The Shattered Land: The Dreaming Dark - Book 2 (50 page)

“Sixteen that we saw,” Shen’kar replied. “Six of the blade and ten weavers of magic.”

“Did they notice you?”

The elf cocked his head. “How would they do this?”

“I know you’re talented, but—”

“They are all dead.” Shen’kar said.

There was a faint thud … the ringing of a flaming sword striking against a distant wall of ice.

“Ah,” Daine said. “In that case, lead the way.”

“Onatar’s name,” Lei whispered.

“Yeah.”

Daine had foresworn his belief in higher powers long ago, but what lay before them seemed beyond the capabilities of any mortal force. The passage had led them directly to the center of the monolith. The tower stretched up above them, a hollow spire hundreds of feet across and perhaps a thousand feet in height; perspective was hard to judge from so far below. As impressive as the tower was, it was the object within that drew gasps of astonishment. The heart of the monolith was a massive obsidian cylinder almost as tall as the tower itself. It was covered with glowing sigils and inscriptions in the ancient language of the giants, inlaid with a dozen different metals and gemstones.

And it was floating. It was suspended ten feet above the floor of the chamber, and slowly rotating.

“Think of how much that must weigh …” Lei whispered. Daine preferred not to.

Perhaps a hundred metal rings encircled the central pillar, supported by invisible forces. Rising and falling, silently spinning in different directions and speeds, what truly caught the eye were the spheres. Thirteen crystal spheres circled in low orbits, each one studded with gems and glowing inscriptions. Perspective made it difficult to judge the size of these objects … but they were big.

The spheres drew their eyes up—but eventually Daine looked down. Circular tables were spread around the base of the obsidian cylinder. These were made of red stone and rose directly out of the floor. Here were the giants, slumped against the tables or sprawled across the floor.

The corpses were dried and desiccated but almost perfectly preserved; Daine wondered if the seal on the monolith gate had held all air in or if some other magic were at work. The closest corpse was that of a man; his skin was wrinkled black leather, as dark as that of the drow, and he would have been twelve feet tall if he were standing. He wore a tunic of a metallic, brass-colored fabric; the hem was trimmed in silver and embroidered with golden spirals. Daine guessed that the man had been broadly built in life, and it reminded him of the massive worn statues flanking the altar in the city of the drow.

“Look,” Lei said, pointing. “I think that’s a wand.”

Indeed, the fallen giant was clutching an object in his hand—a rod tipped with a black gemstone, but it was two and a half feet long, and as thick as Daine’s arm.

“Is it a weapon?” Daine said.

“I don’t know.”

“Then I don’t care. We’ve only got a few minutes. Is this thing remotely useful? Unless one of you can tell me what it does, we’d better keep moving and hope we can find an armory.”

Daine was looking at Lei and the newly erudite Pierce, but it was Lakashtai who spoke. “These are the planes,” she said.

“Yes … that’s right!” Lei echoed, staring at the column in wonder.

Daine sighed. “That clears everything up. Thanks.”

“The planes,” Lei said, “the outer planes—Dolurrh, the realm of the dead. Dal Quor, the region of dreams. You know.”

“Sure,” Daine said suspiciously, “so you’re telling me that the souls of the dead come
here?
Good, because give it a few minutes and we’ll probably be joining them.”

“No,” Lei said, exasperated. “This is a model of the planes. They … shift around Eberron, drifting in and out of phase, like the moons, and this is a model of that movement.”

“It’s more than that,” Lakashtai said. She took Lei by the hand and led her forward. Daine reached out to stop her, but Lakashtai brushed away his hand. “Look closely,” she whispered, stepping over the wrinkled head of a fallen giant. “Feel it. See what lies within.” Slowly, she placed Lei’s hand on the closest console, and the mosaic of gemstones encrusting the top of the panel burst into light.

“I
can
see it,” Lei said, breathless with wonder. “I can
feel
it, spreading out. It’s so much more complicated than any pattern I’ve seen before. It’s … beautiful.”

“And it helps us how?” Daine said, exasperated.

“It’s a gateway,” she said, “and I think … I think I can activate it.”

“I believe you are correct,” Pierce said, “but how can you possibly know how to operate such a device?”

“I can’t explain it, Pierce. The knowledge … it’s just there, as if it has always been there. It’s … the spheres. Each sphere is linked to another plane.” Without even seeming to notice what she was doing, Lei clambered onto the back of a giant’s corpse so she could run her fingers along the console. A deep, pulsing hum filled the air, and the orbiting rings began to spin at different speeds. “Passengers enter the sphere, and it is physically transported across the planar barrier. I believe—each sphere has controls inside allowing the travelers to return.”

“This provides access to every plane?” Pierce said, looking up at the spheres.

“It’s not that simple. Alignment, orbit … Only two planes are accessible at the moment, Thelanis and Fernia, the plane of fire.”

“Fire.” Daine’s mind was racing. “And these spheres are controlled from here?”

“Initially, and from the sphere itself. The sphere protects the passenger from any dangers of the plane, though if you leave—who knows.”

“Do you understand how they work?”

