Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

“How could he have gotten to Zarash’ak before us?”

“Powerful magic, probably,” Singe answered with a shrug. “We saw him vanish, didn’t we? He’s a dragon. He could have done almost anything.”

“Do you think Vennet knows that?” asked Orshok.

The question left all of them silent for a moment before Geth growled an answer. “Do you think he would care?”

“Vennet’s greedy and power-mad, but I don’t think he’s stupid.” Singe sat down on the bench beside Natrac. “Why do you think they’d be going back up river?”

“They’re going back to the Bonetree mound,” Ashi said grimly. “Dah’mir told Vennet two weeks-the journey to Bonetree territory takes two weeks.”

“Dah’mir could fly there faster in his dragon form, couldn’t he?”

Geth bared his teeth. “I think he’s still injured.” He traced the stain and mended tear that had marked Dah’mir’s robes on his own chest. “It would explain why he didn’t chase us himself-and why he’d be traveling with Vennet. Maybe Vennet is more than just a convenient ally.”

Ashi’s eyes opened wide, flashing in the gloom, and she stretched her hands. “If Dah’mir’s weak, we should attack! We have the element of surprise!”

Singe looked up sharply. “He’s still a dragon, Ashi! We’re guessing that he may not be able to fly, but that doesn’t make him helpless. He’s dominating Vennet’s entire crew and he still has magic.” The wizard’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “I’d want to know more about just how weak he was before I took him on.”

Dandra paced back and forth across the courtyard, her fine-featured face troubled. After a moment, she said, “Dah’mir will have guessed that we’re all here together. I don’t think we can stay in Zarash’ak.”

“You think he would delay his journey up river to hunt for us?” asked Orshok.

“What’s waiting for him at the Bonetree mound? Nothing.” Dandra turned, stopping her pacing for a moment. “If he leaves Zarash’ak, he risks losing us.”

Geth squeezed his fists together, but nodded. “I wouldn’t walk away from us,” he said. “So where do we go? Have you found out anything about the Spires of the Forge?”

Dandra, Singe, and Natrac exchanged a glance, then Dandra shook her head. “House Tharashk told us nothing. We’ve tried a bounty hunter and two dragonshard prospectors. None of them have heard of the Spires of the Forge-the bounty hunter claimed they didn’t exist.”

“They exist,” said Ashi firmly.

“That doesn’t do us any good if we can’t find them,” said Singe. He tapped his fingertips together. “There’s still Natrac’s historian, but I don’t think going out to dinner is such a great idea. Natrac, if we can make it back to your house unseen, do you think your historian could come to us?”

Natrac’s face tightened. “Going back to my house might not be a good idea. Vennet knows where I live. I invited him to dinner once.”

Geth growled. “You what?”

“We were on good terms at the time,” the half-orc snapped. “I didn’t know he was going to end up cutting off my hand!”

“He doesn’t know you’re still with us,” Ashi pointed out.

“No, but if Dah’mir has told him that a half-orc with one hand fought with Geth and Singe at the Bonetree mound, he’ll probably put it together.”

“Does Vennet know your historian?” Dandra asked.

They all looked at her. She spread her hands. “If Vennet doesn’t know your historian, we’d be safe there.”

Natrac looked doubtful. “I don’t want to expose her to danger.”

Her. A woman. It was the first time the half-orc had given away any information at all about his historian. In another situation, Geth might have teased him or tried to drag out more, but this was no time for jokes. “If we can get there without being spotted, she won’t be in any danger,” he said. “Besides, we need her information, don’t we? The sooner we get it, the sooner we can get out of Zarash’ak.”

“The hard part will be going anywhere without being seen,” said Ashi. “We might be able to avoid Vennet, but the herons can see anything in the streets.”

Natrac exhaled slowly. “I know a way,” he said. “We should wait here a while, give Vennet a chance to move on, then we’ll go.” He looked up, his eyes dark. “But if anyone gets hurt …”

“No one will get hurt, Natrac,” Geth said. He thumped his fist against his chest. “I promise. We’ll be like ghosts. No one will even know we’re there.”

Dah’mir was waiting by the river boat, sitting on a water cask as if it were a throne, when Vennet finally returned to the docks with his crew. Dah’mir’s green eyes flashed. “You didn’t catch them,” he said.

“No,” Vennet told him. “They got away.” He hesitated, then added. “Ashi was with Geth, lord.”

“I saw her,” said Dah’mir. “It doesn’t please me.”

Vennet’s crew moved around them, silently loading the last of the supplies into the river boat, resuming the tasks they had abandoned to take up the chase. The strength of Dah’mir’s control over them was, Vennet had to admit, astounding. Even during the chase, not one of the men had roused. It would take only one of the men escaping and passing on word of what had taken place on Lightning on Water for House Lyrandar to begin an investigation. There would be rumors enough soon-his passengers and cargo should have been delivered to Trolanport days ago.

“Be at ease, captain,” said Dah’mir. The green-eyed man must have guessed what was in his head-Vennet had wondered before at his uncanny knowledge, though Dah’mir insisted there was nothing magical about it, only practice in reading faces. “When I have regained my strength, the Dragon Below will see to all things. You will have the power and wealth you desire and your secret will be safe.”

Vennet pressed his lips together. “I’m risking everything for you, lord.”

“And your risk will be rewarded, captain. You have my word.”

The priest’s promise soothed the worshipper of Khyber within him. The first time he’d heard of Dah’mir-through Singe, then through Ashi-he’d seen the potential in allying himself with the priest. Betraying Singe, Geth, and Dandra had been little enough and he had profited from it. Dah’mir had rewarded him with two large and valuable dragonshards, a blue-black Khyber shard and a golden Siberys shard, now hidden in a strongbox beneath the floor of his cabin. The shards had been, Dah’mir claimed, a beacon to him after he had been wounded in the battle at the Bonetree mound. The priest had used powerful magic to fling himself and his birds through a plane of shadow, traveling hundred of miles from the battlefield to Lightning on Water in only hours.

But Vennet had been a scion of House Lyrandar long before he’d joined the cult of the Dragon Below. As awed and honored as Vennet had been to wake and find Dah’mir in his cabin and in need of his aid, the training of Lyrandar had left him skeptical. The priest wasn’t telling him everything. There was something about the battle at the Bonetree mound that he had left out. Vennet believed his tale of the orc raiders and the Gatekeepers, of Ashi’s betrayal, of Medala’s destruction at Dandra’s hand, of the dolgaunt Hruucan’s fiery death at Singe’s-of Dah’mir’s own injury by the strange ancient sword wielded by Geth. The wound that scarred the priest’s chest still showed no sign of healing even a week later.

That Dah’mir had panicked at his wounding and fled to distant safety where his attackers couldn’t follow-Vennet could believe that, too. He’d watched Dah’mir’s frustration as the strength drained out of him. The priest tried to hide it, but Vennet knew that every command he issued to the crew made him weaker. He’d seen him attempt magic and watched his spells falter. The key to regaining his strength lay in returning to the Bonetree mound, the heart of his power. That was what he needed Vennet for.