Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

“He can’t see us yet,” Geth told him. The fear of the crowd gave him a desperate idea. The body of the heron killed by Orshok’s eagles lay nearby. Pushing Ashi and Orshok toward the right side of the plaza, he scooped up the dead bird and hurled it off through the mist in the opposite direction. There was dull thud and a startled shout as it hit someone.

An instant later, the mist across that side of the plaza vanished in a howling rush of wind as Vennet, drawn by the sudden cry, unleashed the power of his dragonmark.

The blast of wind drew out more cries from the startled people in the plaza. Abruptly, the shifter, the hunter, and the druid weren’t the only ones running away from Vennet. Geth kept a tight grip on Orshok and Ashi, keeping them ahead of him as bodies packed around them in the remaining mist. “Stay low!” he said. “Keep moving with the crowd!”

He heard splashes nearby as people fell off the edge of the plaza in their haste to flee, but up ahead the shouting crowd actually seemed to be condensing. He guided the others that way, pushing his way through the noisy crush to take a place just in front of a wide-eyed porter jogging along with a tall basket strapped to his back. Two merchants squeezed him on the left, a ragged beggar on the right. The mist lightened as they approached the edge of the cloud, then thinned and vanished as they broke clear.

They were in the middle of the bridge over the canal, just part of a frightened throng fleeing magic and the threat of violence in the plaza.

Geth felt Orshok stiffen. “Geth, this is the way to the herb market!”

“I know,” said the shifter. “Brace yourselves and keep moving.” He glanced at the men around him, then leaned toward the closer of the two merchants. “Sorry for this,” he said.

The man barely had time to give him a curious look before Geth hooked a foot around his leg and swept it out from under him. The merchant flailed and went down, clutching at his companion and pulling him off balance as well. Geth kept moving even as the porter staggered to avoid the fallen men, knocking another person to the ground and leaving his tall load swaying. The porter tried to right himself-and failed. His basket tipped and fat green melons flew out, bouncing on the bridge and tripping still more people. Those who could see what had happened tried to slow down and dodge around the fallen people, but the press of the crowd didn’t let up. New shouts of confusion and fear rang out.

Geth caught Ashi and Orshok and pushed them on through the milling mob and off the bridge, then, as the street opened into the edge of a vast market, out of the crowd and into the shadow of a merchant’s stall. Safe for a moment, he took a deep breath. “Did it work?” he gasped.

Ashi peered cautiously back the way they had come. “Rond betch , what a mess! Vennet’s not going to get through that fast!”

“Where is he?” asked Geth.

“The mist is lifting.” She paused, then added, “He’s still on the plaza, looking like he’s trying to decide what to do.”

“Herons?”

Ashi’s eyes turned to the sky. “None close.”

Geth sagged back. He released his hold on the shifting and its rush of invincibility bled out of him. The sting of the scratches inflicted by the heron’s talons faded, eased by the fading power. Geth let his breath out in a grateful hiss and looked at Ashi and Orshok. The hunter was still tense, her hand hovering close to her sword. The druid was drenched in sweat and trembling, his fingers gripping his hunda stick. Geth nodded to both of them. “Easy,” he said. “I think we’re safe-”

“Geth! Twelve bloody moons, what have you done?”

Geth leaped up like a rabbit, lunging for Singe where the wizard stood in the street and dragging him under cover with a hand over his mouth. Dandra and Natrac were with him-Ashi swept both of them into hiding as well.

Geth eased his hand away from Singe’s face. “What are you doing here?”

Singe’s eyes went from wide to narrow. “We were coming to see what all the commotion was. Did you have something to do with this? What’s going on?”

“Vennet and Dah’mir are in Zarash’ak,” Geth told him with a growl.

Dandra tensed. “What? How?”

“Dah’mir’s in human form-he was with Vennet at the docks. We just got away.” Geth jerked his head toward the bridge. “Vennet’s still in the plaza over there. He might still figure out where we’ve gone. Dah’mir’s herons are hunting for us from the sky. We need to find some place to hide-the sooner the better.”

“Lords of the Host,” cursed Natrac. He stepped back out into the street, looked quickly in the direction of the bridge, then gestured for the others to follow him. “This way. Quickly!”

The half-orc ducked across the street and, brushing aside a hanging curtain, squeezed between two stalls. Geth sent Orshok and Ashi after him, then Dandra and Singe. Dandra’s face was pale with fear, her jaw set with determination. Singe’s hand hovered near his sword. They crossed quickly, heads down, Singe walking to shield Dandra’s red-brown skin and distinctive clothes from anyone who might be watching. Once they had disappeared behind the curtain, Geth stepped cautiously into the street and glanced back at the bridge.

Ashi’s description of the aftermath of their passage as a mess was accurate. People were still milling about on the bridge. A few were down. More people were gathering to see what had happened. Geth felt a twinge of guilt and hoped that his desperate play hadn’t left anyone badly injured.

He couldn’t, however see Vennet or any of his crew, and that was all he could have asked for. He eased himself through the knots of people who had stopped to gossip, then, as soon as he was under the cover of the stalls on the other side of the street, dove through the curtain and after the others.

The stalls had been set up across the mouth of a narrow passage-probably deliberately. One of the stallkeepers was vanishing back into his tiny place of business with clinking coins in his hand. A moment later, the curtain ruffled as crates were shoved across its street side. Anyone passing would be unlikely to guess at the passage beyond.

“How did you know this was here?” Geth asked Natrac.

“It’s a pickpocket’s bolthole,” said the half-orc. “Spend time in Zarash’ak’s markets and you start to recognize them-and to keep a hand on your purse. Pickpockets like to stick close to them.”

Geth’s hand twitched toward his belt, but Natrac shook his head. “Any pickpockets will have gone straight to the crowd on the bridge.”

He led them a little further down the passage. Geth couldn’t have called it an alley-it was just barely big enough to squeeze down sideways. After a short distance, however, it opened up into a tiny, stifling hot courtyard no larger than a small room and with walls rising high enough around them that it felt like being at the bottom of the hole. Laundry had been hung on lines overhead, obscuring any view of-or from-the sky. Two other passages no wider than the first let out from the courtyard in different directions. Natrac lowered himself onto a crude bench someone had knocked together. “We should be safe here for now.”

Singe turned to Geth, Ashi, and Orshok. “What happened?”

Geth related everything they had seen and heard on the docks and since. The story left Dandra looking troubled. “Dah’mir and Vennet?” she asked. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Vennet’s a toad,” said Singe, biting at his words. “You should have seen him with Dah’mir after he helped capture us. He was on his knees faster than a Thrane before an altar. After the battle at the mound, maybe Dah’mir thought he needed a new ally.”