Keith Baker - The Shattered Land

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.