Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

“But he’s not mad,” Dandra said. “He’s not singing like Erimelk.”

“Hanamelk said Erimelk hid himself for several days before he attacked us. He couldn’t have been singing so loud then, or the kalashtar elders would have found him. If we believe that Moon is only just falling to the killing song, we’re fooling ourselves.”

Dandra risked another glance at Moon. The young man’s head was nodding in time to his humming. She felt a twinge of sorrow and pity for him. “Il-Yannah. That doesn’t change the question of why he’s still helping us, though.”

Singe bent a little closer. “He’s not helping us,” he said. “This is a trap. If he’s lying about knowing where Dah’mir is, then he’s leading us into one of the most dangerous districts of the city. If he’s not-”

“-then he’s leading us to Dah’mir,” Ashi growled. Her hands clenched. “Rond betch! Why are we following him?”

“Because we need to find Dah’mir. And because I don’t think he’s lying.” Singe patted the hunter on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll be on our guard in case he tries something, and if he does lead us to Dah’mir, we’ll look, and then we’ll run like dwarves for gold. Just be ready to use your dragonmark on Dandra.”

The lift stopped again and more people got off. What had been late afternoon proceeding into evening in the upper city rapidly became twilight as they dropped toward Malleon’s Gate. When the lift moved again, the only people left on it besides them looked like they’d be right at home in darkness: ragged and unsavory humans, a handful of strangely silent goblins, a tough-looking hobgoblin who flicked his ears and showed a smile full of very large teeth when Dandra glanced at him. She looked away again.

“I know Dah’mir isn’t behind the killing song, or I would have felt his touch on Erimelk,” she whispered to Singe, “but it’s hard to believe that there isn’t an intelligent mind behind the song. If you’re right and Moon does know where Dah’mir is, it’s too much of a coincidence that he’d be the next person to fall to the killing song.”

“I agree,” Singe said. “Except I don’t think the killing song came to Moon because he knew where Dah’mir was. I think it came to him because he was someone we’d trust. I think the only reason Moon knows where to find Dah’mir is because whatever intelligence is behind the killing song put that knowledge in his mind, the same way it showed its other victims we’d be coming to Sharn.”

Dandra turned and looked at him. “But who would know that? Who besides Dah’mir would want to kill us? Who could do this?”

Singe shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said in frustration, “but I feel like I should. We’re missing something.”

There was a slight lurch and the lift passed into darkness as the open-sided channel that it followed became a closed shaft through the flaring wall of one of Sharn’s great towers. Added to her tension and fear for Moon, the sudden darkness was a shock and Dandra grabbed for Singe’s hand. Cold fire flared into brilliance in less than an instant, though, and she felt like a child. None of the other passengers on the lift had even moved.

Except for Moon. The young kalashtar was glaring at her and Singe with a frightening, tight-lipped jealousy, and Dandra didn’t know whether to feel shame at holding Singe’s hand, anger at Moon’s obsession-or sorrow for the madness that had taken hold of him. His obsession couldn’t be natural. She let go of Singe’s hand, and something of the jealousy faded from Moon’s face. His lips relaxed and immediately began to shape silent words once more. Dandra’s belly tightened.

We’ll stop the song, Moon, she promised him silently. Whatever it takes, we’ll stop it.

The shaft opened up again, becoming a channel once more, and Malleon’s Gate spread out below them. The district sprawled among and within the roots of Sharn’s great towers, but Dandra had the eerie feeling that she looked out over a town built inside a tomb. Malleon’s Gate was dark, lit only by sporadic fires and sparse everbright lanterns. Some light, thin with dusk but brilliant in comparison to the surrounding gloom, fell in shining streaks through a few gaps among the great towers. By their spare radiance, she could make out stunted lesser towers and sprawling complexes that might once have been mansions or temples in centuries past. Everything was shrouded in a thin, mist-like smoke that caught what little light there was and spread it into a glowing haze.

A tomb, however, would have been silent. Malleon’s Gate echoed with sound. Shouts, cries, wails, calls, screeches, banging-the hard walls turned it all back onto the streets. A howl rose up to meet them, and Dandra couldn’t have said where it came from, let alone what sort of throat had produced it. One of the ragged humans riding the lift nudged another, though, and exchanged muttered words that produced a rude laugh. Dandra tightened her grip on her spear as the lift glided down into the shadows and finally came to rest at the end of its long run.

“Where do we go from here, Moon?” asked Singe.

Moon’s face creased in a smile that made Dandra’s grip tighten even more. “Just follow me,” he said. He strode off along a refuse-strewn street with a swagger.

Dandra glanced at Singe, then at Ashi. Both of them had their hands on their weapons.

Vennet didn’t wait for the gates on the lift he rode to open. He leaped over the rail as soon as it settled. Biish was waiting, leaning against the wall of a building so ancient and decrepit Vennet was surprised it could support him. They’d had to separate. There was no way Vennet could have ridden the same lift as their quarry without being recognized. Every moment of the long ride down from Overlook had grated at him. He’d passed the time imagining the ways he’d deal with Singe and Dandra. Ashi he’d decided on long ago: he wanted to take a long, close look at her dragonmarked skin, preferably while it was mounted to a wall. She couldn’t have a Siberys mark. It had to be false, a fake, some lesser mark at the very most.

“Well?” he asked the hobgoblin.

“They went that way,” Biish said.

He pointed. Vennet’s eyebrows rose. Around him, the cacophony of Malleon’s Gate blended into the whispering voices of the wind. They know where they’re going .

“I see that,” he said. “Did you carry my warning?”

The wind gave him no answer, but Biish looked at him strangely. Vennet glowered back at him. “I wasn’t talking to you!”

Biish’s ears lay back flat, but Vennet met his eyes and held them until the hobgoblin looked away. “Ban . There’s something else, Storm. I was watching the kalashtar boy. I think he’s one of the ones on your list.”

“So much the better. We’ll take him, and you can cross one off the list. Are they being followed?”

Biish nodded. “A gang of goblin pups would follow the Keeper to Dolurrh for a crown. They’ll leave members behind to show us the way.”

“Good.” Vennet had to fight back the broad grin that threatened to take over his entire face. His back itched with a fierce anticipation. “Let’s go. We don’t want to miss this.”

Biish hesitated. “Storm, it’s almost sunset. I need to get my people together if the plans for tonight are going to come together.”

“That’s what lieutenants and first officers are for, Biish.” Vennet shoved the hobgoblin onward. “Besides, this little adventure is going make someone important very happy.”

A festival mood pervaded the streets of Malleon’s Gate just as it had the streets of Overlook, although it seemed to Dandra that in the lower city Thronehold was less a celebration of the end of the Last War than an excuse for wild abandon. Not, she suspected, that most of the denizens of the district needed an excuse for abandon.