Don Bassingthwaite - The Binding Stone

Singe shot him sharp glance. “Deal,” he said.

Geth looked at the two orcs and Natrac. “Ready?” They nodded. Geth looked to Singe. “Do it,” he said. Singe drew a breath and spread his hand, calling the words of a spell to mind …

But before he could cast the spell, a ripple and a murmur spread through their enemies. The mass of bodies surrounding them was pulling back, a path opening through the ranks. A path that led directly toward the mound-and Dah’mir and Medala.

The pair was still on their platform, though they looked distinctly less calm than Singe had ever seen them. Dah’mir sat stiffly in his chair as yet another bolt of lightning flashed overhead. Medala crouched on her seat, flinching like the dog at the thunder. When she caught sight of Singe along the open path though, her hand snapped out to point at him. “You defy Dah’mir!” she shrieked. “You defy him! I’ll turn your mind inside out! I’ll feed you your own fears! I’ll-”

“Medala!” snapped Dah’mir. “Enough! Sit down!” His green-eyed gaze snapped around and he glared at them. “Give me Tetkashtai. Give me the crystal.”

Singe felt waves of charisma wash over him, Dah’mir’s astounding and eerie presence beating against him. He wasn’t sure why he was fighting the green-eyed man. If he’d had Dandra’s crystal, he’d have given it up to him.

Geth just stood up straight, his eyes hard. “No,” he said.

The denial seemed to break Dah’mir’s spell over all of them. Singe blinked and shook his head as Dah’mir sat back sharply. His pale, beautiful face was contorted with incoherent rage. If his presence had been overwhelming before, it was now terrifying. Singe’s legs shook. Medala let out a screech that was almost inhuman. Around them, the Bonetree hunters and even the dolgrims were trembling and falling back.

Dah’mir rose and stepped down from the platform, the black leather of his robes whispering around him. The aura of his presence surrounded him like twilight, dark and growing darker with every heartbeat. He seemed to loom over them all. Even Geth was pale. He raised his arms, crossing sword and gauntlet before him, ready for a fight that the expression on his face said he knew he wouldn’t win.

“The crystal!” roared Dah’mir in a voice that rocked the night. “ Give it to me or-”

His words died in the flash of lightning that fell down out of the sky, dropping on him in a twisting bolt so intense that the ground shook. All around the spot where Dah’mir had stood, hunters were thrown back. The platform on which he had sat was battered aside and Medala sent flying. Even fifteen paces away, the energy of the bolt stung Singe’s arm as he flung it up to shield his eyes. At his side, Geth staggered back, then staggered again as thunder hammered them.

After an instant of stunned silence, Orshok threw up his arms and let out a whoop of triumph-a whoop that died as suddenly as the lightning had fallen.

Dah’mir was picking himself up from the ground. His fine robes were scorched and his pale face smudged, but his acid-green eyes were brighter than ever. He whirled like a striking serpent, shouting an arcane word as his fingers flicked at the night.

As if dawn had come early, daylight spread across the side of the mound to reveal a battered party of orcs-and the scattered bodies of chuul, dolgaunts, and even mind flayers. Near the top of the slope, stood an old white-haired orc, his staff still directed toward Dah’mir.

The moment froze.

Then a warrior among the orcs raised an axe over his head and screamed out a wild battle cry. The cry whipped through the orcs and abruptly they were pounding down the slopes in a howling, savage green wave.

The Bonetree hunters and dolgrims leaped to meet them without even a word from Dah’mir, horrid shrieks and wild screams rising into the air. More threw themselves wildly at Geth and Singe’s little band. From the corner of his eye, Singe saw Orshok spin a staff while Krepis met a dolgrim with a thrust from a spear. Natrac battled a Bonetree hunter, one of the bloodthirsty young men who had tried to challenge Ashi. Dolgrims leaped at Geth; the shifter threw one back with a thrust of his gauntlet, then cut down the other with a swing of his sword.

Singe just stared at Dah’mir’s back, turned to them as he glared up at the old orc on the mound. There was a clear line between him and the green-eyed man. The wizard thrust out his hand and spat a word of magic.

Flames roared from his hand, two seething bolts that washed over Dah’mir’s back and engulfed him utterly.

The fiery blast had even less effect than the lightning. Dah’mir whirled and the magical flames were snuffed out in the folds of his robe. Eyes filled with utter rage pierced Singe-then Dah’mir stiffened and his face twisted in anger. His hands clenched into fists, he threw back his head, and roared, “Enough!”

The flash of lightning lit the tunnel ahead. Thunder shook the stone-lined walls. “Il-Yannah!” Dandra gasped.

“We’re close!” Ashi shouted. She raced forward. Dandra tightened her grip on her spear and darted after her.

It seemed as if the sun rose as they reached the mouth of the mound, a warm and magical light that flooded the tunnel and shone across a scene of chaos outside. Dandra caught a glimpse of a crowd of Bonetree hunters and dolgrims. Of Singe, Geth, Natrac, and two orcs standing at defense, weapons bristling.

Of Dah’mir standing, pointing up at the slope of the mound, green eyes blazing.

She froze at the sight of him.

His presence was as stunning and irresistible as ever, drawing her every thought to him in horrible fascination. All the way up through the tunnels of the mound, following the path that Ashi had marked, Dandra had tried to prepare herself for this moment, fortifying herself, telling herself that this time she would not succumb to his charm.

But there was no charm about Dah’mir now. Rage poured from him instead. He was furious and terrible, some ancient power, some predator of unbelievable madness and strength. Standing atop a toppled chair, Medala screamed and ranted as if animated by that madness. Dandra fought to pull back, to close her eyes and cut off the sight.

Ashi did it for her, dragging her back into the tunnel as cries of battle rage and the thunder of charging feet rolled down from above. Orcs streamed past the tunnel mouth in a tide of fury. Hunters and dolgrims surged forward to meet them. Violence swirled outside the mound-but Ashi’s quick action had broken Dah’mir’s hold on her. Dandra sucked in a heaving breath. Ashi released her. “Are you all right?”

“Dah’mir almost had me again.” There was a frightening suspicion growing inside her. She could still hear Medala screaming in reflection of the insanity that shone in Dah’mir’s eyes. “It’s his madness,” she breathed half to herself. “There’s something about his madness …”

There was no time to follow the thought. The distinctive roar of flame rushed over the battlefield. Dandra gasped. “Singe!” Bracing herself against Dah’mir’s power, she leaped back to the tunnel mouth in time to see the green-eyed man, his robes smoking, throw back his head and roar.

A roar that changed and grew deeper as Dah’mir’s throat and chest swelled and stretched and … transformed.

“Light of il-Yannah!” she breathed in shock.

“Twelve bloody moons!” cursed Singe in awe. Geth could only stare, his gauntlet and the Dhakaani sword just weights on his arms.

The change began in Dah’mir’s face. His cheeks swept back into his ears. His chin grew sharp and pointed as the tip of a knife, his entire lower face stretching out after it. His eyebrows rose and vanished as flat, sweeping horns rose from his head.