Don Bassingthwaite - The Binding Stone

“Twelve moons-” he breathed in confusion.

His voice froze as a weird fluting call pierced the forest. It was unlike anything he had ever heard: shrill, maddening, and haunting all at once. There was another sound underneath it as well, a vague muttering chant. Singe’s teeth snapped together and he sprinted hard after Adolan, the light from his rapier bouncing and sweeping in the darkness.

The fluting call fell silent, but not the muttering chant. If anything, it seemed louder. Even another of the rolling bellows-louder than before and also closer-did nothing but drown it out for a moment. When the echoes of the bellow faded away, the chanting was closer still. Singe cursed under his breath. He glanced at Dandra, but the kalashtar’s eyes were fixed on the path ahead. “Adolan,” he gasped, “what’s happening? Where are we going?”

“We’re going to the Bull Hole,” Adolan said. Even he sounded winded. “We’ll be safe there.”

“What’s the Bull Hole? What’s making that chanting?”

There was light ahead. Moonlight. Singe caught a glimpse of Geth’s hulking form waiting for them. Abruptly, they shot out of the shadows of the forest and into a huge broad clearing. At its center was a jumble of stones.

He remembered seeing this clearing from the rim of the valley as he and Toller looked down on Bull Hollow. He remembered thinking the stones were the ruins of some building. He couldn’t, he realized, have been more wrong.

The stones looked like they predated the hamlet, like they predated any human presence in the Eldeen Reaches. Weathered smooth, they shone and shimmered under the light of the moons and the Ring of Siberys. Many leaned sharply and a good number had fallen entirely, but it was easy to see that they had once stood in a carefully arranged, tightly clustered circle. Yet another bellow rolled through the night and this time Singe felt it rumble in his guts. He could have sworn that even the ground trembled with the sound.

Geth fell in with them, matching his pace to Adolan’s. The shifter’s face was grim and every few moments he glanced back over his shoulder. They were a little more than halfway to the stones when he let out a growl and spat, “Here they come!”

Singe risked a glance back himself. Bursting silently from the edge of the forest and into the moonlit clearing were a dozen or more tall, lean Bonetree hunters. More frightening than the human figures, though, were the hunched shapes that ran along with them, scuttling out of the trees on squat, misshapen legs.

The creatures stood less than half the height of a human. It looked as if their heads and necks had been crushed down into their shoulders. Each pumped four bandy arms as it ran. It seemed as if every arm carried a weapon: Singe glimpsed viciously spiked bucklers, light spears, ugly maces, and crossbows. All of the creatures wore a strange crest on their malformed chests as well. The moonlight caught a weird design shaped like a mouth full of teeth.

Then one of the crests shifted, opened wide, and let out a wild yell. Two mouths, Singe realized. The creatures had two mouths to go with their four arms! They were the source of the muttering chant, as if their two mouths had been talking to each other in a horrible chorus as they stalked the darkened forest.

“Faster!” grunted Adolan. “Get to the stones!”

None of them needed his encouragement. Geth ran with the flowing stride of an animal, almost going down on four legs. Adolan opened up his pace. Dandra’s floating form skimmed over the ground like a low-flying bird. Singe simply moved his legs as hard and fast as he could. A new roar rose up from their pursuers, humans and creatures calling out together.

Twenty paces to the stones. Fifteen. Dandra vanished among the stones.

Something whizzed past Singe and sank into the ground ahead. He caught a glimpse of a crossbow bolt, its head buried in the soil, as he raced past. Ten paces. Geth was under cover, then Adolan. He was alone in the open! Three more thuds came in rapid succession all around him. Three more bolts sprouted out of the ground. The archers were finding their range. Five paces.

Singe leaped and rolled into the shelter of the stones just as a cascade of bolts fell out of the air like deadly hail.

Dandra felt Singe slam into her as he dove for cover behind the same fallen stone as her. She heard the rattle of crossbow bolts as they bounced off the stones. Adolan and Geth were somewhere close by, also under cover. She was aware of everything, but only peripherally, like a sound half-heard or a shadow half-glimpsed.

Tetkashtai’s wailing filled her head. They’ve caught us! Light of il-Yannah, we’re captured. I won’t go back there. I won’t!

The strength of her presence raged inside Dandra, clenching at her guts like the hands of a drowning swimmer. Tetkashtai’s terror was contagious and so powerful that it was almost physical. She gasped for breath.

Tetkashtai! she shouted back in her mind. Tetkashtai! Calm down! We have to-

The presence lashed out at her, a vicious swipe of light that burned through Dandra’s mind. This is your fault! If you’d been faster, if you’d fled this place when I told you to, we’d be safe. This is your fault, you dahr!

An image formed in Tetkashtai’s light. Eyes. Wise, piercing eyes, full of secrets. Terrible, devouring secrets. In the presence’s yellow-green light, the color of those eyes was distorted, but Dandra could picture them as well as Tetkashtai. They were bright, acid green. Like those of the black heron that Breek had brought down. When Adolan’s eagle had first brought down the strange bird, the sight of those unnaturally bright eyes had stirred emotions in her. Fascination. Fear. Horror.

Tetkashtai’s wails struck a fever pitch. She clawed at Dandra’s mind as if she could rake the image and the memories away. No! No! No!

Dandra’s head slammed back against the rock as her body stiffened. Bright sparks of pain popped in her vision. Tetkashtai, be quiet! she shouted, thrusting back against the terrified presence. Keening incoherently, Tetkashtai withdrew into the crystal, leaving Dandra gasping and clutching her temples.

“Twelve moons!” cursed Singe. He hauled himself up beside her, leaning his back against the stone and gulping air. He glanced at her, his face blotched red and white from their flight. “Dandra, are you all right?”

She nodded weakly. His hand scrambled for his rapier. The light that the blade shed seemed cold and feeble, as if the shadows of the stones were sucking it up.

“Rest,” said Adolan. The druid was crouched behind a leaning stone to their left.

“Are you insane?” Singe’s voice broke. “As soon as they’re finished-”

The rain of crossbow bolts stopped. Singe tensed. “Here they come!”

“No,” said Adolan.

Singe stared at the druid with astonished disbelief, but a moment later-when no attack had come-he stood up and peered over the top of the stone. Dandra heard breath hiss between his teeth. On their right, Geth moved as well. The metal of the strange armored sleeve that he wore scraped against rock as he moved, bending his neck to look out into the clearing. “They’ve stopped, Adolan,” he reported.

“Twelve moons,” Singe whispered. “What are those things?”

“Dolgrims,” Adolan answered. There was a raw tension in the druid’s voice. He was crouched behind a leaning stone to their left. “Aberrations, a blight on Eberron.”

Dandra saw Singe’s throat work as he swallowed hard. “Those are dolgrims?” he asked. “I’ve read about them. They’re … not what I expected.”

Dandra forced her limbs to move. Slowly and carefully, she leaned over and peered past the side of the stone. Perhaps halfway between the stones and the edge of the clearing, the dolgrims milled about in confusion. Moans and growls of frustration sputtered out of their double mouths. A few tried to move closer to the stones. They looked almost like they were attempting to walk into a strong wind. Behind them, the Bonetree hunters squatted down on the ground with an unsettling patience.