Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

Tangled blue arcs of lightning leaped from his claws to rake the twilight battlefield. Against the searing flash, Singe saw the dark clusters that were orc warriors scatter into specks. As they scattered, Dah’mir’s form shrank as he transformed into a heron once more. From so great a height, the black bird might have vanished into the shadows of gathering night-but Singe could guess where Dah’mir had gone.

The flaring arcs of lightning had pointed the way to the dark mouth of the tunnel that pierced the Bonetree mound.

“Master! Master!” Vennet was at the rail, shaking with impotent rage. “Dah’mir, help me!”

The crackling of the fiery ring around the ship was like a song of freedom, as if the elemental bound within it knew that it could no longer be controlled. Singe’s arms and legs felt stiff as wood, but he turned his head to look up at the sky and wondered just how high they might go.

Then the air nearby shimmered, parted, and Dandra stepped out.

Singe couldn’t think of when he’d ever seen anyone look so beautiful. Her red-brown skin glowed under the light of the ring and in the sunlight that still reached over the rim of the world below. Her hair flowed in the wind of the ship’s passage like a cascade of black water. Her dark eyes flashed, and her jaw was set with fiery determination. For an instant, he thought she had to be some kind of dream, but then Vennet let out a gasp and stared at her too.

Dandra ignored the half-elf. Her feet pushed off from the deck, and she skimmed through the air to Singe’s side. He saw her face tighten with anguish at the sight of his injured face, but she didn’t pause or hesitate. “Can you stand?” she asked, offering him her hand.

He took it, but the only word that he could force out of his mouth was “How?” She’d used the long step to reach him, but he knew her mastery of the power wasn’t enough to let her travel far.

She pointed in answer, and Singe’s jaw dropped.

The circling of Mayret’s Envy had brought the southern sky into view. Against the glow of the Ring of Siberys, another airship stood out a short distance away, encircled with a ring of streaming cloud instead of fire and racing to keep up with the out of control ship.

“Twelve moons!” he gasped. “Where did you get-?”

“Biish’s second target!” Dandra said as she hauled Singe to his feet. “A second airship to steal if he couldn’t get the first one for Dah’mir. Are the captive kalashtar still on board?”

“No, only Moon. Medala-”

Dandra took his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers. Kesh opened between them. Show me , said Dandra.

It took only a moment for him to show her what he had seen and heard. Her eyes hardened. “Light of il-Yannah.” Her arm wrapped around his shoulders and drew him close. “Hold tight. We’re leaving.”

The invisible pressure of vayhatana wrapped around him before he could even blink. Over Dandra’s shoulder, he saw Moon’s body rise and move closer, also caught by the force of her will.

But with the young kalashtar came Vennet, racing across the deck. “Save me!” he shouted. “You have to save me!”

Singe turned his head and bared his teeth at him. “The Master of Silence rewarded you with the Siberys Mark of Storm, didn’t he?” he said as smoothly as the hatred that twisted inside him would allow. “Command the wind to save you.”

Vennet’s face brightened. “Storm at dawn! Yes!” He turned to face into the wind of the airship’s passage and raised his arms. “Come!” he shouted, his hair whipping around his face. “Come! Your master commands it! Carry me to safety!”

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen-then Vennet’s feet rose from the deck of the ship.

A grin of triumph spread across his face. “I bear the Mark of Siberys!” he said. His voice rose into a howl. “The wind answers me! I command the storm!” He kicked himself away from the deck and drifted effortlessly toward the ship’s rail. The fear that had been in his eyes turned to rage as he glared at Singe and Dandra. “You will pay for your defiance of the powers of Khyber. Try to escape! I will blast you from the air!”

He pushed himself from the rail to stand firm on the empty air beyond and spread his arms again. “Vennet d’Lyrandar,” he crowed, “controls the skies!”

“Enjoy them,” said Dandra and through kesh , Singe felt her release a small part of her concentration.

There was confusion in Vennet’s eyes as he dropped and terror in the scream that faded into the distance below. Dandra’s arm tightened around Singe. He squeezed her back, then glanced at her.

“How do we get down?” he asked.

Her lips pressed together. “The same way,” she said and called out with her mind, Mithas, be ready!

The unseen threads of vayhatana surged, flinging them off the deck of the airship, and they fell. The elemental ring of the ship passed over their heads in a roaring blaze. Singe squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

Then something grabbed them and held them steady in mid-air. Singe opened his eyes. He still clung to Dandra, Dandra still clung to him, Moon floated silently next to them, and the other airship was slowing to a stop just below. On her deck stood Mithas d’Deneith, a wand in his grasp pointing at them. He gestured with the wand, and they began to sink. Singe remembered the wand the sorcerer had displayed over Sharn and his boast that he could save Ashi from falling. He was pleased to see that for once Mithas hadn’t just been boasting.

Ashi and Natrac were on the deck as well and reached up for them as they descended. There was another person on the ship. Standing at the helm was a half-elf woman whose face had haunted Singe’s fevered dreams. He stared at her then looked at Dandra. “Vennet threw her overboard in Sharn!”

“I thought she was you and caught her with vayhatana,” Dandra said. “She’s Benti. Stealing the second airship was her suggestion. By the time we had her, your ship was out of sight. We guessed at where Dah’mir would be taking the kalashtar, but the Bonetree mound isn’t on any airship charts-we had to fly to Zarash’ak then follow the river north. We’re lucky Dah’mir was too busy fighting the orcs and chasing your ship to notice our approach.”

Singe barely heard her explanation. He blinked at Dandra. “Biish’s Benti?”

Her lips curved. “Not exactly.”

Then they were on the deck, and everyone was bustling around him and Moon. Dandra made him sit down. Natrac thrust a flask into his mouth, holding it there until Singe had drained the contents. The liquid inside was viciously bitter, but Singe felt the tingle of magical healing almost immediately. New strength flowed into his limbs, and while his belly remained empty, he thought like he could go another day before he needed a meal.

The potion didn’t bring his eye back-not that he had expected it would. It would take more magic than could be found in a potion to do that. Natrac glanced at the empty eye socket. “Vennet’s work?” he asked. Singe nodded. The half-orc grimaced and twisted his knife-hand so the long blade flashed. “Too bad you got to him before me,” he said.

A scarf fluttered down over Singe’s head. “Cover it up,” Mithas said in distaste.

Singe pulled the scarf from his face and looked up at the sorcerer. “You’re the last person I would have expected to come on a rescue mission.”

Mithas’s expression was sour. “I’m protecting my investment,” he said. “Ashi insisted on coming. She pointed out that our bargain was that she would let me take her to the lords of Deneith after everyone was safe. I didn’t realize she included you in that.”