The Shattered Land

CHAPTER 18

Daine’s sleep was troubled. He dreamt of a thousand floating eyes surrounding him, peering, probing, trying to press inside his mouth and ears. There were multifaceted insect eyes, yellow eyes of cats and wolves, human eyes the size of his fist. He could feel the alien gaze as if it were a physical force, icy fingers tracing strange patterns across his skin.

He woke with a cold shiver. The room was dark, and he could still feel the chill touch of the eyes against his skin.

“I am sorry.”

Lakashtai was sitting on the floor next to his bed. She was still wearing her cloak, and even as Daine’s eyes adjusted to the dim light her face was hidden in the shadows of her hood. A sleek black cat was draped across her lap, and it peered up at him with yellow eyes that seemed all too familiar.

“I was arrogant, and I did not anticipate the actions of our enemies,” Lakashtai said.

Daine could not see her mouth, and her voice was a whisper in the darkness. For a moment he wondered if he was still asleep, and he stared at the cat with new suspicion. It ignored him, armored in feline pride.

“The crystal shard Gerrion shattered was a weapon designed to fight my people,” Lakashtai continued. “The pain you felt was but a taste of its true power. Kashtai … the attack has weakened my bond to her spirit, and without her strength my powers are diminished. I thought that I would be protecting you, but now I fear that I shall be the one that requires protection.”

“The eyes …” Daine said, struggling with his thoughts.

“They are the least servants of il-Lashtavar. The Dreaming Dark can capture the spirits of those who die while sleeping and bind them in mindless servitude. Tonight, they are the hounds of Tashana, and they seek your dreams on behalf of their mistress. I have wrapped you in mystery, and I believe that you escaped unseen.”

“I’m safe?”

“For the rest of this night, I hope. I cannot shield you completely, but I can hold them at bay … for the moment, at least, but I cannot promise dreamless sleep in the nights to come.”

She stood, and in her dark cloak she seemed little more than a shadow. The cat seemed to have vanished. “Return to your rest. Hard times lie before us, and you must marshal what strength you can. We will need you in the times to come.”

Lakashtai walked over to the door, and her passage made no sound, but even as she left, Daine heard another whisper at the back of his mind.

Beware the gifts of the Traveler, my friend. Remember the words of the wind.

“Jode?” he muttered.

For a moment he struggled to rise, to look around the room, but sleep weighed on his thoughts like an anchor, and he found himself falling down against the blankets. His last memory was of a pair of yellow eyes shining in the darkness.

If Daine had other dreams that night, he could not remember them in the light of the morning. He was the last of the companions to rise, and when he made his way downstairs the others were waiting for him. Gerrion and Lei were engaged in an animated conversation about the history of local ruins. Lakashtai sipped at a cup of tal, lost in her own thoughts. Pierce watched from a corner. Daine considered asking about his nocturnal patrol, but he knew Pierce would tell him if there was anything he needed to know. While he had come to think of Pierce as a friend and not simply a soldier, they rarely talked; they understood each other, and speech was unnecessary.

“These will strengthen you for the tasks ahead. Eat quickly,” Lakashtai said, pushing a bowl toward him.

It was filled with berries drenched in a watery white liquid, and Daine studied the unfamiliar fruit dubiously. Each berry had a thin yellow shell with a vertical black slash, and at a glance it looked disturbingly like a mass of eyes glaring up at him.

Lei glanced over from her conversation and smiled. “If the local fare is too rich for your delicate palate, I can see about getting you a bowl of gruel, Master Daine.”

Daine scowled and began to eat. He tried not to think about his dream and the eyes crawling into his mouth.

“Now that you have rested, there is no time to waste,” Lakashtai said. “We must conclude our business in Stormreach as swiftly as possible. The Riedrans may have other concerns than hunting you, Daine, but I think it best that we leave quickly.”

“This Hassalac can cure me?”

“It is not so simple. Hassalac has gathered many relics of the past. It is possible that he has already found the weapon we require to drive the darkness from your mind, but he is arrogant and proud, and he will not help us out of kindness. It is my hope that a suitable gift will serve as our gateway to his vault.”

“So we’re going on a bold expedition to the market?”

“Hassalac is a powerful and wealthy man, and the things that he desires are not sold in the market square. Fortunately our guide is familiar with Hassalac and the lay of this land, and Gerrion has suggested a suitable gift. This is not a time for discussion. Finish your meal swiftly, and let us set ourselves in motion; I shall explain everything in time.”

Daine shrugged and turned his attention to his bowl of sour milk and bitter berries. Beneath the table a gray cat with glittering silver stripes rubbed against his leg, purring in strange fluting tones.

Stormreach was a different place by the light of day. With the sun in the sky, Daine could see the buildings that dominated the center of the city … although building was a generous term. Stormreach was filled with ruins: remnants of stone and densewood, vast archways and broken walls.

“Tens of thousands of years,” Lei murmured. “These were the homes of giants. Imagine what these walls have seen.”

