Don Bassingthwaite - The Binding Stone

“A kalashtar wizard,” growled Geth. “Which would make this psicrystal like a wizard’s familiar.” He gave Dandra a suspicious look. “I told you kalashtar had strange powers, Adolan.”

“No stranger than magic,” Dandra said defensively.

Adolan held out his hands. “Easy,” he said. “I’m sorry, Dandra. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He glanced at Geth. “You should find the elders and let them know that the displacer beasts are dead.”

The shifter darted a narrow glance at Dandra, but nodded. “They’ll all likely be at Sandar’s, and I could use a tankard.”

He turned away and shrugged out of his shirt. He flung it into a corner and dug another out of a big chest that stood against the wall, pulling it on over broad shoulders. His big hand picked up one of a pair of fighting axes that stood by the chest and slipped it through a loop on his belt. For a moment, his eyes met Adolan’s. The human gave a tiny nod, then looked to Dandra.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, and followed Geth to the door of the cabin. When he opened it, Dandra’s eyes went wide in alarm.

The little slice of the world outside was dark. Tetkashtai, it’s night!

The presence let out the barest spark of yellow-green light. Il-Yannah , she whispered. We need to go .

Dandra glanced around the cabin. Her spear was leaning against the foot of the bed. Her sandals were on the floor at the bedside. A cupboard beside the fireplace stood open, revealing a loaf of bread and what looked like cheese. Her stomach growled. Food would be nice, but she had mastered the means of sustaining her body with mental energy alone. A blanket on the other hand-her fingers bunched into the rough, scratchy coverings on the bed …

Adolan stepped back into the cabin, closing the door behind him and smiling at her. Dandra forced her fingers to relax and smiled back at him.

In her mind’s eye, Tetkashtai formed the image of a flame. Dandra answered with a reluctant mental nod.

“I don’t trust her,” Geth murmured as Adolan followed him out into the gathering night.

“I understand,” Adolan whispered back. The druid glanced back through the door and into the cabin. His eyes narrowed.

“There’s something about her-”

“Yes,” Geth growled. “Something I don’t trust!”

Adolan shook his head. “No. Something haunted. There’s something she’s keeping from us. I’ll see if I can find out what it is. She may need our help.”

Geth looked up to the skies overhead. The moons were rising, and the Ring of Siberys was visible in the southern sky, a shining, milky band. He pointed at it. “There’s the Ring,” he said. “You can stop searching mud puddles anytime.”

“If she’s trouble, I’ll send Breek to fetch you,” Adolan said with a smile. He turned for the door, then glanced over his shoulder. “Good hunting today, Geth.”

Geth gave him back a smile that exposed just the tips of his teeth. “Good hunting, Ado.”

Adolan stepped back into the cabin and closed the door behind him. The swath of light that had illuminated the patchy grass in front of the cabin vanished. For a moment, the night was dark, but as Geth’s eyes adjusted, it seemed to grow steadily brighter-another legacy of his lycanthrope ancestors. From a high perch on the roof of the cabin, Breek gave a benevolent squawk as Geth crossed the little clearing and turned down the short path that led into Bull Hollow. A half-dozen paths converged at the cabin. The folk of the valley lived close to the land and the forest and carried great respect for Adolan. More than just the paths of Bull Hollow came together at the cabin. Even if Adolan hadn’t been a druid, Geth suspected that he would have found himself at the heart of the community. He was pleasant and personable, naturally charismatic, trusting, patient-Geth’s opposite in many ways.

Like the way he trusted Dandra. Maybe Adolan was right, Geth thought as he walked, maybe Dandra did need their help. Maybe …

Maybe seeing her was too much of a reminder of the last time he had seen kalashtar. In Rekkenmark. Just before Narath.

The memory was like picking at a scabbed over wound-as soon as he thought about it, all of the pain came flooding back. All of the bloodshed. All of the fire. All of the screaming.

Geth stopped for a moment and clenched his jaw tight. The great war, the Last War that had consumed the kingdoms of Khorvaire and lured a young shifter away from the Eldeen Reaches with promises of glory and adventure, had ended officially two autumns past. The news had reached Bull Hollow with a wandering tinker the following spring. But for him, the war had come to an end nine years ago. In his mind, Geth saw the snows of northern Karrnath, their clean white stained red with blood and dusted black with ash …

He choked on his breath and forced the memories away, burying them behind other memories. A return to the Eldeen Reaches after two years of wandering Khorvaire like a ghost. His first glimpse of a certain valley, at the very end of the Eldeen itself, caught in the green of spring. His first encounter with Adolan.

Geth opened his eyes again and looked around at the scattered buildings, visible through the trees, of Bull Hollow. The lively noise of Sandar’s tavern drifted on the air all the way from the common. Seven years in Bull Hollow, he thought, as long a time as I was away from the Eldeen before.

Not that all of those years had been easy. Virtually all of the other races that inhabited Khorvaire had an instinctive mistrust of shifters-a less than desirable part of the lycanthropic heritage. Even in the Eldeen, where shifters were more common than anywhere else on the continent, they tended to form their own tribes and communities. The humans of Bull Hollow weren’t that much different than any other members of their race. With Adolan to speak for him, though, Geth had at least had a chance and Bull Hollow had come to accept, and even respect, him. He had more than enough good memories to blot out the bad ones.

Geth took another breath-a deep, confident one-and started walking again. When he stepped out of the trees and onto the common, his face was still grim, but his heart was lighter.

And at least the people of Bull Hollow were used to seeing him with a grim face. As he walked up to Sandar’s inn, a cluster of men who had brought their drinking out into the open air hailed him. “Geth! How was your hunting?”

Geth forced his face to soften a little more and gave the men a restrained smile-one that didn’t show all of his teeth. “Good hunting!” he called back with a lightness he didn’t quite feel. “I have news for Sandar and the other elders. The beasts are dead!”

The men cheered and raised their tankards and mugs. “You’ll find the elders inside,” one man told him, “but if you want to talk to Sandar, you’ll have to catch him on the run. He has guests!”

Geth’s eyebrows rose. “Guests? Travelers?”

“Well, they’re not from around here, are they? If they were, they’d know better!”

The cluster broke into laughter. Sandar’s serving woman, a pretty young lady named Veta, raised her nose in the air as she came out of the inn’s common room with another round of beer. “You ignore them, Geth!” she said loudly. “Our guests are proper gentlemen!”

“Veta,” said Geth, “if they were proper gentlemen, they wouldn’t be this deep in the Eldeen.”

Veta gave him a disapproving look. “Well, they aren’t like any of the men around Bull Hollow, I can tell you that. They’re from a dragonmarked house-the younger one was wearing a crest and all! And the older one …” She sighed as she passed a tankard to Geth. “Oh, he was the finest looking man you’ve ever seen! Tall and lean, with beautiful blond hair and just a patch of a beard on his chin. And he carried himself so well!”