Don Bassingthwaite - The Binding Stone

Clenched fists became knotted claws. Arms and legs shifted and changed. Black hair and robes of leather merged and became scaly hide as pale skin darkened and took on a sheen of copper that spread down Dah’mir’s throat and belly. A thick tail thrust out of his back and he grew-and grew- and grew .

Acid-green eyes as big as lanterns narrowed. Massive legs flexed and thrust against the ground. Wings like coppery-black sails stretched from Dah’mir’s side to beat the air.

Geth’s lips peeled back to bare his teeth and he found his voice. “Tiger, Wolf, and Rat!” he snarled as the dragon leaped into the sky.

Everywhere around them, the fury of battle gave way to panicked chaos. Orc raiders and Bonetree hunters alike fell back in awe at the sight of the terrible and majestic monster climbing into the night. With shouts of gut-deep fear, they reeled apart, fighting to scatter.

The dolgrims didn’t flee. Wiry arms rose in triumph and gash-like mouths gibbered horrid glee as they surged forward to hack and thrust at raiders and one-time allies alike. There was an eager spark in their eyes that Geth would have sworn hadn’t been there before, as if they had been freed to unleash the darkest bloodlusts of their twisted souls.

The shifter spun. Across the battlefield, the mouth of the mound gaped like a shadow under Dah’mir’s magical light. Geth flung out his arm, pointing with the Dhakaani sword. “There!” he said. “We need to get in there! We need shelter!”

Natrac’s eyes were wide, his pupils so large that barely a sliver of color showed around the black. “In there? Are you insane? We need to-”

The half-orc’s words faltered as Dah’mir’s wings dipped and his massive, shining body turned in an arc. On the other side of the churning battle, a knot of orcs was still fighting, caught up in mindless rage. Dah’mir’s wedge-shaped head darted forward and his throat heaved.

Thin yellow bile burst from his jaws in a long, hot gout. It swept across the ground below like a line of foul rain. Where it fell, the ground smoked and trampled plants shriveled. Most of it, though, spattered against the fighting orcs and their dolgrim assailants, drenching them.

Flesh melted, eaten away by the dragon’s acid. Huge red sores opened and spread. Skin sloughed from muscles and muscles fell away from bones. The orcs died squealing and writhing in the steaming mud. The dolgrims died too, but with excited screams that might almost have been praise for their dragon-lord.

Singe grabbed Natrac and dragged him toward the mound. In shock, the half-orc stumbled at first, then charged for the shelter of the mound’s mouth. Orshok and Krepis needed no encouragement-they leaped forward like sprinters. Dolgrims closed in around them. Geth held the rear of their desperate flight, beating back the four-armed horrors with sword and gauntlet. He kept one eye on the sky. Dah’mir’s bulk hampered his agility, but he more than made up for it in sheer strength. It took only a few beats of his massive wings to put the dragon high in the sky. He wheeled around the far side of the mound and began a wide turn for another pass over the battlefield.

A memory of Breek washed over Geth, a vision of Adolan’s eagle soaring high into the air before plunging down in a devastating strike. His stomach clenched. He beat back a flurry of attacks from a dolgrim, then hammered his armored fist into the creature’s face. The dolgrim staggered back with the bloody imprint of his knuckles stamped over a shattered cheek. Geth leaped after the others. He peered ahead, trying to keep them all on a path through melee and toward the mouth of the mound.

There was a figure in the shadows, tall and powerful with long, dark gold hair. Ashi, watching the flow of battle. Her eyes met briefly with Geth’s, and he felt a twinge of astonishment as the hunter gave him a slight nod before glancing back as if speaking to someone hidden deeper in the tunnel. “She has her!” Geth said to Singe as the fighting pushed them together again. “Grandfather Rat, I think Ashi has Dandra! They’re just inside the mound!”

“If they’re smart, they’ll stay there!” Singe wheezed.

Blood flecked the wizard’s lips and his face had gone pale again. Orshok’s potion hadn’t healed all of his wounds. Geth didn’t think Singe could go on fighting much longer. Dah’mir’s return wasn’t the only thing they were racing. He swept his arm into the air, urging the others forward. “Hurry!” he shouted. “To the mound!”

“Wait!” said Krepis. He pointed with his hunda stick. “There’s Batul!”

Geth turned to follow the pointing stick. Surrounded by dolgrims, the old druid stood back to back with two Fat Tusk orcs. Geth bared his teeth, torn by a primal desire to seek shelter and the need to help an ally. He raised his sword and ordered, “Break them free!”

He led the charge across the battlefield-now nearly empty of everything but dolgrims, the dead, and the wounded. He whirled and darted, slashing at the dolgrims with the heavy sword, sweeping their attacks aside with his magewrought gauntlet. A spear reached under his arm and creased shifting-toughened skin. Geth roared and lashed out with a kick that sank into the dolgrim’s gut and doubled it over, both mouths screeching in pain. An overhand blow cut deep into the deformed skull of another dolgrim-and they were through, standing beside Batul and his guardians and fighting back the rest of the dolgrims.

Geth threw a glance at the elderly orc. “Tell me you didn’t expect this!”

“I didn’t expect it!” Batul’s hunda stick was smeared with gore and he was bleeding from a gash under his good eye. “A true dragon leading a cult of the Dragon Below … not even the wildest tales of Gatekeeper lore hint at something like this!” A dolgrim tried to break through the circle of Batul’s protectors. The druid swung his hunda in a sharp blow that sent it hopping back, then fixed his eye on Geth. “There may be a way to escape Dah’mir-if you have the strength for it.”

Something in Batul’s voice lifted the hair on Geth’s neck and arms. “What?”

“Gatekeeper magic and Dhakaani weapons together ended the Daelkyr War. Dah’mir isn’t a creature of Xoriat or a creation of the daelkyr, but he carries their taint. I have Gatekeeper magic. You have a Dhakaani weapon.”

The flow of battle surged and shifted, leaving them in the clear for a moment. Geth stared at Batul. “You want me to kill a dragon?”

“No.” Batul’s hands tightened on his hunda. “Nothing either of us can do could kill him. But we can wound him and give the others a chance to escape.”

The shifter caught the omission in his words. “The others,” he said, “but not us.”

Batul nodded. For a moment, Geth’s heart thundered in his chest, then he nodded in return-

— just as Singe shouted out “Twelve moons! He’s back!” Geth’s gaze snapped up to the sky.

Dah’mir’s descent from the night came like a storm. He swooped in from the east, a dark and speeding mass in the cloud-shrouded moonlight. As he swept into the magical light that illuminated the battlefield, color seemed to explode across his scales-a lightning flash of dulled copper tinged with corroded black. Thunder clapped with the spread of his wings and rolled through the ground as he settled at the other end of the battlefield. His green eyes shone with rage and his blunt muzzle was open to expose huge teeth. Even the dolgrims scurried away from him, their cheers fading in fright.

An enormous, sharp-pointed tongue slipped out of Dah’mir’s mouth and licked blood off the scales of his face. More blood stained his talons. Geth guessed that some of those orc raiders, maybe even some of the Bonetree hunters, who had fled the battlefield weren’t fleeing any longer. The shifter dropped slowly into a defensive stance, sword and gauntlet raised together, as if an attempt at defense would do any good at all.