At the moment, Daine had little interest in history; he was more concerned with the Riedran warriors. While Lakashtai said they’d need time to recover, there was no way to know how many allies they had in the city. Daine studied each weed-choked wall, each stranger to cross his path. Many of the settlers had used the old walls as the foundations for their homes and businesses; these ranged from shabby tents to solid stone structures that looked like they could last another thirty thousand years. Pox-ridden beggars, vendors hawking strange and disturbing foods, and colorfully dressed missionaries all sought to bar their path, but Pierce pushed the strangers aside.

Gerrion led the way. He followed a strange path, and his choices seemed almost random. Wide roads alternated with narrow alleys where they needed to walk in single file, and Daine was certain they were moving in a wide circle instead of a straight line. The war had taught him that the shortest path was not always the safest one, and this time they did not encounter any ambushes.

“I think it’s about time you told us who this Hassalac is,” Daine told Lakashtai, as they made their way past a band of dwarves-miners, by the look of it. The sharp stench of roasting lizard-meat filled the air, fighting with the salty tang of the ocean. “Judging from our guide’s reaction last night, I gather there’s a story to tell, and I’m not going into this blind.”

“Hassalac Chaar,” Lakashtai said. “The Prince of Dragons. The most powerful sorcerer in Stormreach, or so it’s said-possibly one of the mightiest in the world. He claims that the blood of dragons runs through his veins and that this is the source of his power.”

“‘Prince of Dragons?’ Don’t tell me he actually has dragons as servants.” Daine had never seen a dragon, but he had heard the legends. It was said that a single dragon could lay waste to an army.

“No,” Lakashtai said. “It is just a title, derived from his beliefs about his bloodline.”

“That’s something, I guess, and he collects old things?”

“Yes. This was my original purpose in coming to this place-to gain access to his vaults and study the relics that he has acquired, to learn if he has found anything better left unknown.”

“Like what?”

“In ancient times, Xen’drik was ruled by a race of giants. Their civilizations lasted tens of thousands of years, and in that time they learned much of magic. They developed mystical weapons and tools far beyond the capabilities of the wizards of Khorvaire.”

“You’re worried that he’s found some sort of weapon built by these giants?”

“No,” said Lakashtai.

There was an angry roar coming from behind them. Glancing over his shoulder, Daine saw a massive, filthy woman-at least ten feet tall and heavily muscled-howling at the dwarves. The miners scattered, leaving the giantess alone with the nervous lizard-meat vendor.

“So that’s a giant?” Daine said. “She doesn’t look like much of an archmage to me.”

Lakashtai shook her head. “The fall of giant civilization began with an attack from the outer planes-from Dal Quor, the region of dreams. Mystical portals brought a host of quori spirits to this world. It was an army of nightmares, fear given form.”

“The work of your il-lushtavar?”

“Il-Lashtavar, and no, it was not. The plane of Dal Quor goes through cycles, ages in which the very nature of reality is reshaped and redefined. The Dreaming Dark is the spirit of this age, but we can only imagine what came before. This is why I have come-in the hopes that among his treasures, Hassalac has recovered tools of these ancient quori, something that will tell us more about their society.”

“How does this help me?”

“The giants fought the forces of Dal Quor and in time defeated them. The giants developed some sort of terrible weapon that altered the orbits of the planes themselves. Once a skilled wizard could travel into Dal Quor or summon its spirits to do his bidding. The giants shattered the bonds that bind Dal Quor to Eberron, and today it can only be reached in dreams.”

“Where’s that leave Tashana?” Daine said. “She seemed like a little more than a dream in that fight on the docks.”

“She is a vessel for a spirit of Dal Quor, and this fiend grants her terrible power. It would be far worse if it could manifest physically; as it is, the quori must act through mortal hosts.”

“I hate to ask again, but how does any of this help me?”

“The giants fought a war against nightmares, and they won. Their ultimate victory was due to the weapon that shattered the bonds of worlds, but they undoubtedly used lesser tools in the battle-and if they could defend against quori attacks, they might be able to drive the spirit from your mind. It’s possible Hassalac already has such a tool; if not, it is my hope that he has a map.”

“Because …?”

“I do hate to interrupt,” Gerrion said. “Actually, I kind of enjoy it, but that’s beside the point. We have arrived at our destination, my lords and ladies.”

The building before them was a dome-shaped structure built from large clay bricks. The walls were worn smooth by the passage of time, and Daine guessed that it was one of the oldest structures in Stormreach. In place of windows, large blocks of pinkish crystal were embedded in the walls. Each crystal slab was engraved with a unique symbol, and studying the symbols Daine realized the nature of the building. Glancing at the arched doorway, he saw what he had expected to find-a familiar eight-pointed cross.

“This is a temple to the Sovereign Host,” he said. “What are we going to do-pray for our gift?”

“Not at all,” Gerrion said. “You’re going to steal it.”