enough. He kept his back to the wall and watched the Riedran walk down the passage; the man never looked back.

One he was out of sight, Lakashtai nodded to their escort, and they began walking again.

“I don’t like it,” Daine said. “If we have to go out the way we came in—we’re sure to be ambushed.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps? There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it! Remember last night? That little exchange about taking me alive and killing the rest of you?”

“That was when he still had his weapon, and he doesn’t know my condition.” She turned to face him, and to Daine’s surprise, actually smiled. “Besides, you were born as a bodyguard, weren’t you? I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Staying out of buildings with one exit would be a good start,” Daine growled.

“Hassalac Chaar.”
The voice of the reptilian guard was harsh and loud, echoing across the passage. It took a moment for Daine to recognize the words hidden within the rasp.

The tunnel opened into a large cavern, and Daine stared in disbelief. Here at last was the luxury he’d expected to see at the entrance. Zil glamerweave carpets were spread across the floors, each displaying colorful shifting patterns of light and shadow. To Daine’s left, dark wine was flowing down the tiers of a silver fountain; soft cushions were spread across the floor, along with low couches whose craftsmanship spoke of elven artistry. To Daine’s right, there was a statue of a coiled golden dragon, easily twelve feet in height. If this one comes to life, I’m running, Daine thought.

But for all these fine touches, it was still a cave. Stalagmites protruded from the ground, polished to a mirror sheen or gilded in gold or silver, and he could still feel the hard stone beneath the floor.

A half-dozen of the blackscaled lizardfolk stood along the edges of the chamber, halberds held to attention. A young man stood in the center of the room, almost glowing with health and perfect beauty. His silk doublet and breeches were the color of rust, and his gloves and boots were well-oiled leather. At least a dozen garnets glittered in the torchlight, winking from necklace, belt, and cuff. Despite himself, Daine was impressed; this man couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, and to command such respect and resources at such a young age was no small feat, even if he chose to live in a cave.

“Greetings, Lord Hassalac,” he said, inclining his head politely. “We thank you for seeing us.”

A chorus of rumbling growls ran through the lizard guards. The man smiled, revealing perfect teeth. “I am afraid you are mistaken. My name is Kess. I have the honor of managing Master Hassalac’s household.”

Daine shot a glance at Lakashtai, and the glitter in her eyes told him that she’d known the situation from the start. He cursed all absent-minded kalashtar.

“Of course,” he said, without really knowing why. “That was the message I wanted you to give to your master on our behalf.”

“You may tell him yourself, if you wish. I am simply here to provide you with warnings. Do not interrupt my master when he is speaking. Do not approach within five feet of his throne. Do not attempt to use magic, or—” he glanced at Lakashtai. “other abilities in his presence. Do not draw any weapons. In fact, you may want to leave those with me.”

“That’s all right,” Daine said.

“Very well, but let me be clear: these warnings are for your own good and are critical for your survival. Master Hassalac can kill you with a word, should he desire, but these precautions—they have already been woven into the stone itself, and if you violate any of my instructions, the consequences will be instant and severe.”

“Can we get on with it, then? No offense, but I’ll be just as happy when we’re through with this conversation.”

The guide glanced at Lakashtai, who nodded. He turned around, and as he did so, the patterns of the glamerweave carpets shifted—a river of fire burst into life, running down the center of the room. Kess walked onto this glowing bridge and led the way down the cavern. They passed other strange luxuries. A preserved gorgon stood on display, firelight glinting on its iron scales and bull-like horns. A trio of white granite statues was clustered together; each was about the size of a goblin, but their features had been worn down by time and weather, and it was impossible to guess the artist’s intent.

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.