The Gates of Night: The Dreaming Dark - Book 3 (9 page)

Lei gave a quick salute. “Yes, Captain Daine.” She made her way into the carriage, and Daine moved to block the portal. Glancing back, she caught sight of something strange. Daine was facing away from her, watching the plains, and she saw a strange mark at the base of his neck. It was only the briefest glimpse, a flash of black and red rising up from his chainmail byrnie, the edge of a bloody bruise.

But this was no time to look into injuries. She set the mortar in front of her and sat on the floor. Searching through the pockets of her pack, she found a long match and lit the contents of the mortar, producing a stream of aromatic smoke. Lei closed her eyes and breathed in the vapors, trying to set her thoughts adrift, to release the stress of the last few days and hours. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but as moments passed she felt
that there was a
presence
surrounding her, a force that was watching, listening. Lei tried to speak, to open her eyes, but her body seemed distant and unresponsive.

What should we do?
she thought.

The answer was immediate. The thoughts seemed to fill the world—

Your answers lie in the evening twilight beyond the Gates of Night. Darkheart must taste the blood of the Huntsman. She knows the path, and she is the key
.

With those words, the presence faded, and Lei’s eyes snapped open. The last traces of the smoke were fading, drifting out the portal. She felt lightheaded, and the word
Darkheart
hung in her thoughts. But there would be time to consider this riddle in the future: Daine had given her orders, and she had to prepare for battle.

D
aine kept his eyes on the plains, searching for any sign of movement. Since they’d last heard the distant baying of the hounds, he’d seen nothing. But now it was clear that they weren’t alone … and the cries had sounded like hunting hounds to his ears. Trouble was coming, he was sure of it. Just a matter of time.

If anything, the possibility of battle was a relief. Being alone with Lei was both joy and torture. In the brief moment of Lei’s seizure, Daine had felt a terrible helplessness. He was a man with a sword, and there was little he could do when the battle was purely magical. And Lei … Daine knew that she cared for him. There were times when she relaxed her guard, when she allowed herself to let her emotions show. But then she would push him away, force distance between them. He knew what the problem was: blood. Lei was an heir of House Cannith, and she bore the magical Mark of Making. Daine was born into House Deneith, and while he did not carry the Mark of Sentinel, the blood of the house was in his veins. It was said that mingling the blood of two houses was a sure way to produce a child
with an aberrant dragonmark. Daine had never placed much stock in these stories or the tales of the malign consequences of carrying an aberrant mark—until he’d settled in Sharn. Last year he’d fought members of a guild formed by people with aberrant marks, a group that called itself House Tarkanan. Beyond the powers granted by their marks, many of these people were disturbing or disturbed. Daine could still remember the halfling girl sitting under a table talking to her rats, and the rotting flesh of the Tarkanan warrior who’d almost killed Daine with a touch.

Lei had been driven from her house, while Daine had turned his back on his family. But their blood remained, and it was one barrier Daine couldn’t break through.

A sound cut through the silence—the call of a Cyran dusksinger. It was a signal. Pierce had returned. Daine gave an answering call, signaling a clear path, and the warforged soldier emerged from the shadows of a massive tor. As Pierce approached, Daine saw that Xu’sasar was with him, the dark elf almost invisible in the night.

“Report,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“We encountered two hostile beasts,” Pierce said. Speaking quickly and concisely, he described the encounter with the strange hounds and how the battle had come to an end. “We struck swiftly and with the advantage of surprise,” he concluded. “But the tracks I found suggest that there are other creatures out there.”

“And you,” Daine said, turning on Xu’sasar. “Was I unclear? ‘Stay here. Don’t kill anything.’”

The woman was a full foot shorter than Daine, but she stared up at him with no trace of embarrassment.
“You are not of my family. You sought information, and I have obtained it.”

“I’m listening.”

“You foolishly sought to save my life,” Xu’sasar said. “And yet you failed. This is the first of the final lands, the hunting ground, where the spirits of the worthy dead come in search of judgment.”

“What could possibly make you say that?”

“Among the Qaltiar, life is a preparation for death and that which lies beyond. I have been taught the ways of the final lands since I was first marked as a hunter. The moon has not moved since we have arrived. You can see the faces of the failed buried in the soil, and the watchful spirits burning in the sky.”

Daine glanced up. “We call those stars.”

“Then you are a fool,” Xu’sasar said. “Have you ever seen stars of such size and such color, shining so bright in the light of the moon?”

Daine frowned. She had a point. The moon was full and brilliant; the light should have made the stars seem faint. But each star in the sky was a blazing brand, brighter than any he’d seen on Eberron.

“Go on,” he said.

“Can you not feel the energy that surrounds us?” Xu’sasar raised her hand, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “Can you not sense the truth of this place? We have seen the hounds of blood. This is the hunting ground. Here we must prove our worth in battle, earn our passage or spend an eternity to contemplate our failure.”

Lei emerged from the sphere and stood behind Daine. “That’s preposterous,” she said. “The souls of the dead go to Dolurrh. There’s no testing. No punishment. You go to Dolurrh, and the memories of your life fade away.”

Xu’sasar seemed baffled. “Why?”

“There is no why,” Lei said. “It’s just what happens. You might as well ask why people die to begin with.”

The drow blew out her breath, which Daine took to be a dismissive gesture. “Death is only the beginning. If you do not know this, small wonder that your people go to this … place of fading. You are blessed. Surely it is your death at my side that has granted you passage to the hunting ground.”

