Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

“The duur’kala take care to remember what must not be forgotten,” Ekhaas said.

Batul looked back down at her. “The duur’kala would do well to remember other things as well. Like humility.”

“Easy,” said Geth, straightening up from the basin where he had been washing Kobus’s blood off himself. “We’re all friends here.”

Batul bent his head. “I’m sorry. Forgive a cranky old druid for being lectured by a child.”

Ekhaas looked like she might be ready with another sharp comment, but Geth caught her eye and glared at her. She clenched her teeth and said, “I beg your pardon. My pride wasn’t meant to offend.”

It was a pretty apology, though Geth noticed that her ears stayed resolutely erect. Batul said nothing, so neither did he.

Seated on the other side of the tent, Orshok spoke up. “Does what we learned in Taruuzh Kraat agree with what you already know, teacher?”

Batul nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That the Master of Silence is stirring. That Dah’mir hopes, by driving kalashtar mad and drawing them to the service of the powers of Khyber, to give his master servants with the psionic powers of mind flayers but without mind flayers’ vulnerability to Gatekeeper magic. Those things we knew. They’re the reason why the Gatekeepers meet in council and why the horde was summoned while we debate.” He stroked his beard. “But that Dah’mir has found new-and more powerful-binding stones to use in his plans, that we didn’t know. I’ll need to take this to the other Gatekeepers.”

Supporting himself with the stout length of his crook-headed hunda stick, the old orc rose to his feet.

“Wait, what about your story?” Geth asked. “How do you know all this? It can’t have been a vision, can it?” He tapped his cheek under his right eye to indicate Batul’s own blind eye, the eye with which the druid claimed to have occasionally glimpses of the future.

Batul blinked and shook his head. “I almost forgot. I’m sorry-so much is happening and the council’s debates …” He sighed and leaned heavily on his hunda stick. “No, it wasn’t a vision. The only clear vision I’ve had of late was your journey along the river, and even that wasn’t so clear as it might have been-I thought Singe and Dandra might have been with you, and I didn’t foresee Ekhaas’s presence at all.”

“How then?”

Batul looked up, the gaze of his good eye sweeping them, and nodded again. “Perhaps it’s best if I show you. Come with me. Leave your gear here, if you like. This tent will be yours.”

Geth pulled on his shirt and picked up Wrath. They followed Batul out of the tent. As they passed through the camp, sporadic shouts and cheers followed them. Or at least followed Geth. The shifter returned the shouts with waves and said to Batul out of the corner of his mouth, “What did you tell them about me?”

“The truth,” Batul told him. “Perhaps the rest of Khorvaire is jaded, but here in the Shadow Marches we still appreciate a hero’s story. The fight with Kobus will only add to yours.”

Geth felt a vague flush of shame. “I don’t fight for glory. How much of the fight did you see?”

“Nearly all of it. Orshok told me why you felt the need to take on Kobus.” He moved a little closer and added softly, “He said you were defending your honor so you could fight alongside the horde with pride-before you even knew what the horde was fighting.”

“I didn’t say that exactly …”

Batul shook his head. “But you said it nearly enough, didn’t you? Geth, you’re impulsive, but I know you think more than that.”

Something flickered in the back of Geth’s mind, the fleeting shadow of curiosity. He looked at the old druid sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about being aware of what you do. Have you felt the excitement in the camp?”

Geth nodded and Batul smiled. “Incredible, isn’t it? Warriors arrive in the camp and fall into the horde as if they’ve been sharing a fire for days. The council is nearly ready to make a decision and getting a dozen Gatekeepers to agree on dinner usually takes weeks of debate. We’ll march soon, I think.” His good eye flickered in the firelight. “If I were you,” he added, “I wouldn’t let anyone else know how much Wrath lets you understand.”

Batul’s soft tones vanished before Geth could even nod again. “Here,” he announced and stopped.

They stood before a large tent. Unlike the others in the horde camp, it stood on its own, separated from its nearest neighbors by five paces of open ground on all sides. Two guards whose stony faces clearly indicated that they wanted to be somewhere else stood guard at the tent flap. Their presence, however, wasn’t the only protection for the tent. Two birds-one a hawk, the other a crow, both probably bound to druids of the council-perched on the roof pole. The outside of the tent had been painted with symbols, and the ring of empty ground planted with carved poles bearing strings of bones, stones, and feathers. Some of the symbols on the tent and poles were similar to those on the stones of his collar. Symbols to repel or contain the power of the Gatekeepers’ enemies.

Unlike other tents and huts in the camp, a lamp burned inside the painted tent, casting a glow on the walls. Whoever was inside needed light to see.

Batul passed by the guards and lifted the tent flap. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said through the gap, “but there are people you must see.” He gestured for Geth to enter. The shifter ducked past the flap-and cursed, tearing Wrath free of its sheath and trying to fling himself back so fast he stumbled into Ekhaas.

Seated on a low sleeping platform, a kalashtar woman looked up at him with empty eyes. Her face was worn and thin, its angles as sharp as an over ground knife blade. Her hair, shot through with gray, was bound back and she wore an orc’s rough clothes. The last time Geth had seen her, she had been wearing the filthy remains of a fine dress and her hair been matted and wild-and she had been wracking him with pain using nothing more than the power of her mind.

“Medala!” he snarled. He pulled himself away from Ekhaas and dropped into a defensive crouch, Wrath pointed at Dah’mir’s mad servant. His heart was thundering in his chest. He heard Orshok cry out as well and managed to find words in a dry throat. “This isn’t possible. You’re dead.”

“I wish I were,” Medala said. Her voice, though grating and hoarse, was as empty as her eyes.

Batul put a hand on Geth’s shoulder. “She’s the one who warned us about the Master of Silence. A little less than a month ago, hunters from Fat Tusk found her wandering the marshes, starving. They brought her to me.”

“She’s dangerous, Batul! She almost killed both of us.”

“The symbols around the tent hold what’s left of her power in check, Geth,” Batul said calmly.

Medala gave a bitter laugh. “Be at ease, shifter. I could no more touch your mind now than I could touch the Ring of Siberys.”

She rose. Geth tensed, but she made no further move. Medala had been a tall woman, but her frame had become gaunt and hunched. “When Dandra unleashed Virikhad’s mad mind against me, he and I fought for control of my body the only way we could.” She touched her forehead. “With our wills and our psionic powers. You saw us vanish and thought us dead, but that was Virikhad’s doing. He had powers over space and he flung us … elsewhere.”

A shudder shook her body, but she smiled grimly. “My powers are over the mind. I was stronger. I was returned to the place where I had been-the Bonetree mound, though your battle with Dah’mir was long over. My battle with Virikhad, however, had broken Dah’mir’s hold over me. I fled with one thought in my shattered mind: revenge on Dah’mir and his master.” She was trembling and her voice rose. “Would you deny me that, Geth? I know from Dandra’s mind that revenge was what you sought when you came to the Shadow Marches. Will you not let me take my revenge on the evil that broke me?”