Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

Her lips straightened into a humorless line. “I can guess that price. How do I know I’ll get the truth from you?”

“How do I know you’ll let me go?” He moved closer to the bars, choosing his words carefully. “Do you know what Biish is going to do for Storm? Have you found out about the second part of his plan, the part he wouldn’t discuss in front of you?”

“He’s going to kidnap kalashtar.” Benti said it with the bluntness of someone who cared about no one but herself. Natrac’s stomach turned at the thought that once he had spoken in exactly the same way.

“Do you know why?” he asked.

“Ransom. Blackmail. Maybe Storm wants the kalashtar to use their powers for him. I don’t know.”

“Storm follows a Cult of the Dragon Below,” Natrac said. “He’s working with a dragon-a true dragon-named Dah’mir. They’re going to twist the kalashtar they kidnap into servants of a daelkyr. Do you know what a daelkyr is?”

Benti’s eyes hardened. “Aye. A ghost that orc mothers use to frighten their children.” She pulled back her arm sharply. The rag slithered out between the bars of the window before Natrac could even grab for it. Benti leaned close, her teeth snapping around her words. “Do you think I’m stupid, Natrac? I don’t want to hear folk tales. I want to hear about Storm.”

Anger fell over Natrac. He thrust himself at the cell door, grabbing the bars with his good hand. “Do you think I’m stupid, Benti? Do you think I’d come back to Sharn without a good reason?” He shoved the stump of his wrist up so that Benti was forced to look at the scar-smooth flesh. “Storm did this. His real name is Vennet d’Lyrandar and he’s as crazy as a bat!”

“Vennet?” The harshness of Benti’s face seemed to shift, smoothing out into an expression of curious surprise. “Is he the captain of a Lyrandar ship called Lightning-something?”

Surprise wiped the anger from Natrac’s mind as well. “Lightning on Water,” he said. “You’ve heard of her?”

“She vanished two months ago on her way to Zilargo with … an important passenger on board.” She looked at him sharply. “What do you know about it?”

“I know that she didn’t vanish. Vennet turned her around and sailed to Zarash’ak.” Old instincts tugged at Natrac’s mind in warning, and he took a step back from the bars. There was something different in the set of Benti’s mouth abruptly, an intensity that hadn’t been there before. Her voice was different too, uncaring selfishness replaced by a kind of devotion. “Who are you?” Natrac asked.

“Never mind that,” said Benti. “What about Lightning on Water and Vennet d’Lyrandar?”

The question had the weight of a command. Natrac kept his eyes on Benti, but quickly described what he and the others had learned after freeing Vennet’s crew from Dah’mir’s control in Zarash’ak. How Dah’mir had appeared on Lightning on Water and made some sort of deal with Vennet. How the treacherous captain had slain the ship’s passengers while Dah’mir exerted control over the crew. How the ship had been turned back to Zarash’ak so that Vennet and Dah’mir could travel into the heart of the Shadow Marches-

Benti cut him off. “Where’s Lightning on Water now?”

“Lost somewhere between Vralkek and Sharn. The last time we saw Vennet, he said that he and Dah’mir had destroyed her.” Natrac studied her, then added, “Do you believe me now? That’s only a part of the story. I’d tell you more except-”

“Except you don’t have time.” Benti’s mouth settled into a thin line once more. “I don’t know if I believe you about this daelkyr, but dusk is falling. Biish will be moving against the kalashtar soon.”

Natrac pushed forward. “You’ll let me go?”

She held a hand. “Not so fast.” She looked into his eyes. “What are you going to do?”

He didn’t hesitate in his answer. “Go to Overlook. My friends and I came to Sharn to warn the kalashtar elders about Dah’mir and Vennet. They need to know about Biish’s attack. Maybe they can foil it.”

“Boldrei smile on them if they can,” Benti said. “You understand that I have to stand with Biish? If the kalashtar fall into his hands, I can’t help them.”

“You’re not just a lieutenant with ambitions on taking over her chib ’s role, are you?” asked Natrac.

She didn’t answer the question. “You didn’t have my help in this,” she said. “If Biish catches you, I’ll kill you myself before you can open your mouth.” She reached for the door and pulled back the bolt.

Natrac didn’t force the issue. Some things, he knew from long experience, were better left alone. Instead, he said, “Drop the hook and rag. Biish will think I got the bolt open on my own.”

“That wouldn’t have worked.” Benti reached up above the window-and drew a second bolt Natrac hadn’t known was there. Natrac cursed as the door swung open.

“Has Biish changed anything else around here or can I still get out down the back stairs?” he demanded.

“The door’s barred on the inside but not guarded right now. Biish has everyone preparing for the raid.” Benti stepped out of his way and pointed to his knife-hand lying on the table in the outer chamber. “Take that and go. Whatever happens now, you should consider leaving Sharn again.”

Natrac didn’t think he’d ever be happy to strap the knife over his stump, but he grinned to himself as he pulled it on and tightened the straps. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I have no intention of staying.” He glanced up at Benti.

But the half-elf was already gone, vanished like a shadow in darkness. Natrac clenched his teeth, tugged the last strap tight, and followed her example. She’d spoken the truth about the lack of guards: the back hallways of Biish’s headquarters were all but empty. Natrac made his way along familiar corridors with ease, ducking back around a corner only once as the big bugbear Dabrak shambled between rooms. A moment later, the rough sound of a blade being sharpened on a spinning grindstone filled the air. Natrac darted down the hall and up to the back door. He got the bar off the door and was through it in an instant, closing it softly behind him.

He would have liked to savor his escape, but the danger wasn’t past yet. The nearest lift to the upper city was several blocks away. He tugged his cowl back up over his head to hide his face-with his sleeve torn away, there was little he could do to hide his knife-hand except hold it close to his body-and started for it, just one desperate ragged figure among the many on the streets of the Malleon’s Gate.

About halfway to the lift, however, he turned a corner and saw something that made him leap back faster than a Thrane kneeling to pray. Teeth clenched hard enough to ache, he peered cautiously back around the corner and into the street he had almost entered.

Biish and Vennet stood on the far side of it, talking to a pair of small goblin pups. Natrac couldn’t hear what the young goblins were saying, but they gestured vigorously and pointed down another street as if giving the men directions. One of the gestures the pups made caught Natrac’s attention in particular: the child drew the ragged collar of his shirt up across the lower part of his face, hiding everything below his eyes as if wearing a mask. Biish growled something at the pups, then spoke to Vennet. “They went this way.”

The half-elf rubbed his hands together in glee. “Right into the spider’s web! Come along! Come along!”

He strode off in the direction the pups had indicated, leaving Biish to catch up to him. The moment they were away down the street and safely out of sight, Natrac stepped out of hiding and went up to the pups before they could scurry away. “You boys following people for Biish?”