Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

Geth stared at her trembling form in shock. Batul touched his shoulder, pushing him toward the flap and out of the tent. “Sit,” the old orc said to Medala. “Be at ease. You’ll have your revenge. The Master of Silence will be stopped.”

Eyes focused on nothing visible, Medala nodded and folded back down onto the sleeping platform. Geth didn’t look away from her until Batul had herded Orshok and Ekhaas out of the tent as well and pulled the tent flap closed after himself-then Geth swallowed. “She’s still mad, isn’t she?”

Batul gestured for them to follow him away from the tent. “I don’t think she could ever be sane again,” he said, “but when she told me about the Master of Silence, how could I ignore her? I summoned other Gatekeepers to council, and the horde was called.” The druid spread his hands. “And now you bring news to confirm what she says.”

“Do you trust her?” asked Ekhaas.

Batul turned to the hobgoblin. “No more than I have to,” he said. “But she’s powerless. The daelkyr are the Gatekeepers’ ultimate enemy. If Medala can help us ensure that one remains sealed in his prison, then she is our ally.” He glanced from Ekhaas to Geth. “What about you?” he asked. “You’ve delivered your message. Are you going to stay for the fight?”

Geth looked at the tent. He could see Medala’s silhouette-broken by the protective symbols painted on the tent wall-against the glow of her lamp. Once again, a nagging doubt flickered in his mind. He wished Dandra were there. She knew Medala, and he was certain she would have been able to tell if her lust for revenge was real. It certainly seemed to have the ring of truth to him.

But Batul was right. The Gatekeepers’ ancient duty took priority over lingering suspicion. If Adolan had been there, Geth knew what he would have done-and he knew he couldn’t do any less. The shifter drew a deep breath. “We’ll stay,” he said. He bared his teeth. “We’ll fight!”

A broad smile spread across Batul’s wrinkled face. “I knew you would.”

He turned away and flung up his arms, shouting something in Orc. All around them, warriors let out a cheer and crowded around. Mugs of ale and gaeth’ad were thrust forward. Hands slapped at their shoulders and backs. Ekhaas looked startled. Orshok looked ecstatic. Geth grabbed Wrath, trying to catch the end of Batul’s cries.

“The hero of the raid on the Bonetree fights with us!”

The roar that erupted was deafening. A rushing excitement, an anticipation that he hadn’t felt in a long time filled Geth. He drew Wrath and raised it high. The roar of the horde redoubled, and he let himself fall into it.

The door to the apartment was locked, of course, but Tetkashtai had a trick of unlocking it with a thread of vayhatana . Dandra knew the trick too. She concentrated, spun out the invisible force with her mind just so, and the lock responded with a click. The door swung open. Dandra clenched her jaw and stepped across the threshold. Entering the apartment she had only ever seen previously as a psicrystal around Tetkashtai’s neck was even stranger than walking the streets of Sharn. The familiar surroundings seemed smaller, out of proportion. Dim, naturally. She raised the shade of the everbright lantern that was on the table. A musty odor hung in the air and it took her a moment to decide-because there had been no sense of smell as a psicrystal-that it didn’t belong there. She crossed the room and pushed open the windows. Fresh air and the scent of rain blew in.

The others entered behind her, Natrac shaking off his cowl, Ashi sputtering as she stripped off the wet scarf that clung to her face. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What happened out there? Why did it seem like they didn’t want us to know what was wrong with Erimelk?”

Singe was the last one through the door, and he closed it quickly behind himself before Ashi’s voice could carry. “I think it seemed like they didn’t want us to know because they really didn’t want us to know.” Water dripped from his hair and pulled his beard down into a point. “Who is this Nevchaned, Dandra?” His lips twitched. “Or should I call you Tetkashtai?”

The name made her flinch. “No, you shouldn’t,” she said. “Light of il-Yannah, I knew as soon as the words were out my mouth that it was a bad idea. It just seemed so easy at the time.”

“It was a good idea,” said Natrac. “They know Tetkashtai. If these people are as insular as you say, maybe they’ll say things around her they won’t say around us.”

“So we’re going to start out by lying to people we want to be our allies? Il-Yannah, I lied about Medala and Virikhad too.” Dandra tried to cover her frustration at herself by going to the cupboard where Tetkashtai and the other kalashtar had kept some towels. Like the apartment, they were musty, but at least they were dry. She passed them around.

“Nevchaned is a weaponsmith,” said Dandra. “He made her … my spear.” She touched the weapon strapped across her back. “He’s also one of the kalashtar elders.”

The wizard’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah,” he said. “So maybe not one of the best people to start off lying to.”

“No,” Dandra agreed. She shook her head. “I’ve fought Dah’mir, Tzaryan Rrac, Hruucan, dolgaunts, dolgrims, and Bonetree hunters-why does facing my own people feel more terrifying than any of them?”

Singe gave her wan smile. “Remind me to tell you about my family some day.”

“The idea of facing House Deneith scares me,” said Ashi. Dandra twisted her head to look at the hunter. “I used to be worried that they wouldn’t accept a hunter of Shadow Marches, or that they would find that I had no Deneith blood at all and I would be left without a clan. Now I worry what will happen when the time comes that they find out about this.” Ashi traced a finger down one cheek and along the line of her jaw, following the vibrant pattern of her dragonmark.

“If you don’t like the way Deneith treats you, you’ll always have a place with us,” said Dandra.

Ashi raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you worry what the kalashtar will think of you?” she asked. “You have a place here too. Aren’t we your people?”

Dandra stared at her. Aren’t we your people? She had Tetkashtai’s memories of the kalashtar of Sharn, of Medalashana as her best friend and Virikhad as her lover-but she felt closer by far to the men and women who had stood by her side over the last months than she did to any kalashtar. Her mouth twitched and a smile escaped her. “You’re always surprising me when I least suspect it, Ashi. Thank you.”

“The broshamas of the Bonetree held the wisdom of the clan,” Ashi said, answering her smile, “but I would have been huntmaster if I hadn’t turned against Dah’mir, and a huntmaster needs her own wisdom to see what’s in the hearts of the clan.”

Singe stepped back from Dandra and shook his head. “Ashi, I think I’ll almost pity House Deneith if they try to tame you. They aren’t going to know what they’re getting.”

Dandra’s smile turned into a laugh, and she struck out at the wizard with a cry of mock outrage. He caught her blow on his arm, but let out a hiss of very real pain. He twisted his arm, and Dandra winced as she saw the pink of rain-diluted blood on his wet sleeve. “Sorry.”

“It’s where Erimelk grabbed me.” Singe loosened the laces at the cuffs of his shirt and pulled back the sleeve. “Twelve moons! Look at that!”

His skin was marked by two red handprints, the skin bruised and broken in innumerable fine pricks, as if someone had beaten him with a bristles of a stiff brush. Singe looked at her. “Was that some kind of psionic power?”