The Shattered Land

CHAPTER 41

Gerrion had dressed for the occasion.

The threadbare rogue Daine had met in Stormreach had been replaced by a dashing dandy. His clothes were black glimmersilk embroidered with red and orange flames, and he wore tall boots of red leather. His hair had been oiled and washed, and it was like a wreath of fire around his face. Only two traces of his old identity remained: the crossbow in his right hand and the glove on his left, black leather painted with interwoven flames.

“Daine!” He said, “I hope you enjoyed your rest and your meal. I do try to keep my promises.” He studied Daine with a critical eye. “Are those burns I see? Have you been getting in fights again?”

“Bastard!” Daine yelled. He leapt forward, heedless of Gerrion’s crossbow, ready to strangle the half-elf with his last breath, if that’s what it took

He never reached the traitor. He’d forgotten about Zulaje, and even as he charged forward she swept him off his feet with a blow to the back of his legs. She could have easily severed his tendons, but she used the flat of the blade, so instead he found himself tumbling to the floor. He managed to catch himself before his face struck the floor, resting on his forearms.

“Bastard, but ours,” Zulaje sang from behind him.

Gerrion smiled down at Daine and shrugged. “I’d stay there, if I were you. From what I hear, she’s been in a bad mood.” From his vantage point on the floor, Daine saw that his adamantine dagger was tucked into the wide belt Gerrion wore around his waist.

“Why, Gerrion? Why would you do this to us?”

“You know nothing of my life,” Gerrion said, and his voice was suddenly cold and deadly. He clenched his left fist, and the painted flames danced across his knuckles. “I lived in Stormreach for twenty years, waiting for your arrival. You and your lady are the key-the key that will lead me to immortality.”

“And Lei?”

“Irrelevant. For decades I have waited for the child of war and the woman of two worlds, the man guided by voices from the past, who will open the way to our future. broken from his family, yet-”

“Oh, enough already!” Daine said. “I get it, so I’m-broken from my family? What do you know about that?”

“I did not lie to you earlier, Daine … well, not very much. I made many contacts in my decades in Stormreach, and Alina Lyrris did ask me to look out for you. She told me a great deal about you. Then you slew Sakhesh, and my hopes were confirmed.”

“So you really do work for Alina, and you’re going to cross her? You’re even stupider than you look, and that’s saying a lot.”

Gerrion rolled his eyes, rising to his feet. “You have no idea what is at stake here. The wrath of a gnome half a world away? By the time we’re finished, a whole nation of gnomes could not harm us.”

“Sounds to me like you don’t know many gnomes, but-”

A flaming blade smashed into the ground in front of Daine’s face. “Silence, worm!” Zulaje called. “The Keeper of the Burning Gate approaches. On your knees for the speaker of law!”

“Do you want me to get up on my knees?” Daine asked. “Far be it for me to be rude to the speaker of law.”

His only answer was the point of a red-hot blade, pressing into his back. He winced but didn’t cry out. “Right. Stay down. Understood.”

He could hear footsteps approaching-a troop of soldiers, by the sound. Raising his head, he looked past Gerrion. He’d been so consumed by anger, he hadn’t even noticed the chamber he was in.

It was enormous.

All surfaces were polished obsidian. The ceiling was a curved dome that rose nearly forty feet off the ground. He could see fire mirrored in the glass … but he was looking straight up, and there was no conflagration below to be reflected. It was as if the memory of fire had been trapped in the ceiling, a dim image of what had gone before. There were a few huge braziers scattered around the floor, providing more than enough light for Daine to see. A vast altar-twice the size of any he’d seen in a human church-was flanked by two basalt statues. Each of these figures was twenty feet high. They appeared to be squat, heavyset men, each holding a greatsword, but the statues had been defaced, features chiseled away. At this point they were little more than massive silhouettes, black and featureless, towering over the chamber with swords at the ready.

