Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

The swirl grew into a sudden howl of wind. It lifted small rocks and dust from the cavern floor and whirled them around Dah’mir, battering and tearing at him. The dragon fell back, eyes clenched shut against the storm, his massive head shaking like a dog’s. Singe loosed his spell, and another bolt of flame forced Dah’mir further around.

Up on the ledge, Batul turned and looked down at Geth. “Your sword!” he shouted. “Strike now!”

Geth looked down at Wrath. The purple-black byeshk of the Dhakaani weapon had begun to glow with a twilight radiance, like an ember fanned by the wind of Batul’s magic. Dhakaani weapons and Gatekeeper magic had together won the ancient Daelkyr War, the old druid had told him. And Ekhaas had once said that Wrath had been forged to be wielded by the heroes of Dhakaan fighting alongside Gatekeepers.

He remembered the same radiance glowing in the blade when he’d driven it into Dah’mir before. Clenching his teeth against the pain of his injuries, Geth pushed himself away from the wall and sprinted for the dragon.

Dah’mir heard him coming. His acid-green eyes opened against the wrath of Batul’s spell and he snapped at Geth, neck stretching out. Geth dropped and slid under the clashing jaws. Batul’s spell tore at him as well, scouring shifting-toughened skin, but he ignored it as he ignored the pain in his side. Dah’mir tried to rear up the way he had before-

He was too slow. Geth rolled to his feet and, in one smooth motion that had all of his strength and weight behind it, swung Wrath against the shard in the dragon’s chest.

The glowing sword bit through scales and cut deep into flesh. Dark, hot blood burst out, sizzling on Wrath and spraying across Geth’s face. The Dhakaani blade hit the dragonshard-and shattered it.

It seemed to Geth that a final spark of black lightning escaped from the shattered shard and darted away past the great seal, like some last remnant of the Master of Silence’s power returning to him. Dah’mir let out a choking cough. His forelegs curled toward Geth as if to scrape him away. The shifter leaned against Wrath and rocked the sword back and forth, forcing the forked tip deeper into the dragon’s flesh. On one of Dah’mir’s forelegs, a red Eberron shard embedded in the scales flared as if burning from the inside out-just as Wrath cut into something deep in Dah’mir’s body.

The flare in the burning red dragonshard turned dark as ash. Wrath leaped in Geth’s grasp, momentarily caught by the pulsing of a powerful muscle. Geth tightened his grip and wrenched the sword free in another shower of blood and fragments of blue-black crystal.

Dah’mir staggered once, and toppled over just below the ledge where Batul and the other Gatekeepers stood. Ekhaas cried out and leaped for safety. Geth just watched as Dah’mir’s head bounced on the stones of the cavern floor, his dead eyes staring through the Gatekeeper seal and into the throne room of the master who had abandoned him.

“No! Ekhaas! Keep singing! Keep singing!”

Dandra’s shout dragged Geth around, and for a moment, he just stared at the katalarash as she leaped to join them on the cavern floor. Her hands were stained with blood and Medala’s corpse lay impaled where she had-

Then his mind grasped what his ears were already telling him.

Ekhaas’s countersong had stopped. The katalarash sang alone. His gut leaped. He raised his sword and forced his gauntleted arm up in spite of the pain within it. Not that they would do him much good. There were sixteen katalarash up there. Sixteen heirs to the madness and power of Medala and Virikhad. “Ekhaas!” he called over his shoulder.

It was too late. The song of the katalarash was falling apart. They raised their heads, individuals once more, and looked around. One by one, their eyes found Medala’s body and Dandra’s spear transfixing her. Geth thought he could guess what they were thinking. The woman who had controlled them was gone. The dragon who had kidnapped them was gone. The daelkyr who had brought about their creation was, if not gone, then at least forced back into his prison.

The katalarash were free to do whatever they wanted.

The old woman who had been the second katalarash to awaken-to be reborn-lifted her head from Medala’s corpse and her gaze settled on Ekhaas.

“It’s quiet,” she said.

Her body crumpled to the floor

All of the other katalarash crumpled with her. For a long moment, Geth didn’t dare to breathe and no one dared to move. Finally, Dandra rose from the ground and slid cautiously forward, reaching out to touch the old woman.

“Dead,” she said in amazement.

“No,” said a voice from above. Geth turned toward it. The young kalashtar man who had appeared with Singe and Dandra was on his feet, unsteady but supported by Ashi. Their right and left hands were bound together, the amulet of Vvaraak dangling from them. Ashi’s face was pale. The young man’s eyes looked like he had seen something terrible. His mouth twitched. “Free.”

Then Dah’mir was actually right?” Geth asked. “Something was wrong and they did wake too quickly?”

Dandra shook her head, her black hair shimmering in the pale light of one of the Gatekeepers’ reed torches. “I don’t know. Maybe there was something in Medala and Virikhad’s control that brought the kalashtar minds back before they had the strength to hold onto them. Maybe Ekhaas’s countersong eased their madness to the point that when the song ended, they were able to let themselves die. Maybe Dah’mir simply didn’t understand how the bracers would interact with Taruuzh’s binding stones.”

“Dah’mir knew what he was doing,” Singe said grimly. “We should be thankful Medala and Virikhad tried to take control. The bracers worked.” His jaw tightened. “I felt them work.”

Dandra’s hand reached over and took Singe’s hand as they walked. She didn’t say anything and neither did the wizard.

Geth looked away from them and up the tunnel ahead. Beyond the darkness, there was a patch of brightness-the mouth of the mound and the gray light that came before dawn. He felt an urge to race ahead and throw himself out into clean air beneath open skies.

They’d stayed in the seal cavern no longer than they had to, but they’d still been there longer than he would have liked. Batul had reclaimed the amulet of Vvaraak and the weary Gatekeepers had done what they’d entered the mound to do: reinforce the magic that bound the Master of Silence. No one had asked if Singe’s trick with the binding stone had destroyed the daelkyr. Geth was certain that if the Master of Silence was dead, they’d know.

The binding stones that had been in the bracers worn by the kidnapped kalashtar had been crushed and mixed into new mortar for the seal, just as the ancient druids had crushed Taruuzh’s stones after the long ago Battle of Moths. Singe had stripped the kalashtar’s psicrystals out of the bracers. Moon carried them now in a pouch that he bore with silent solemnity. There had been some debate over what to do with the remains of the kalashtar and of the Gatekeepers who had fallen under Medala’s attack. No one wanted to leave them in a place tainted by Xoriat, but no one had the strength to carry them back to the surface.

Dandra had tapped into the last reserves of her psionic power and called up the droning chorus of whitefire. The bodies of the victims and heroes of Dah’mir’s schemes burned in flames so tightly controlled that it hurt to look at the them, but that spread no heat beyond their confines. Ekhaas had stood over them and sung a dirge that soared louder than even the killing song had.

Medala’s body and Dah’mir’s had received no such respect. They left them where they had fallen, though each of the Gatekeepers had solemnly taken a trophy from Dah’mir’s body-a sliver of the Khyber shard that had been in the dragon’s chest and that Wrath had shattered. After a moment, Singe had knelt and taken two of the slivers as well, passing one to Dandra. She’d accepted it in silence. Ekhaas had taken a sliver too, then Ashi and even Moon.