A new sound filled the air: a distant horn, rising up against the darkness.

A hunting horn.

The bay of hounds began anew. And this time there were clearly more than two hounds. This was a full pack.

“You see?” Xu’sasar folded her arms. “The Huntsman comes. My deeds have brought you here, but only you can earn your final passage.”

Daine glanced at Lei, who rolled her eyes.

“We’re not dead,” she said. “I told you, there are portals to Thelanis across Eberron. Some of her people must have found one, stumbled through it, and come up with this story.”

“Fine,” Daine said. “Right now, I don’t care if we’re alive or dead. I just don’t want to be any deader.”

“There are fates far worse than death,” Xu’sasar said as the hunting horn sounded again, nearer still. “Worse even than your feeble death-of-fading. Fight fiercely and well.”

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with!” Lei said. “We don’t know if this is your ‘huntsman.’ We don’t know if he means us any harm.”

“You
may not,” Xu’sasar said. “I do. And the time for talking is at an end.” She turned and walked around
the sphere, and as she slipped away, the shadows seemed to rise up and engulf her.

Daine grabbed Lei’s shoulder before she could charge after the dark elf. “Enough,” he said. “You’re right. We don’t know the situation, and I don’t want to be the first to strike. Pierce, I want you in high cover.”

Pierce glanced up at the crater sunk into the shell of the crystal sphere. Daine nodded, and the warforged slung his bow and scaled the edge of the carriage, crouching in the gaping wound.

Daine turned to Lei. “Did you make the blinder?”

Lei took her left hand off the shaft of her staff, revealing the golden glyph painted on the palm of her glove.

“Good. We’re strangers here, and whatever Princess Xu may think, we’re not going to attack unless they make the first move. But if we are beset by a pack of ravenous hounds—”

“Agreed,” Lei said.

“Otherwise, best to keep it simple, I think.” He drew his sword and dagger. “Back against the wall. If either of you are seriously injured, get inside the sphere. Lei, can you still close the portal?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Than that’s our redoubt. Be ready to fall back if needed. That goes for you too, Xu!” he called. The drow woman was nowhere to be seen.

“I told you not to—” said Lei.

“You’re just jealous because she knows more about the afterlife than you do,” Daine said.

“We’re not dead!”

“And let’s keep it that way.” The baying of the hounds drew ever closer. “Stand ready.”

The pack came into view.

Seven hounds loped forward in a perfect wedge formation. They moved in eerie unison, every motion precisely aligned. Despite their apparent bulk, each dog moved with a fluid grace. Remembering Pierce’s tale, Daine wondered if the beasts were made of flesh at all, or if they were simply pure blood bound in canine form.

A single rider emerged from the cover of the tor, close on the heels of his hounds. Tall and lean, the man rode a sleek black stallion, whose coat shimmered in the moonlight. The hunter carried a short spear in his right hand, and on his left arm … Daine had to glance up to be certain his eyes weren’t deceiving him, for he first thought the man had pulled the moon from the sky and was using it as a shield. The moon still shone above, but the disk on the Huntsman’s arm was a perfect mirror of it, golden and glowing.

The shield seemed to draw all light away from the rider himself; even as he drew closer, all Daine could see was a silhouette, occasionally sparkling with a flash of silver or gold. “Pierce,” he called. “If there’s trouble, I want the horse down first.”

“Understood.”

The rider passed the last tor, and now Daine could see that the Huntsman wore a flowing black cloak studded with gleaming stars. A coat of mail covered his chest, dark steel glittering in the light from his shield. A deep hood hid his face.

Even as Daine braced for an attack, he saw that it wasn’t coming. The rider gave no signal, but horse and hounds slowed their advance. The dogs spread out in a crescent, three to each side, coming to a halt dozens of feet from the sphere. The seventh hound, the largest, strode proudly along beside the dark horseman.

The Huntsman stopped a half-dozen paces away from Daine, lowering his spear. The rider wore a mask sculpted from stone, depicting the face of a man with a well-trimmed beard. His lip was curled in a sneer, his frozen features suggesting arrogance and cruelty, but a streak of luminescent lichen traced down from one eye, forming a single tear.

“I have come for the Lady Darkheart,” the Huntsman said. His mouth was hidden behind his stone mask, but his voice was rolling thunder echoing across the plains. “Surrender her, and I shall make this hunt a sporting one.”

D
arkheart?

Lei’s thoughts were racing. When her uncle Jura was driven from House Cannith, he took the name Darkhart, and called his home Darkhart Woods. Was his wife this Lady Darkheart? If so …
Darkheart must taste the Huntsman’s blood
.

“Generous of you,” Daine said. “But you’ll find no hunt here. And I don’t know any Lady Dark Heart, unless you mean the drow girl who’s lurking in the shadows and thinking of ways to kill you.”

The stranger laughed behind his sneering mask. His glowing shield should have illuminated his face, but instead it seemed to draw the light away from him. “You do not know the one who stands beside you? Come, my lady. Your betrothed awaits.”

He was talking to Lei.

Betrothed? Does he mean Hadrian?
A year ago, Lei had been promised to Lord Hadrian d’Cannith, a wealthy artificer of Sharn. He’d been killed before Lei had even reached Sharn … they’d been led to believe Tashana was responsible, but now everything seemed to be in doubt. Could there be some
mad truth to Xu’sasar’s tales? Could this be the land of the dead?