Keith Baker - The Shattered Land

Daine put himself on guard, and only then did he realize- My sword! He’d reclaimed his dagger from Shen’kar, but he’d left his grandfather’s sword behind. Elves! He cursed.

“Daine! Stop! They aren’t going to hurt us!” Gerrion jumped between Daine and the soldier, speaking rapidly in Elvish. The soldiers lowered their weapons, and the captain with the flaming spear spoke with Gerrion.

They recognize Gerrion . Lakashtai’s thoughts drifted into Daine’s mind. He says that he has brought us to see the high priest, a man named Holuar. The warrior seems suspicious-something to do with thin blood-but he is going to show us the way .

So … not all of these dark elves are vicious scorpion killers?

It would appear that way .

“My apologies,” Gerrion said, turning back to them. “I should have made that more clear. These are my father’s people-the Sulatar. Comparing them to the savages we met earlier … oh, it’s like comparing Cyrans to barbarians from the Demon Wastes. Trust me, you’ll get that bed and meal.”

One of the elves wasn’t wearing armor-a scout, Daine supposed. The captain spoke to her and she raced off into the darkness, most likely to deliver word of their arrival. The other soldiers spread out around them, spears and bronze swords at the ready. Their faces were grim, and Daine found his hand back on the hilt of his dagger.

“They don’t seem that happy to see us.”

“It’s not you. I told you-the jungle isn’t safe at night. We’re just lucky we didn’t stumble into any cesspits or briarghosts on our way here.”

Indeed, the elves turned their attention outward, and the captain led the way with his flaming spear. They continued on in silence. The smell of wood-smoke grew stronger with each passing minute, then they came to the edge of the jungle and saw the city.

It was a castle sculpted from glowing volcanic glass. The orange glow Daine had seen in the sky was coming from the walls themselves, and Daine could feel heat radiating out from the city, but the glowing walls were only one of the strange features of the castle. It was enormous; the gates were at least thirty feet high, and the walls might have been fifty feet in height.

And it was a ruin.

The towers that rose above the walls were shattered and broken, and the walls themselves were cracked and uneven. Set against the vast walls, the dark shapes of the elves seemed like insects crawling around a broken toy.

A troop of elves was waiting for them as they approached the gates. A dozen soldiers in bronze armor stood in a semi-circle, arranged around a man and a woman. The man wore a black robe and what appeared to be a prayer shawl inscribed with letters of flame. There was an obsidian crown with three tall spikes on his head, and Daine guessed that this was the priest Holuar. The woman next to him was a warrior. She was holding a double-bladed sword-a shaft of wood with a long blade on either end, much like the double scimitars of the Valenar elves. However, these blades were straight-and wreathed in flame. Her armor was quite different from her comrades. She wore chainmail made with lines finer than Daine had ever seen, but the metal was glowing cherry-red with heat. It should have seared her alive, burning flesh and bone-but it didn’t seem to harm her in any way. Her helmet was sculpted to resemble a bonfire, and her pale eyes were surrounded by tattooed flames. She met Daine’s gaze and showed her teeth in what might have been a smile-but probably wasn’t.

The priest and the warrior exchanged a few words with Gerrion; Lakashtai immediately began to translate.

The man with the crown is Holuar. The woman is their war leader, Zulaje .

War leader. Well, good to know they’re peaceful hunter-gatherers .

The woman pointed the blade of her sword at Gerrion, but the priest spoke sharply and she stepped back, scowling. Gerrion raised his hands in a placating manner.

Holuar welcomes Gerrion, but Zulaje is suspicious of him. She believes he is wasting time again .

Again?

Daine could feel Lakashtai’s frustration. Let me try to forge a stronger link between us-to allow you to draw on my knowledge of the language .

There was a sharp, twisting pain in Daine’s head, and he almost cried out. For a moment all sensation was blocked out by the pain. Then the sing-song voices of the elves returned-but he realized that he understood the words of the song, the meaning of pitch and inflection.

“… Foolish prophecy?” said the woman, Zulaje. “We should be eradicating the oathbreakers, not wasting our time on legends.”

“You know nothing but the sword.” Holuar was old; his face was not wrinkled, but it was gaunt and drawn, and his voice was rough. “This is where our destiny lies. This is the vow that gives our lives meaning. You are certain?”

“I swear it on my father’s blood.” Gerrion was more serious than Daine had ever seen him. All traces of the laughing rogue had vanished. “The child of war, the voice from the past. There can be no doubt.”

“Then let us put them to the test.” The old priest glanced at Daine, and waved his hand to the guards. “Take them.”

Do you remember your first kill?” Her voice was a whisper, drifting over the calls of waking birds.

Dawn was rising over the jungle. The vegetation around them was painted in orange and red, the fiery colors of autumn. Pierce and Indigo slipped through the underbrush, and Pierce was impressed by his companion’s grace and skill.

“No.” Pierce said. “I served Cyre for over two decades. Perhaps it is age, or the damage I suffered, for I was damaged often.”

“Soldiers,” Indigo said dismissively. “I remember each of my victims. When my human companions slept, I would recall those past struggles and consider what might come. I assume you have fought your companions in your mind? Your Lei, your captain?”

“He is not my captain anymore.”

“True … but you did not answer my question.” A blade flickered out of her forearm, and she cut through a wall of vines with a quick slash. When Pierce said nothing, she continued. “There is no shame in it. It is what you are: a weapon, made to kill. An ally today may prove a threat tomorrow.” She did not turn her head, but he could feel her gaze. “Surely we have battled in your thoughts?”

“Many times.”

“What was the outcome?”

“Satisfactory. You are a dangerous opponent, but I can match you.”

She did glance at him then. He studied her ghulra, the twisting sigil carved into her forehead, fixing it in his memory. “You know less of me than you think. Perhaps we shall put your projections to the test, once this business is concluded.”

“What is this business? A door embedded into the earth. What could bring you all the way to Xen’drik?”

“Harmattan will tell you, when he feels you can be trusted.”

There was a rustle in a nearby tree, and both warforged turned. Pierce had an arrow drawn and ready, but Indigo had already loosed a bolt from her shortbow. A shape fell to the ground-a small monkey with orange and gray fur, which had been hidden amid the bright foliage.

“Was that necessary?” Even as he turned, Pierce had a sense of the size of the creature from the sound and motion in the brush. The monkey hardly seemed a threat.

“You have been long away from battle, or you never fought the war as I did.” Walking over to the corpse, she put her foot on its chest and pulled the bloody arrow out of its skull. “Wizard’s familiar, shapechanged foe-we cannot take any chances.”

It was true-Pierce had fought the Valenar at Felmar Valley, and the elves had often used ravens and other birds as spies. Perhaps his instincts had grown dull, living in High Walls. Still, there was something about the twisted body, broken on the ground-something felt wrong. He pushed the thought away. “And you? Do you know all the answers, or do you just do what Harmattan tells you?”