Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

Only three berths along, Lightning on Water nestled against the wood of the dock, the great elemental ring that drove it glinting like blue glass in the sun. A much smaller boat-a river craft-was tied up beside it and the galleon’s crew were busy loading it with supplies as though for a voyage. The hair on Geth’s forearms and on the back of his neck rose. Black herons rode the breeze around and above the Lyrandar galleon, perching boldly on its rails, among the rigging of nearby ships, and atop the piles of the docks.

Dah’mir’s herons. Vennet d’Lyrandar’s ship.

Beside the laboring crew stood two figures. One wore a dove-gray coat and had long blond hair that fell in a tail down his back. The other wore robes of fine black leather.

Their attention was on the crew, but as Geth stared Vennet and Dah’mir started to turn, walking toward them.

Barely thinking, he grabbed Orshok and Ashi and shoved them into the shelter of a narrow alley between two buildings. Orshok’s gray-green face was flushed dark.

“That was …” he croaked in frightened disbelief.

“I know,” Geth told him. “Be quiet!”

Ashi gripped the hilt of her sword. “Geth, we could end this! There’s three of us and two of them.”

“But one of them is a dragon!” he hissed at her. “Fighting Dah’mir would be suicide. Now be quiet and get back!”

Neither Vennet or Dah’mir had seen them and there was light at the alley’s far end-he hadn’t just hidden them in a dead-end. Geth thanked Grandfather Rat for a moment of good fortune. If they tried to make a break for it though, their movement was certain to draw the men’s attention. The floor of the alley was covered in foul litter. Geth ignored it-he dropped to his belly and lay flat. Behind him, he heard Orshok and Dandra press back as well.

The black stones of Adolan’s collar went cold around his throat. A moment later, Dah’mir and Vennet passed by the mouth of the alley.

Geth could barely bring himself to look up, but he did and caught a brief glimpse of the two men. Vennet looked the same as he had the last time Geth had seen him, though there was a hint of tension in his face. Dah’mir, on the other hand … When they had seen him before, the dragon’s human shape had been always been elegant, graceful, and perfect. Inhumanly perfect. Now, however, he moved stiffly and there was a draw on his features. He looked tired. He looked like he was in pain.

The two men were talking. Geth strained his ears to catch their words.

“-will find enough fresh water to sustain the crew while we’re gone.” Vennet was saying. “Two weeks? You’re certain.”

“At most,” answered Dah’mir, and the sound of his oil-smooth voice sent shudders along Geth’s spine. “By the way, you might not want to pick your best men to accompany us, captain. The journey can be dangerous-”

His words cut off sharply. “Lord?” asked Vennet. “What is it?”

Geth’s heart felt like it had stopped beating. The light from the mouth of the alley vanished as Dah’mir stepped back, his nostrils flared as if he smelled something bad.

For an instant, time seemed to stop as Geth and Dah’mir stared at each other, and Geth’s attention focused on a single detail: the blue-black Khyber dragonshard that had glittered on the chest of Dah’mir’s leather robes before was gone, shattered by Geth’s sword, its place marked by a wet stain and a crudely mended tear in the leather.

Then Dah’mir’s acid-green eyes flared. His lips peeled back, “You!”

A predator’s instincts might have been focused on hunting and fighting-but predators knew when to flee, too.

Geth thrust himself away from Dah’mir, twisting to his feet as he moved. “Run!” he roared at Ashi and Orshok. “Run!”

Orshok needed no encouragement. He sprinted down the alley faster than Geth would have thought possible. Ashi, however, stood frozen for a moment, torn between flight and the desire to fight. Geth didn’t give her the chance to think about it-he just ran straight at her. The alley was too narrow for them to pass each other. “Go, Ashi!” he screamed as he charged at her. “Move!”

She spun around and ran. Geth put his head down and focused on moving his legs as fast as he could. With each pounding stride, he expected to hear the dragon’s deafening roar and to feel hot, acidic venom spatter against his back. Trapped in the alley, they were all three an easy target. He’d seen the dragon’s acid melt orcs and dolgrims alike on the battlefield at the Bonetree mound, flesh and bone dissolving into a hideous slop. Any time now, he thought to himself with mounting horror, any time now.

He heard Vennet shout for his crew, ordering them into pursuit. He heard a strange sharp whistle. He didn’t hear a dragon’s roar. He didn’t feel acid drench him.

He burst out of the end of the alley and onto a quiet laneway. Orshok grabbed his arm, whirling him to a stop. “Which way?” gasped the orc.

Geth twisted around, looking back down the alley. Vennet stood at the far end, his cutlass raised, waving to someone-probably his crew-back on the docks. Beyond him, Geth could see Dah’mir, still in human form, standing and glaring. The shifter gulped and leaped away. He looked both ways along the laneway, then thrust a hand in the direction that seemed to lead back to a busier part of the city. “This way!” he said. “Grandfather Rat, if we can get into a crowd before Vennet’s men are through the alley, we might lose them!”

“Men aren’t the only thing we need to worry about!” Ashi pointed upward.

Black herons were rising into the sky above.

“Rat!” Geth cursed again. Bonetree hunters had once used the birds to track Dandra from the air. With Dah’mir to command them, he didn’t doubt that they’d perform the same task for Vennet’s crew, guiding the sailors right to them. He clenched his teeth. “We still don’t want to be caught in the open! Come on!”

They’d almost made it out of the laneway and into the busier street at its end when shouts erupted behind them. Geth looked over his shoulder and saw a knot of sailors pouring out of the alley. “They’ve seen us!” he called to Ashi and Orshok-then they were all plunging into the crowd on the street.

For a panic-stricken moment, the shifter feared he had lost the druid and the hunter, only to find them right beside him. He struck out for the middle of the street, moving as quickly as he dared. Full out flight through the crowd would only draw attention to them, and getting through the milling throng quickly seemed unlikely at best. He looked behind them. The sailors were standing at the side of the street, looking around with a blank stare. Overhead, the herons spun in wide, lazy circles, as if still trying to pick out their targets. Geth drew a slow breath. Maybe they had a chance.

Vennet’s voice rang out above the noise of the street. “There! There they are!”

Geth spun back around. Vennet and fully half of his crew were ahead of them. The half-elf must have known a shortcut through the twisting alleys-and he and his crew didn’t need to worry about being stealthy. The sailors came hurtling through the crowd like stampeding cattle, ignoring the cries of the people they shoved aside.

The shifter twisted to look back the way they had come-and saw the other sailors closing, too, drawn by Vennet’s shouts.

A crooked sidestreet opened nearby. It was empty. “Down there!” he told Orshok and Ashi. He pushed them past the people who stood like confused cattle, staring at Vennet and his men, and down the street. He followed-but not before snatching a long bolt of colorful fabric away from a woman standing on the corner. Her shouts followed him around the first sharp bend in the street.