CHAPTER 2
Daine rolled across the bed, snatching his breeches as he hit the worn mattress. He came up with his back to the wall and quickly covered himself.
The woman was standing in the far corner of the room, half-hidden in the dim light of the evening. She was wrapped in a dark cloak that clung to her slender frame like a shadow, and a deep hood concealed her face. Daine couldn’t see any weapons, but in a world of wizards and sorcerers an unarmed man could be the deadliest enemy of all, and Daine crouched, preparing to leap for his sword.
Before he could move, the woman spoke again. Her words were soft but clear; though she was across the room, it seemed as though she was whispering into his ear.
“I have no intention of harming you, Daine. You wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t sought my help.” Slowly, she freed her hands from her cloak and pulled back her hood. A flood of inky black surrounded perfect features that could have been sculpted from marble, but it was the eyes that he remembered: slightly too large, with just a hint of an elven slant. Her irises were emerald pools that a man could get lost in, and they seemed to draw all the light in the room. “I do hope you remember.”
If she was disturbed by Daine’s state of undress, she didn’t show it. Perhaps that was what pushed him over the edge. Tearing his eyes away from her, Daine walked over to the door and pulled his sword from its sheath, continuing to shield himself with his breeches.
“Lakashtai. I owe you. I’m not one to forget a debt, but let’s get something straight. If you want to talk to me, you can knock on the front door like everyone else. You can wait in the common room, but I’ve had it with surprises. If you’ve got something to say, I want it now. No riddles or mysteries.”
The hint of a smile played about her lips. “My apologies, Daine. I know that it was rude to invade your privacy in this way, but I assumed that this situation called for discretion.”
“I’m still not hearing an explanation.”
For all his frustration, Daine found it hard to hold onto his anger. Lakashtai’s voice was rough music, with a slight accent that was impossible to place; though he’d only seen her once before, Daine felt as if he’d heard that voice as a child. He felt like a fool for raising a weapon against an unarmed woman-worse yet, one who had saved his life.
“You’ve been having visions, haven’t you?”
Daine paused in the midst of returning his sword to its sheath. “What do you know about that?”
“They pose a threat, and I intend to deal with it.”
“I don’t remember asking for help this time.”
“Did I say you had a choice?” Lakashtai’s eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.
“It’s my mind.”
He wasn’t sure why he was arguing. The visions had nearly gotten him killed, and they seemed to be getting worse. He found he had a morbid desire to know more about that night-and a strange reluctance to let the kalashtar woman touch his thoughts.
“For now. That could change.”
“I haven’t seen a crazy changeling in my dreams lately.”
Daine turned away for a moment, just long enough to pull on his breeches, but even as he tightened the drawstring he felt a hand on his shoulder, warm breath against his neck. All his training demanded that he react, spin around, push her away, but he found that he simply couldn’t move. Her scent was intoxicating, filled with strange spices and hints of unknown lands. Now she was whispering directly into his ear-or were her words entirely in his mind?
“I am sorry, Daine, but it’s time to sleep.”
And he did.
Daine looked down from the barricade, staring into the Keldan valley. The light of the burning skyship cast long shadows across the bodies of humans and warforged. From the safety of the ridge they looked like broken toys, scattered across the floor by an angry child. There was no sign of enemy activity-no reason to wait. It was time to launch the attack.
Only-something was wrong. It was too quiet. Where were the sounds of his soldiers sharpening blades, praying to the Sovereigns, and going through the dozens of other preparations for battle? He looked back toward the camp, and the answer became clear.
He was alone.
When he’d last seen it, there had been three dozen soldiers clustered around the salvaged tents. Now the campsite was empty, and the only movement was the rustling of torn cloth in time with the faint night wind. Daine slowly drew his sword, only to discover another unpleasant surprise. Instead of Deneith steel, the blade was now formed from glass; one solid blow and it would shatter into a dozen fragments.
As he stared at the fragile blade, memories slowly began to slip into place. The Mourning. Sharn. His uninvited guest.
“Lakashtai!” Daine looked up at the night sky. “What is this? What do you want with me?”
This is not my doing.
The voice was right behind him. Daine whirled toward the sound, blade raised. The glass sword might shatter against steel, but it could still pierce soft flesh.
No one was there.
I did not bring you here, Daine. Your thoughts are under siege, and this is the moment your enemies seek.
“What enemies?”
The answer lies here, hidden in your dreams. Search the battlefield, and you will find your foe.
Daine scowled. “You break into my home, drag me into my dreams, and now you’re telling me what to do. What happens if I don’t go along with your plan? What if I just stay here?”
Feel free. Stay here as long as you like, because you aren’t going to wake up until I let you.
“I see. Fine. I’ll play your little game, but I should warn you-after all this is done, you’d best be gone when I wake up.”
There is more to this than you know, Daine. Far more than your mind is at risk. I cannot be bound by your pride.
Daine moved through the empty camp, prodding at blankets and bundles of arrows with his glass sword. He studied the pallet where Jode had set up the infirmary, and he could still see spots of his own blood staining the moldy cloth. For a moment, he thought he saw the halfling out of the corner of his eye-but the phantom vanished when he turned, if it had ever existed.
“There’s nothing here,” he said to himself as much as to Lakashtai.
This is your refuge. It is not the site of the battle.
“You could have told me that before.”
This is your battle, not mine. I can only observe.
Cursing meddling kalashtar, Daine walked to the barricade wall and hoisted himself over it. Instinct kept him close to the shadows; perhaps there was something to this hidden enemy after all.
The battlefield was eerily familiar, every detail exactly as he remembered it. He stepped over the bodies of fallen soldiers and shattered warforged, looking for any signs of life, but the field was just as cold as the campsite and far too silent. Even the flames made no sound. As he approached the burning wreckage of the airship, there was no crackle of flame, no aura of heat. If anything, he felt a slight chill, a shivering cold that seemed to pass through leather and cloth. Then he saw it: a dark blot stretched beyond the ruined vessel. From a distance, it had seemed to be the shadow of the shattered ship, but as he moved closer, he could see that it was nothing so natural. It looked like a pit of glittering tar, but he could see that the surface was in constant motion-not bubbling, but shifting, tiny tendrils rising up and collapsing back into the darkness. He moved slowly toward the pool. With every step, the chill increased.
“You’ve come too late.” The voice was distant, as though cast onto the wind. It was female, low, and despite the distortion he could hear the predatory satisfaction. “We have claimed this place, and this is only the beginning.”