Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

The old druid was closer than he had expected. He stood on the edge of a cluster of Gatekeepers. His face was stone. The sick feeling in Geth’s belly grew stronger. “No …” he whispered.

Batul spoke no condemnation, gave no sign of his anger. He just thrust forward his hunda stick, calling out a thick word of command that rang out over the chaos spreading through the camp. Geth felt the power of nature stir in response.

“Batul!” he shouted. “Don’t!” He dragged Wrath from his scabbard as a smell like fresh-turned earth washed over him-before turning wet and fetid as swamp muck. Under his feet, the ground seemed to slip, then to slump.

And abruptly he was sinking up to his hips in thick, clinging mud. It pulled at him and Ekhaas both, and even several Gatekeepers darted back to avoid falling in with them. Geth tried to surge toward Batul and the nearest solid ground, but movement only made the mud’s grasp stronger. Other voices called on nature’s power, and the mud seemed to stir and bulge of its own accord.

The figures that burst up from the mud were roughly human in shape but squat, powerful, and formed from the muck itself. Elementals-small ones, but still deadly. The mud didn’t slow them at all. Ekhaas cursed, drawing her sword and swinging at one. The blade sliced it in half, but the elemental drew new substance from the mud and reformed. When she tried to swing again, it flung a blob of goo at her. The mud spattered across her face, making her choke.

Another of the elementals vanished under the surface of the mud. An instant later, Geth felt something grab his leg in a strong embrace and wrench at. With a yell, he flipped Wrath around and stabbed down.

It was like sinking the Dhakaani blade into clay, except that clay didn’t groan. The mud exploded up, spattering his face and the nearest Gatekeepers, but the grip on Geth’s leg vanished. He turned, grabbed for the amulet around his neck, and held it up for Batul to see. “Look, Batul! This is yours! Take it. It’s time. Wake up!”

Batul’s eyes opened wide. “A thief and a traitor!” he spat. “This is how you repay the respect we gave you?”

Geth’s throat knotted. Maybe this wasn’t the right time. Maybe he had been wrong. Batul’s hunda stick thrust forward again-

Whatever spell he intended to call down was never spoken. The shriek of rage that shattered the air silenced the entire horde. Geth, Ekhaas, Batul, and every Gatekeeper gathered around them turned. Even the elementals grew still.

Between legs and past bodies, Geth could just see Medala’s painted tent. There were bodies on the ground. The Bonetree hunters had cut a bloody path through the orcs. Their swords and knives dripped and their clothes were stained with crimson. Breff had just cut down a druid who had dared step in his way. The orc’s body still twitched, cleaved from breast to belly. The huntmaster hadn’t moved quickly enough, though. The flap of the tent had been torn back. Medala stood in the gap, gaunt as a fever. Power surrounded her. Not a power that Geth could see, but one that he could feel in the back of his mind.

A crystalline ringing, a clashing cascade of sword blades, a broken rhythm. Words that were not words rose from the hollow of his belly, fighting to escape his unwilling throat. Aahyi-ksiksiksi-kladakla-yahaahyi-

Breff howled and leaped for Medala. Tag, Medi, and Bado moved to Medala’s side like wolves flanking their prey. Ahron went low, her long knife flashing.

The kalashtar’s face twisted. The song that plucked at Geth’s mind seemed to pulse-Breff and his adult hunters convulsed and stumbled. Medi and Bado fell, their mouths opening and closing uselessly. Tag dropped to his knees, body wracked with the effort of drawing breath. Geth knew what they were feeling. Medala had done this to him once. It had been as if he’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe, and it had taken all he had just to suck air into his lungs.

But Breff’s eyes were fixed on Medala. He thrust himself at her in single-minded determination. One step. Two steps … He pitched forward onto his face. The tip of his sword hit the ground at her feet.

Ahron froze for an instant and stared-then threw herself at Medala with screaming ferocity. Medala’s harsh gaze flicked to her. Silver-white light flashed.

Blood burst through Ahron’s skin, so much blood that it hung like mist in the air. Her scream rose to a thin shriek, then vanished entirely, and she collapsed as if her bones had lost the strength to support her. The bloody bundle that had been a girl didn’t move again.

Without saying a word, Medala stepped over Breff’s unconscious form and Ahron’s ragged remains. The other hunters toppled to the ground, succumbing to her power, and she swept past them. Gatekeepers moved back out of her way like courtiers before a queen as she advanced.

She stopped beside Orshok, opposite Batul, and looked down at the shifter and the hobgoblin. “Too late,” she said. She looked up at Batul. “Kill the traitors, then prepare for the battle. He’ll be here soon.”

The song in Geth’s head shimmered with her words. Batul bent his head. “Your counsel is good, Medala.”

“Batul!” Geth groaned.

Medala laughed, a brittle sound that almost matched the song of her power. “They’re mine, Geth. They believe what I tell them and do what they think is right. If you hadn’t resisted me, you could still be a hero among them, ready to bring down a dragon instead of dying like a pig in a mudhole.”

He glared at her and bared his teeth. “Better mud than mad!”

She laughed again. “Soon you’ll be dead, Geth, and I’ll be more powerful than you can imagine. Dah’mir has no idea what he created.”

Batul barked a command in Orc. Geth heard it through Wrath. “Morak! Uta! Have the elementals bind him and bring him close!”

Before Geth could struggle, the elementals surged back into motion. Arms of mud wrapped him and Ekhaas like stone. Geth tried to heave against them but couldn’t break the grasp. Ekhaas drew breath to sing out a spell, and a tendril of mud slapped over her mouth. The elementals pushed them both forward to Batul. The old Gatekeeper knelt down on the edge of the mudhole. His good eye was narrow.

“A tomb of stone waits for you,” he said, “but you will not carry the treasures of my sect into death.” He reached out and seized the amulet, ready to tear it from Geth’s neck.

The instant that his fingers closed on the ancient talisman, his body tensed. Both of his eyes opened wide and in the milky depths of his blind eye, Geth thought he saw something stir. The shifter’s breath caught. So did the druid’s. He blinked and his eyes met Geth’s.

His good eye was clear but determined. “You wake me, my friend,” he whispered. “The time is right.”

Sharp pain burned around Geth’s neck as Batul wrenched on the amulet, snapping the cord that held it. Still kneeling, the orc held the amulet high. “Vvaraak, Scaled Teacher,” he shouted, “show truth to your disciples!”

Something in the world … shifted. For an instant, Geth felt very small, like a child in the presence of an incredibly old, incredibly wise grandparent. A gust of wind came welling up out of the south. He smelled flowers and a hint of rotting vegetation. He heard the trill of a songbird, strangely mingled with the hunting cry of an eagle.

All around him, Gatekeepers groaned. Medala shrieked, clutching at her head and the weird crystalline song that had haunted his mind vanished. He twisted his neck around to stare at the kalashtar.

Her eyes were wide, though the pupils were tiny dark holes. Her fingers scraped slowly down from her temples to her cheeks, leaving long red scratches behind-then once again, she laughed. “You’ve freed them!” she said. “You’ve freed them, but you can’t shield them. They will be mine again!”