A column of dark elves filed into the chamber, entering from a wide hallway to the north. The old priest Holuar walked at the head of the troop, carrying a long stone staff. Two acolytes followed him; their heads were shaved, revealing rings of flame tattooed around their scalps, and each carried an incense burner on a long chain. A squad of soldiers walked behind them. In the midst of these troops, Daine saw another familiar face: Lakashtai. The kalashtar had been stripped of her cloak, and there were burns and bruises across her pale skin, but her expression was as serene as ever, and she walked with no signs of a limp or pain. She inclined her head slightly when she caught sight of Daine. It was then that he noticed the unusual collar around her neck, an assembly of bronze, leather, and obsidian.

Are you all right? Daine thought, trying to push his thoughts in her direction. He’d grown so used to telepathic conversation that he expected an immediate response, but this time, there was none. Lakashtai smiled slightly as their eyes met, but if she could hear his thoughts, she gave no sign of it.

Holuar walked to the center of the chamber. Moving slowly and solemnly, he struck the floor of the chamber with his staff, calling out in a tongue Daine did not recognize. On the third blow, fire burst up around him. A pattern of golden flames spread out across the floor, a complex seal some thirty feet across and inscribed with words in a forgotten language. The fire flowed around Daine’s feet, but the flames were cold.

“Firebinders!” Holuar called out, speaking with surprising volume for such an old man. He was talking in Elvish now, but somehow, inexplicably, Daine understood his meaning.

Lakashtai? he thought, but there was still no response.

“In ancient times, our masters gave us the power of the night and mastery of fire.”

“Fire and sword,” the drow murmured.

“In ancient times we brought fear to the foe, spilling blood with fire and sword. The rebel, the monster, the breaker of oaths-all fell before us, and our masters were pleased.”

“Fire and sword.”

“Promises they made, of the reward that was to come. When the war was over, the Burning Gate would be opened, and we would be shown the path to paradise, to the realm of our power and eternal life.”

“Fire and sword.”

“The foul dragons snatched our destiny away from us. Even as our masters prepared the path to paradise, the jealous wyrm-kings descended on this land, devastating all in their path. Our masters were laid low, all knowledge and wisdom torn from their minds, but the dragons underestimated us. They saw us only as servants, as insects, beneath their notice. They did not see the gifts we had learned from our masters.”

“Fire and sword.” Daine almost joined in on the chant himself.

“We have drawn truth from the darkness. We have learned what must be done. When the season of flame is upon us, the opener of the way will come.”

“Fire …” Daine caught himself. No one else was speaking, but they were all looking at him.

Holuar continued. “The cycle of flame has come and gone, more than six thousand times, and still we wait. No more. The blood of fire and blood of water brought our emissary into the world.”

Gerrion stepped forward.

“You were sent to the place of storms, to watch for the child of war, led by the voice of the past. Have you fulfilled your duty?”

“Yes, speaker.”

A murmur ran through the soldiers. Holuar struck his staff on the ground.

“Silence!” He pointed the staff at Gerrion. “You have failed us before, child. Do you have assurances?”

“I do, lord speaker.” Gerrion turned to face Daine. “This one was born into a house of warriors, but he split from his house and lost his nation. The child of war, broken from his family, a man without a home. He is led by a voice from the past-a voice that speaks directly in his mind. He is accompanied by a woman of two worlds, who holds the key to that voice. She has been holding it at bay, and surely she can unleash it.”

The murmuring rose again, and Holuar silenced it once more. “Continue.”

“He brought down the priest of dragons, a mighty wielder of flame, and the water rose up to greet him.” He paused here, as if trying to find the words. “A woman of water, speaking in the common tongue!”

Holuar glanced over toward Daine. “You have something to say, Zulaje?”

“Nothing I have not said before, Lord Holuar. I fear that this gray worm wastes our time, as he has done so often before. I fear that this legend holds us from our true destiny. How many generations have we stood at the threshold of the Burning Gate, when we could be spreading our fire across the jungles?”

