Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

“I hope you weren’t planning on going into the skycoach business permanently!” said Singe, glancing back at her.

“Only for tonight.” Rhazala’s face was intense and possibly a little bit frightened. “Not so sure about the rest of tonight. This is Overlook now. Where are you going?”

From the stress in her words, he guessed that she was hoping he’d tell her to set down at the first opportunity. He didn’t give her that satisfaction. “Fan Adar, the kalashtar neighborhood. Do you know it?”

Rhazala’s flat nose wrinkled. “From the ground, yes. From the air, no.”

“It’s there,” said Ashi from the front of the coach. Her voice was grim. “Straight ahead. Where all the herons are circling.”

Singe swung around again. Beneath the moonlight, a dozen black herons swooped through the sky ahead of them. Something had them excited-they moved like cats with wings stalking earthbound prey. A large hulk of a skycoach, just like the ones they’d seen in Malleon’s Gate, drifted nearby, apparently abandoned. “Twelve bloody moons,” Singe hissed. They’d been wrong. He’d been wrong. Dah’mir hadn’t waited. The raid had already begun.

“It was us,” Dandra said tightly. “He probably acted early because we got away in the arena.” She glanced back at Rhazala. “Take us down!”

The goblin sounded alarmed. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“You don’t want to know,” said Dandra. She reached over her shoulder and drew her spear from across her back. “Just take us down. We need to get off now!”

“No, wait.” Singe studied the herons. Was Dah’mir among them? He didn’t think so. The dragon would likely be in the thick of the action, not hanging above it like a common bird. “Take us closer.”

Rhazala let out a squeak, but Singe dropped two more gold galifars onto the floor of the coach under her bench. “Don’t ask questions. Just make a pass over the birds.” He looked at Dandra. “We need to see what’s happening down there before we go charging in. We’ll be more effective if we know what we’re doing.”

Dandra’s fingers tightened on her spear, but she nodded. Rhazala glanced at the gold, swallowed, and sent the skycoach gliding forward like a boat on a river. She pulled the steering rod, and they rose slightly, climbing above the herons. The birds seemed to pay them no attention, but then they were hardly the only skycoach in the air-just the only one with passengers more interested in what was below than what was above. Singe found himself holding his breath as he leaned over the edge of the coach and looked down.

Just as Dandra had said, Fan Adar was quiet compared to the other neighborhoods around. Revelers seemed to avoid the kalashtar district. Fan Adar was dark too. Strangely dark. The everbright lanterns that should have lit the streets had been suppressed. Singe had to strain to see through the shadows. Biish’s goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears would have a strategic advantage in the darkness.

But there was no movement in the streets. Except for the wheeling herons, everything seemed peaceful. Singe felt an eerie tension crawl up his spine.

“Maybe we are in time,” whispered Natrac.

“They’re there,” Ashi answered him. Her voice had a raw edge Singe hadn’t heard in weeks-the edge of a barbarian of the Shadow Marches. “Can’t you feel it? This is the moment before the hunt begins.”

Rhazala squeaked out a curse. “Tell me what’s going on-”

She didn’t finish. From somewhere below, a scream of fright echoed into the night before breaking off. An instant later, the herons dropped, screeching, out of the sky to plummet down into the streets. More shouts rose-more screams. A deep howl that must have been a bugbear or maybe even an ogre was followed by shrieks. Light flashed onto the streets as doors and windows were thrown open, but the light only served to make the shadows seem deeper and the shapes that ran through the street stranger and more wild.

“Rond betch , you see?” shouted Ashi. The skycoach rocked as she turned from side to side. “They’re everywhere! They’re trying to panic the kalashtar.”

“That won’t help them for long,” Dandra said. “The kalashtar and the Adaran humans will rally at the Gathering Light and fight back.”

Natrac’s face flushed dark. “But that’s what they’re expecting! Biish said that kalashtar under attack always cluster together at a central location.”

The mention of the hobgoblin’s name made Rhazala flinch. “Biish?” she choked. “You’re going against Biish? Khaari orces’taat! Keep your gold!” The coach lurched to a halt and began to turn as she pulled at the steering rod.

Natrac twisted around with a roar that rocked Singe back on his seat. “Hold that rod steady! Kuv dagga , we’re going against Biish! This time the Biter has sunk his teeth into something too big for him. If they’re still telling stories about Natrac Graywall, you’d better start remembering them because you’ve got a front row seat for his return!”

Rhazala’s mouth fell open in shocked awe. “Natrac? You’re Natrac?” Her eyes flashed and her grip tightened on the steering road. “My coach is yours!”

For a moment, staring at Natrac was all Singe could do too. He’d seen the half-orc wear many faces, from blustering merchant to desperate fighter, but in the deep rage that colored Natrac’s features now he could see for the first time the man who might have earned a warrant-notice from the Sentinel Marshals of House Deneith. “Bloody moons, Natrac!” he managed.

Natrac thrust his tusks forward. “I’ve had enough of Biish. I may be afraid of Dah’mir, but Host and Six curse me if I’m going to take anything more from that shekot! If he’s going to force me to go back to what I was, I’m going all the way.”

“I’m glad you’re on our side then.” Singe blew out his breath and thought quickly, trying to assess the situation. “If Biish is expecting the kalashtar to rally at the Gathering Light, that’s probably where he’ll stage the main thrust of his attack. How many people does he have, Natrac?”

“Knowing Biish, more than enough to do the job. And Vennet told Biish he’d have assistance during the attack.”

“Dah’mir,” Dandra said between her teeth. “Light of il-Yannah, Dah’mir will dominate the kalashtar while Biish’s attack takes down the Adarans.”

Singe narrowed his eyes. “But he still needs Biish’s gang, or he’d have done all this himself. Biish is his vulnerability. Stop the raid and we can stop Dah’mir.”

“That’s not much easier,” said Natrac. “‘More than enough people to do the job’ is more than us. He’s going to have us outnumbered.”

“We’ve faced worse odds-and unless you have your old gang tucked away in your pocket, we don’t have a choice.” Singe glanced at Dandra. “Which way to the Gathering Light?”

Dandra turned and flung out an arm. “Rhazala, that way!”

“Moza!” The coach moved, curving smoothly in the direction Dandra had indicated-

— a curve that ended in a lurch as Rhazala squealed and yanked at the steering rod to avoid a small skycoach that came swooping down out of the sky and directly at them. Four figures squatted in the other coach and Singe caught the unmistakable gleam of moonlight on drawn steel.

“Biish!” Rhazala yelped.

“Bandits!” spat Natrac.

But steel wasn’t the only thing that moonlight flashed on. The figures in the other coach wore blue jackets, and the coach itself bore a familiar crest. “Blademarks!” shouted Singe. “Rhazala, get us down!”

“Don’t move your coach!” A voice as familiar as the Blademarks crest rolled above the sounds of chaos that came from Fan Adar-but the voice didn’t come from the coach ahead of them. Singe twisted around. A second coach carrying more blue-jacketed mercenaries had come into position behind them. Crouched in the front of the coach, a wand in his grasp, was Mithas d’Deneith. “Don’t move your coach, don’t move yourselves, don’t try to cast any spells-and don’t try to use any psionics, kalashtar. At the first sign that anything is amiss, we will bring you down!”