Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

A little while had turned into a long while. The sun stood at noon, blazing directly over Sharn’s heart. The new day was as bright as the previous day had been dark. Natrac had still not returned.

“Should we look for him?” Ashi asked.

Dandra shook her head. “Where would we start?”

“He could be in trouble.”

“We’re in trouble too,” said Singe. “Natrac will have to wait.” He put away his spellshard-a fist-sized dragonshard imprinted with the arcane texts of his magic-and stood up. “I’m ready.”

The time he took with the spellshard when she wanted to be gone rubbed at Dandra, but the wizard argued for the necessity of studying more sleeping spells in case they needed them against Dah’mir’s herons. Dandra hoped they wouldn’t need the spells. She knew her hope was probably misplaced. Before they left the apartment, she slid her short spear into the harness across her back.

The people in the streets of Fan Adar seemed no less on edge in the bright light of early afternoon than they had in the gloom of evening or the dark of night. Now that she knew what was happening, Dandra could feel the way that they hung back, not just from strangers but out of wariness born by the unpredictable violence of the killing song. Dandra couldn’t blame them. Had the council of elders done the right thing by concealing the killing song? Would knowing that a song lay behind the madness and murders in the community ease Fan Adar’s fears or just make them worse?

She, Singe, and Ashi walked with their heads raised, scanning the skies and high places for the black herons. Nevchaned did good business with the other inhabitants of Overlook district, and his home and shop were just beyond the limits of Fan Adar. Once they were beyond the Adaran neighborhood, the herons might be less of a concern, but until then, they had to be careful. Maybe Dah’mir wasn’t watching for them in particular, but there was no point in taking chances. Dandra was so focused on keeping her eyes open for the birds that she didn’t see Hanamelk until he was right in front of her.

“Dandra?” he said.

The soft word startled her as much as a shout, and she stumbled. Singe and Ashi closed around her, but she gestured them to ease as she recognized the lean, scholarly elder. “What are you doing here, Hanamelk?” she asked.

“I was on my way to look for you. I’ve been waiting with Nevchaned. We expected you earlier.”

If he noticed her embarrassed blush, he said nothing. Instead, he looked at Ashi and Singe, recognizing them from the memories she had shared through kesh . Dandra introduced them properly. The elder’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Natrac isn’t with you?”

“He’s making inquiries of his own,” Singe said. He still had one eye on the skies. “If we’re going to talk, we should find somewhere covered.”

Hanamelk smiled. “Are you worried about Dah’mir’s herons? We’ve found a solution to them.”

“What kind of solution?” asked Dandra. “Selkatari didn’t convince the elders to kill them all, did she?”

“She came up with a more clever solution.” Hanamelk looked into the distance and pointed. “Look there. Do you see on that tower with the green windows?”

Dandra looked and picked out the ragged form of a heron just coming to perch on a ledge. It had barely settled, however, before it rose again with a screech and flurry of greasy feathers. Down on the street, a cheer went up from a group of children, and they ran to follow the harried bird.

“The children of Fan Adar,” Hanamelk said, “have a new game today. We should still be cautious, but we don’t need to be as afraid of being watched.”

He led them onward. “The other elders have also been busy. I went to the shrine of il-Yannah this morning.” He nodded toward a tall, elegant tower that rose up above the buildings a few blocks away. “The shrine is tended by my mentor, the seer Havakhad. He bends his thoughts toward seeking out Dah’mir.”

“Has he had any luck?” asked Dandra.

“Not yet, but he seems confident.” A wary smile grew on Hanamelk’s lips. “I believe his words were ‘Every dragon in Sharn believes he moves unseen.’”

Ashi flinched. “There are other dragons in Sharn?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Singe said. “It’s a big city. Don’t worry, Ashi. Dah’mir probably doesn’t want any other dragons finding out what he’s up to either.”

They put Fan Adar behind them. With the celebrations of Thronehold imminent, there was a festive mood in the other streets of Overlook. The banners and flags that had been on display the day before had been bolstered with reinforcements. Tavern doors and windows stood wide. The cries of peddlers and the songs of minstrels filled the air. If any herons were watching the district beyond Fan Adar, they would have been hard pressed to follow anyone in the swirl of crowds. Singe leaned closer to Hanamelk and said over the noise, “Do you know what the plans are for the celebration?”

The elder shrugged. “It hasn’t been of much concern to me. I’ve heard that the Lord Mayor intends to make them extravagant. There have been rumors that the elves of House Phiarlan and the gnomes of Zilargo are sponsoring a display of illusion over the city tonight. That will probably attract a lot of attention elsewhere.”

“But not in Fan Adar?” Dandra asked. “I’d think people would welcome the diversion.”

“Thronehold is a celebration of other people’s peace,” said Hanamelk. “We still fight a war.”

The street they followed gave onto a broad square at the edge of one great tower. Nevchaned’s home lay across the square, along an open side that offered a spectacular view of the heart of Sharn. In the towns and cities that Dandra had visited with Singe and Geth-Bull Hollow, Yrlag, Zarash’ak, and Vralkek-she’d found that the usual arrangement among merchants and craftsmen was to operate their business on the ground floor of a shop and dwell in rooms above. As was often the case, though, things were sometimes done differently in Sharn, and she felt a guilty pleasure in watching Ashi stare in confusion as they approached the small, single-story buildings that lined the edge of the square like bumps on the rim of a goblet. Beyond them was nothing but sky and the long plumes of smoke that streamed from a couple of the shops. It was a long stone’s throw to the next tower.

Dandra couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Look here, Ashi.” She drew her to the low wall, a barrier along the open edge of the courtyard, that ran between Nevchaned’s shop and the next building and leaned over.

The small shops were the roofs of tall, narrow buttress-towers that ran like veins up the side of the greater tower. Windows pierced the stone and doors opened onto another street a good dozen stories below. In other cities, a craftsman lived above his shop; in Sharn, it was entirely possible to live below it. Ashi gave a curse of amazement and stepped back. Dandra laughed again and turned to tug on the rope that hung beside Nevchaned’s door.

Somewhere inside the building, a chime rang. The door opened before the sound had even begun to fade, and Nevchaned gestured them inside. The shop was warm and smelled of hot metal. Examples of Nevchaned’s craft lined the walls-from spears and swords to daggers and arrows, to the more domestic metalwork of kitchen knives. “You weren’t seen?” Nevchaned asked as he closed the door behind them.

“I don’t think we were,” said Hanamelk. “The children are keeping the herons off balance.”

Nevchaned looked relieved. He nodded to Dandra. “Kuchta . Hanamelk found you?”

“Kuchtoa . We found each other. I’m sorry we’re late.” She introduced the others to Nevchaned, and the elder nodded respectfully to each of them, then went to one of the shop’s narrow windows and turned a sign from open to closed.