Brothers of the Wind (The Last King of Osten Ard #0.75)

by Tad Williams

Strangest and most frightening of all, though, were the dreams I had about Asu’a itself. Whether they sprang from my master’s imaginings or my own growing fears I could not tell, but they were truly terrible. I dreamed of our ancient home in flames, of dark, distorted shapes running through the halls and of blood dripping down marble stairs. I heard frightful screams and cries for help, all in the Zida’ya tongue. Over it all I saw again and again a shadow wearing the ancient birchbark crown of Asu’a’s Protectors, with branches that spread from it like the antlers of a stag. I dreamed that a ghastly horned shadow sat in the Protector’s chair, but the Sa’onsera’s chair beside it was empty, and the sky beyond the high windows was tinged with the red light of fire. Jingizu, a voice said, echoing through those Asu’a dreams, a voice that hissed like the Blackworm but that I could almost recognize. Sorrow.