“I can’t explain it … but yes, I do.”

“Good,” Daine said. “Shen’kar, if you don’t mind, I’ll need you for this. Here’s my plan …”

The high priest Holuar was surrounded by an aura of mystical fire, and he was simply
walking
through the ice that blocked their way. The chill air could not breach his shield of flames, and as old as he was, destiny gave strength to his limbs.
The end is near
, he thought.
At long last, I shall reap the rewards of my ancestors’ loyalty. The Lords of the Promise will enfold me in their power, and we shall set the world aflame
.

The ice had filled a long stretch of the hall, and progress had been slow until Holuar had called on the cloak of fire. Now the wall crumbled before him: he had reached the end of the barrier.

There was a man in the hallway twenty feet away. He was too tall, too thick. His skin was sickly pale, and no marks of honor stained his skin—an outlander—the false child of war, the one that had been tested and failed. Holuar pointed a bony finger and prepared to call on the deadly fires, but the stranger dropped to his knees, holding out his hands in supplication.

“Just hear what I have to say before you kill me,” the man said. The words of the outlander tongue were flat and graceless, and the man spoke terribly slowly. “I know what you’re looking for, and I can give it to you.”

“What is this?” Holuar said. His soldiers were emerging from the tunnel, but he raised his hand and they simply spread out around him.

“You want to pass through the Burning Gate. That’s what this is all about, right? Well, I came here with the woman who can open it for you.”

“The woman of two worlds,” Holuar said. Could it be that
she was needed to open the gate and not simply the monolith? He reflected on the words of the prophecy: she would free the voice of the past, she would make the way clear, she would hold the keys. “She will aid us, or you will all die.”

“I know. I don’t care where you go or what you do. I’ve got my own business here. So here’s the deal. You give us what we want, and we’ll open the gates for you. You go through and do … whatever it is you have planned. We go on our way. Everyone lives.”

Holuar narrowed his eyes. “What you want, you say … what is this, that you want?”

“Him.” Daine pointed at the man next to Holuar. “Gerrion.”

G
errion laughed. “You have no idea what you’re asking.”

“Oh, I think I do. Do you really think your life is more important than, what, tens of thousands of years of devotion?”

Gerrion glanced at Holuar. “Grandfather? Will you deny me my place in history to satisfy the whims of this outlander, or shall we simply torture them until they do as we ask?”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but we’ve been fighting a war back on Khorvaire,” Daine said. “I’ve been tortured by the best. If you think you’ve got the time to break us, by all means, but I’m told that your season of fire will be over soon, and when it’s over, so much for your gate.”

Holuar considered, finally speaking in Elvish. “You did not bring the child of war to us, Gerrion. Some would say that you failed in your duty.”

“Grandfather!”

“Speaker of the law!” Holuar snapped, and Gerrion hung his head.

“Perhaps it was the wrong man that I led to the city, but I brought all four to the land of fire. If I hadn’t drawn this man here, the child of war would not have come. I fulfilled my destiny!”

“Yes … I suppose that you did.” Holuar looked at Daine. “No,” he said, returning to the Common tongue. “His life is not yours to take. If we must tear the secrets from you, we shall.”

“Wait!” Daine said. “I don’t want his life. All I want is my honor. He betrayed us. He made me look like a fool. I just want to prove how he’d fare in a fair fight. First blood. A scratch only. If he dies you can kill me too. I won’t resist. I swear.” He drew his sword and looked down at the hilt. “On my father’s blood.”

Holuar glanced at Gerrion. “To this I agree.” He glanced at Gerrion. “Take his honor for the Sulatar, child. Show that you have the strength of the fire—that you are not just a knife in the darkness.”

“Grandfather, I—”

“
I have spoken!”

Daine grinned. “Tell you what, Gerrion, we’ll keep it fair. You can use that fine flaming stick you’ve got there. Me? I’ll just use my dagger. I’m sure you remember it.”

“Do as you wish,” Gerrion said. “You will take no honor from the Sulatar. When you are ready, then.” He made a mild gesture with his light sword, the vaguest hint of a salute, but even as Daine nodded and drew his dagger, Gerrion was already launching in a lightning-swift thrust.

Daine leapt back. He didn’t parry or riposte—he simply kept the distance between them, staying beyond the tip of the blade.

“Do you
have
any honor to take?” he said.

Gerrion said nothing. His handsome face twisted in a snarl as he launched blow after blow. Daine continued to dance away, staying just out of reach.

Minutes passed, and Daine had yet to strike.

“What are you waiting for?” Gerrion hissed. “You asked for this fight. Aren’t you going to
try
to win it?”

“Perhaps I already am,” Daine said, ducking beneath a fiery slash. “Perhaps I’m not trying to win yet, but you’re doing a fine job of losing without me.”

Gerrion
growled
, and the tip of his blade almost grazed Daine’s cheek; the flames singed his beard.
Cutting it close
, he thought.

And suddenly Gerrion stopped. He held his guard position and simply watched Daine. “You’re
not
trying to win,” he said. “But
you
asked for the fight. And if you didn’t want to win, then you—”