“Beware, Zulaje,” Holuar hissed. “Do you speak of abandoning our vows? Perhaps you wish to join the savages of the Broken Oath, since you have no respect for our way.”

Zulaje walked forward. “I have more respect than you know, old one. I respect the power we have gained from our devotion.” She spun her double sword, creating a dazzling wheel of fire. “I respect the fury of the flame-it is you who seeks to cage that fury, and even some among your own order grow weary of it. Let us return to the ways of fire and sword. Let those we fought so long ago fear us once again.”

“ENOUGH!” Holuar roared. He slammed his staff into the ground, and the cold fire flared up. “Six thousand cycles we have waited. Six thousand! And I tell you, Zulaje, the season has finally come. I have heard it in the crackling voice of the flame, as I have lain in trance. The time has come, war leader. The opener of the way walks this land. Even I have doubted in the past, but not today. This is the season that the Burning Gate will open.”

Zulaje stilled her blade and inclined her head. “Then let us test our child of war, Lord Holuar.”

He nodded. “Let the two be joined, and lead them to the labyrinth.”

Zulaje spun, and the tip of her flaming sword stopped an inch from Daine’s face. “Stand,” she said in the Common tongue. “Unnecessary movement brings pain.”

As he stood, the guards escorted Lakashtai over to him. Her hands were not bound, and she reached out and let two fingers trail across the back of his hand-a slight gesture, but he could feel the warmth in it; for her, he knew, it was the equivalent of an embrace. He took the hand and squeezed it, and she smiled slightly. The guards surrounding them lowered their spears, and marched them out of the room.

“Are you well?” Lakashtai said quietly. “You seem to have lost your eyebrows.”

Daine tried to look up, but he couldn’t see. “I had an accident with fire, but I’m all right. Should we be talking out loud?”

“We have no choice, I’m afraid. This collar-should I use my mental abilities, it will unleash a burst of flame that will burn through my neck, or so the man who put it on me said, and I know that he believed it.”

“I didn’t get one of those. I feel so unimportant.”

“More likely, they need you alive,” Lakashtai said. “They may have concluded that you’d do something rash and kill yourself quickly, if you were equipped with such a device.”

“That does sound like me,” Daine admitted, considering his aborted escape attempt. “What do we do now?”

“We wait, and we see what this test is. Perhaps you are this chosen one they seek. I have heard far stranger tales.”

“Really? I’ve got two crowns in my purse that say otherwise.”

She smiled again. “Then I hope we’ll have time to put my claim to the test, but now, it seems we have arrived at our destination.”

The hall was a vast obsidian corridor, with no decorations or furnishings; it stretched forward into darkness, stretching on for hundreds of feet. A series of catwalks crisscrossed overhead, and Daine could see drow soldiers watching from above, crossbows at the ready. The ceiling stretched a short distance above the catwalks. Huge chunks of it were missing, revealing a view of a cloudy sky.

“Maybe it’ll rain,” Daine said to Lakashtai.

There was a line carved into the floor, and the guards prodded and pushed until Daine and Lakashtai crossed over it.

“Child of war!” Holuar called. “It is your destiny to open the Burning Gate, to unlock the path to the world beyond, but the way is blocked by hidden peril.” He produced a small bronze orb from the sleeve of his robe and flung it forward. The sphere fell to the floor, rolled fifteen feet, and suddenly dissolved into a pool of molten, bubbling metal. “The deadly walls cannot be seen and shift with every passing moment. Only the voice that speaks within you can guide you safely through, so listen, and walk, and find the way to victory.”

Daine turned around. “Invisible walls of death?”

Holuar spoke in the unknown tongue, and a wall of fire sprang up along the line carved in the ground, separating Daine and Lakashtai from the drow. The flames rose up to meet the catwalks and completely split the hallway. As Daine watched, it began to expand, creeping toward them inch by inch.

“Ah.” Daine said. He glanced at Lakashtai. “Any ideas?”