Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three by James Wyatt Page B
Authors: James Wyatt
Ads: Link
smile. “Does that mean you’re not going to lock me up, then?”
“I wouldn’t dare try. I saw what you did to Malathar.”
* * * * *
Cart had never feared a city street at night. He understood that fear—he’d known other soldiers who never made it back to camp after revels that went too late in the wrong parts of town. A drunk soldier was unable to defend himself and made a tempting target.
But a warforged was never drunk. A warforged soldier during the war was the army’s property and didn’t go into town for rest and recreation. And even a lone warforged was a daunting opponent, sure to be a tough fight for a group of thugs, and rarely in possession of enough coin to make the risk worthwhile. The worst he’d had to face in the past had been taunts, the derision of people who thought of warforged as inferior beings. Sometimes they threw garbage at him with their insults, but he just walked on in silence.
Havrakhad, it turned out, wasn’t concerned about thugs, either. He carried himself through the dark streets like a proud warrior, though he heldno weapon. Still, there was fear in his voice, fear that took root in Cart’s mind as well.
“The turning of the age draws near,” Havrakhad said. His eyes scanned the sides of the street. “The dreams of your people grow dark indeed.”
Cart shrugged. “I don’t sleep,” he said. Ashara’s tight grasp on his arm, though, suggested that the kalashtar’s words resonated with her.
“But you have felt the tumult of fear when those around you dream in darkness,” Havrakhad said.
Cart remembered long nights during the construction of the Dragon Forge, and he nodded.
“Are you saying there’s some kind of epidemic of nightmares?” Ashara asked.
“You do well to compare it to a disease,” Havrakhad said. “It’s a symp-tom—a sign, a harbinger of the evil that is coming.”
“What do you see in your dreams?” Cart asked him.
“My people, like yours, do not dream, though we sleep. We are exiles from the Region of Dreams, for the masters of that place are our enemies.”
“Who are they?”
“The quori. Ensconced in human vessels, they rule Riedra. But in their true form, as creatures of nightmare, they are the lords of Dal Quor. My people are kin to them, but we have chosen to fight against their tyranny and guide the world into the next age of light.”
“Are they responsible for what happened to Gaven?” Cart asked. “These nightmare lords?”
“No—at least not directly. There was a fragment of an evil presence in the dragonshard that bound him. But without question the quori were aware of it and drew sustenance from it. Just as they are feeding now on all the nightmares in this place.”
Something in the way the kalashtar’s eyes ranged over the city around them, just above the streets, set Cart on edge. The fear that had gnawed at his mind seized him in a surge of panic, and he felt suddenly beset by enemies on all sides—foes he couldn’t see. He drew the axe from his belt, just to feel the comforting weight of it in his hand. Havrakhad chuckled.
“You sense it, though you can’t possibly understand it,” he said, resting a hand on Cart’s shoulder.
Then Cart saw what Havrakhad’s eyes had seen. The buildings that lined the streets rose from solid foundations but faded into smoke and mist as they approached a nightmare sky. The stars were gone, along with the Ring of Siberys that stretched between them, and in their place wasa roiling storm of angry red and violet clouds. Blue and green lightning streaked in silence across the sky, shedding lurid flashes of light on scenes of nightmare.
Mobs of people screamed and ran through the haze, falling beneath the swinging clubs and cleaving swords of onrushing barbarians. Shadowy buildings erupted in flames, adding pale firelight to the underbellies of the clouds. Close by, an unspeakable horror crouched over a trembling human form, clutching one arm in an
“I wouldn’t dare try. I saw what you did to Malathar.”
* * * * *
Cart had never feared a city street at night. He understood that fear—he’d known other soldiers who never made it back to camp after revels that went too late in the wrong parts of town. A drunk soldier was unable to defend himself and made a tempting target.
But a warforged was never drunk. A warforged soldier during the war was the army’s property and didn’t go into town for rest and recreation. And even a lone warforged was a daunting opponent, sure to be a tough fight for a group of thugs, and rarely in possession of enough coin to make the risk worthwhile. The worst he’d had to face in the past had been taunts, the derision of people who thought of warforged as inferior beings. Sometimes they threw garbage at him with their insults, but he just walked on in silence.
Havrakhad, it turned out, wasn’t concerned about thugs, either. He carried himself through the dark streets like a proud warrior, though he heldno weapon. Still, there was fear in his voice, fear that took root in Cart’s mind as well.
“The turning of the age draws near,” Havrakhad said. His eyes scanned the sides of the street. “The dreams of your people grow dark indeed.”
Cart shrugged. “I don’t sleep,” he said. Ashara’s tight grasp on his arm, though, suggested that the kalashtar’s words resonated with her.
“But you have felt the tumult of fear when those around you dream in darkness,” Havrakhad said.
Cart remembered long nights during the construction of the Dragon Forge, and he nodded.
“Are you saying there’s some kind of epidemic of nightmares?” Ashara asked.
“You do well to compare it to a disease,” Havrakhad said. “It’s a symp-tom—a sign, a harbinger of the evil that is coming.”
“What do you see in your dreams?” Cart asked him.
“My people, like yours, do not dream, though we sleep. We are exiles from the Region of Dreams, for the masters of that place are our enemies.”
“Who are they?”
“The quori. Ensconced in human vessels, they rule Riedra. But in their true form, as creatures of nightmare, they are the lords of Dal Quor. My people are kin to them, but we have chosen to fight against their tyranny and guide the world into the next age of light.”
“Are they responsible for what happened to Gaven?” Cart asked. “These nightmare lords?”
“No—at least not directly. There was a fragment of an evil presence in the dragonshard that bound him. But without question the quori were aware of it and drew sustenance from it. Just as they are feeding now on all the nightmares in this place.”
Something in the way the kalashtar’s eyes ranged over the city around them, just above the streets, set Cart on edge. The fear that had gnawed at his mind seized him in a surge of panic, and he felt suddenly beset by enemies on all sides—foes he couldn’t see. He drew the axe from his belt, just to feel the comforting weight of it in his hand. Havrakhad chuckled.
“You sense it, though you can’t possibly understand it,” he said, resting a hand on Cart’s shoulder.
Then Cart saw what Havrakhad’s eyes had seen. The buildings that lined the streets rose from solid foundations but faded into smoke and mist as they approached a nightmare sky. The stars were gone, along with the Ring of Siberys that stretched between them, and in their place wasa roiling storm of angry red and violet clouds. Blue and green lightning streaked in silence across the sky, shedding lurid flashes of light on scenes of nightmare.
Mobs of people screamed and ran through the haze, falling beneath the swinging clubs and cleaving swords of onrushing barbarians. Shadowy buildings erupted in flames, adding pale firelight to the underbellies of the clouds. Close by, an unspeakable horror crouched over a trembling human form, clutching one arm in an
Similar Books
