Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

For all that the majority of the dream had been pleasant, there had been something distinctly unnatural about it. He hadn’t dreamed about the Frostbrand in years, and he’d never dreamed about them in such a happy way. He had happy memories of the company, of course, but in his experience, those weren’t the memories that came back to him in dreams.

Coron’s death, that was more typical, though even it was something he hadn’t seen in his nightmares for a long, long time. The thought brought visions of the man’s murder rising up within him. Geth squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, choking the memory back. The effort left his stomach aching.

Why had the dream come to him at all? If he was going to dream about fighting, a battle wouldn’t have been his first choice. A good brawl would have been better. His fight with Kobus. Any number of scuffles in camps and taverns with the Frostbrand to back him up. Good-natured fights with members of the Frostbrand. People didn’t die so often in brawls as they did in battles.

Maybe, he thought, it was because of the night spent with the warriors of the horde. That would explain the strange presence of the Bonetree mound in his dream. Even so, how could the spirit of the horde-the wild unity that gave it strength-have affected him so quickly and so deeply …

Something stirred at the back of his mind, a half-buried memory. He frowned and tried to recall it, but it kept slipping away as if it didn’t want to be remembered. Geth concentrated hard, pulling back the wisps of his dream and the haze of the night. Something Batul had said. Something about the warriors of the horde sharing fires …

The old druid’s words crept into his mind like scared dogs. “Warriors arrive in the camp and fall into the horde as if they’ve been sharing a fire for days,” Batul had said. “The council is nearly ready to make a decision and getting a dozen Gatekeepers to agree on dinner usually takes weeks of debate.”

Geth’s eyes narrowed and he drew a long breath. What was going on? He raised his mug and sipped at his water.

When he lowered the mug, he saw Ekhaas coming toward him. In contrast to Geth, she didn’t look like she was suffering after the night-she might have been turned out for a Blademarks inspection. There were no horde marks on her face. Geth tried to remember if he’d seen her at all through the night. If he had, it was only in passing, a face in the shadows observing the celebrations as he took part in them.

As she passed the campfire, the orcs called out something to her. She stopped and gave them a glare of such loathing that they shrank back in silence. The hobgoblin continued on and stood over Geth.

“Why did they just call me your ‘honeycomb-dancer’?” she said in a voice that made Geth flinch.

“No idea,” he said and gulped more water.

Ekhaas’s ears tipped forward in suspicion, and her lip curled in an expression that managed to encompass both disdain and disbelief, but she crouched beside him.

“We need to talk,” she said. “Something is wrong in this camp.”

He looked at her carefully. Her eyes seemed hard, but there was something haunted in their amber depths, as if Ekhaas had seen something that unsettled her. Geth thought he could guess what that something was. “Did you have a strange dream last night?” he asked. “A dream of fighting with all your friends beside you?”

Her ears stood up sharply. “I was in a battle out of legend, wielding sword and song alongside the heroes of my people. We were fighting to reach a hill.”

“Not a hill. The Bonetree mound.” A chill passed across Geth. “Ekhaas, we had the same dream. And last night, I think Batul tried to warn me about something-”

“That the camp is on the edge of frenzy?”

“That warriors are joining the horde too easily.”

She wrinkled her nose. “The same thing. Among my people, orcs are infamous for going into battle with more enthusiasm than sense, but the mood in this camp is like a herd of tribex protecting a gravid female. Last night you and Orshok were practically painting horde marks on your faces the moment we arrived.”

Geth flushed. “You weren’t?”

“I’m a duur’kala.” A hint of Ekhaas’s normal arrogance crept into her voice. “I’m trained to inspire and manipulate people. You can’t do that effectively without learning to recognize the signs of manipulation in yourself.”

“Wait,” said Geth. “You think we’re actually being manipulated?”

“I’m certain of it.” Her ears twitched forward and her voice dropped. “It’s a subtle thing, a touch so light that it’s hard to feel it, but last night after you were swept off, I scouted the camp, watching and listening. When I found myself wanting to join in an orc campfire song, I knew something wasn’t right.” She rubbed at her temples as if the thought pained her. “Whatever is happening, it encourages those in the camp to follow their natural tendencies. In a duur’kala , the urge to sing. In orc warriors, the urge to join with the horde.” She glanced at him. “In a shifter, perhaps the urge to join the horde as well, to fight and demonstrate strength.”

He wanted to protest, but the argument made too much sense. It touched on his own suspicions and on Batul’s warning.

But there had been two parts to that warning, hadn’t there? He sat up straight, water slopping out of his mug. “Grandfather Rat! The Gatekeepers-Batul said they’re coming to a decision more quickly than normal too.”

Ekhaas bared her teeth. “I wondered that the druids could allow this to happen. They’re caught in it too. Khaavolaar.”

“How is that possible?” Geth asked. “Batul seemed to know what was happening. Why isn’t he doing something about it?”

“The manipulation may be light, but that doesn’t mean it’s not powerful. And Batul did do something-he warned you.”

“But why not do more?”

She rapped her knuckles together in a rapid rhythm, and her eyes narrowed again in thought. “Whatever’s happening, it is working in accordance with the goals of the Gatekeepers,” she pointed out. “Duur’kala have used magic to inspire strength on the battlefield since the time of the Dhakaani Empire. Perhaps the druids are doing the same.”

Geth shook his head. “Batul sounded surprised at what was happening.”

“Then consider the opposite: perhaps the druids can’t do anything to prevent what’s happening …” Her voice stopped and the rhythm of her knuckles paused. Her ears stood up straight.

Geth’s gut tightened at what she had suggested. “That’s not possible!” he blurted.

“It is possible,” Ekhaas said tightly. “Did your collar protect you?”

Geth’s hand went to the collar of black stones around his throat. “Just before we met Krepis yesterday, the stones felt cold, but only for a moment. Maybe it was a warning?”

“Maybe. Or maybe whatever is causing this is something the magic of the Gatekeepers can’t block.”

“But what could-” The answer came to him before he’d finished asking the question. What power could resist the magic of the Gatekeepers to manipulate their minds? The power that the Master of Silence had tried to control in his new servants. Geth felt a chill. “Medala,” he said.

Ekhaas nodded in agreement. “We have only her word that she’s weak, and if she can overcome Gatekeeper magic, the wards that the druids have placed around her are little more than paint.”

“And she wants revenge on the Master of Silence.” Geth sat back, and it seemed to him that the stones of the collar grew a little bit colder, as if in confirmation of his idea. Encouraging the growth of the horde and pushing the Gatekeepers to make their decision to march would get the kalashtar closer to her goal-and if Medala was manipulating the horde, it would explain the appearance of the Bonetree mound in both his dream and Ekhaas’s. Still, it hardly seemed possible. “She can’t be this powerful, can she? She couldn’t really control the minds of a horde of orc warriors and a council of senior Gatekeepers all at the same time, could she?”