Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

“It takes very little to encourage a mule to go where it wants to go,” said Ekhaas. “If this is Medala, she’s not controlling minds, only intensifying emotions that are already present. I doubt that one orc in a hundred would have any idea they were being manipulated. Medala herself might not even be specifically aware of the individual minds she’s influencing.” Her ears flicked. “I wonder if she thinks she’s helping.”

“Helping?” Geth’s voice felt strangled in his throat. “Grandfather Rat, what do we do now? Where’s Orshok? Maybe he-”

“I looked for him,” Ekhaas said. “It seems he joined the other Gatekeepers in the sweat lodge last night.” There was a note of finality in Ekhaas’s voice, as if the young druid had been irrevocably separated from them.

Geth looked up and across the still peaceful camp toward the bulk of the Gatekeepers’ sweat lodge. “We need to talk to Batul.”

“I’ve been to the lodge. No one enters except at the word of a druid. The vaults of Volaar Draal aren’t sealed so tight. While the horde simmers, the Gatekeepers stew in their own juices.”

“Wolf and Rat, we have to do something!”

“Do we?” Ekhaas looked at him. “What danger is there? It seems that Medala-and again, we don’t know for certain that it is her-is working toward the same goals as the Gatekeepers.”

“Maybe I just don’t like idea of her messing with my mind!” Geth snapped. The hair on his arms and on the back of his neck was rising.

“I’ll agree to that, whether it’s Medala or not-”

Geth snarled at the hobgoblin. “Stop saying that! It has to be her. Who else could it be?”

She gave him a cool stare. “There are many things beneath the moons of Eberron that are capable of twisting the thoughts in your head, Geth. A duur’kala of no great power could make you grovel.” He bared his teeth at her, but she only smiled, showing her own teeth. “A duur’kala would have better sense than to try-control often leaves anger behind.” She looked thoughtfully across the camp. “I will admit, though, that I can’t think of any better explanation for what’s happening here than Medala’s influence. Maybe there is something we can do.”

Geth followed her gaze. The night’s celebrations had left his sense of the camp’s layout confused, but he couldn’t forget what lay in the direction Ekhaas stared: Medala’s tent. His rising hair bristled. “Tiger’s blood! I hope you’re going to say we can kill her.”

“She’s allied herself with the Gatekeepers. We can’t kill her.” Ekhaas stood. “But we can talk to her, perhaps confirm our suspicions.”

“I don’t need them confirmed. Ekhaas, did you listen to the stories we told you about her? If she does still have her powers, she’s dangerous-and capable of cutting right through Gatekeeper magic.”

“Then it’s fortunate I’m not a Gatekeeper. A duur’kala can protect herself. If you want to count a tiger’s teeth, you have to put your head in its mouth.” Ekhaas’s grin turned mocking. “If you want to come with me, my magic can protect you too.”

He growled at her again, guzzled his water, then flung the mug away and climbed to his feet. “I’m coming,” he said. The idea made his stomach twist, though not so much as the thought of doing nothing.

The way to Medala’s tent also led past the tent Batul had assigned to them. Geth ducked inside while Ekhaas waited, dug a shirt that didn’t reek of orcish ale out of his pack and pulled it on, then opened the bundle that contained his great gauntlet. It was the work of only moments to pull on the armored sleeve and adjust the straps that held it in place. He clenched his right fist as he stepped out of the tent, savoring the clash of metal on metal. Ekhaas raised an eyebrow.

“That won’t protect you from psionic attack,” she said.

He bared his teeth. “Maybe not, but it makes me feel better, and it’s a weapon I don’t have to draw if Medala tries something, and duur’kala magic turns out to be no better than Gatekeeper magic.”

She gave him a baleful look.

The sight of the black metal gauntlet attracted stares and calls of appreciation for a fine weapon as they crossed the camp. Ekhaas glowered at every call, but Geth felt a certain pride at the attention. It had been a long time since he’d thought of himself as a hero. It felt good.

“You’re swaggering,” Ekhaas observed after a time.

“What about it?”

“I wonder if it could be a symptom of the manipulation. We need to be careful. We need to be aware of what we do.”

Geth’s warm pride vanished in a bitter chill. Batul had something similar, hadn’t he? Geth struggled against the warning. “It’s not all manipulation, is it?” he asked. “You said what’s happening is based on what we already feel.”

Ekhaas glanced at him, and her expression seemed to soften for a moment. “Based on, yes,” she said. “But the best lies have a kernel of truth, even the lies we tell ourselves.”

Before he could begin to puzzle out what she meant by that, she began to sing.

He’d experienced the touch of duur’kala magic before. Ekhaas’s songs had an ancient power in them, something that seemed to echo the music of creation. She’d used her magic to heal him, and it felt like his body had been dipped in sunlight. She’d used magic to speed their travel across the Shadow Marches, and he’d felt as though he could have kept pace with the eternal march of the moons.

The song that she sang now was different again. Geth felt it dip down into him and draw up something sharp and clear, like water from a deep well. A dullness he hadn’t even been aware of seemed to slip away. Even when Ekhaas stopped singing, the echoes of her song lingered in his mind. Geth took a deep breath and felt more focused than he ever had before. “Grandmother Wolf! Is this like the power of Ashi’s dragonmark?”

“Similar, but not so powerful,” Ekhaas told him. “It’s probably more akin to the magic in your collar, but without the vulnerability of Gatekeeper magic.”

Geth looked around, marveling at the sense of clarity the song had brought with it, then stopped sharply. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “You had an audience.”

Up ahead was Medala’s isolated tent, its flap folded open against its painted walls. Medala stood in the gap. By daylight, she looked even thinner and more wretched than before. When Dandra had first shared her story with him and Singe, she had drawn them into the mental link of kesh and shown them memories of the woman Medala had been before falling prey to Dah’mir. Medalashana had been a studious, slightly plump woman with a sharp and curious mind. There seemed little of her left in Medala, Geth thought.

Her piercing eyes were fixed on them. As soon as Ekhaas looked up, the kalashtar smiled and vanished back into the tent.

Ekhaas’s ears lay back. “Khaavolaar.”

Geth shrugged. “We couldn’t exactly have surprised her anyway,” he said. He braced himself and marched forward.

The warriors standing guard over Medala’s tent were not the same ones as had been there the night before, but they wore identical expressions of frustration with the duty. They watched Geth and Ekhaas approach, but made no move to stop them as they passed. Geth stopped at the flap of the tent. “Medala!” he called.

There was no response.

“Medala!” he said again. “We’re here to talk to you.”

“Then come in and talk.” Medala’s response emerged from the tent like a dry breeze. “Unless you’re too frightened of me.”

Geth glanced at Ekhaas. She jerked her head at the flap, and he ducked his head and entered the tent. Medala was once again seated on her sleeping platform, her eyes dead as she watched them. Geth watched her in return. Was it his imagination, or did her eyes flicker with annoyance as Ekhaas followed him inside? He didn’t have a chance to ask any further. Medala glared at both of them.