Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

There was something else though, Vennet knew. Suspicion crept in at the back of his mind, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck. He prayed to Khyber that he’d made the right decision in siding with the priest.

There was one thing about Dah’mir that he had worked out for himself, however. “Lord,” he pointed out, “if Geth is in Zarash’ak, Dandra probably is, too.”

Dah’mir’s mouth twisted in anger, the expression darkening his face like a cloud across the sun. He cut Vennet off with a snap. “I had guessed that myself, captain! Zarash’ak has too many hiding places, though. We can spare no more time. I must return to the Bonetree mound. That is my only concern. I want to leave as soon as the boat is ready.”

For the first time, Vennet heard an edge of desperation in the priest’s voice. He bent his head, holding back a sly, self-satisfied smile. “I know, lord. I anticipated it. But just because we can’t stay to look for her and her companions doesn’t mean that someone else can’t search them out and hold them until we return. I took the initiative of contacting someone and offering him the job.” Vennet gestured for the heavily-muscled man who had been standing back in the shadows to join them. “I know his reputation. He’s said to be one of the best bounty hunters available.”

“I am the best,” the man growled as he came forward. He met Dah’mir’s eyes boldly. “I’ll get you your people.”

“Lord,” said Vennet, “meet Chain d’Tharashk.”

They left the courtyard the same way they had entered. At the end of the narrow passage, Natrac muttered a few words in Orc to the merchants whose stalls hid the entrance to the bolthole, and the crates that blocked the curtain were shifted. Singe pushed past the curtain gratefully-after the stifling heat of the enclosed courtyard, Zarash’ak’s open streets felt cool as a spring morning. The ring that he wore, an inheritance from his grandfather, protected him from fire, but it did nothing to shield him from simple heat. At that moment, there was nothing he wanted more than a dunking in cool water. A swim, a bath, even a pump that he could stick his head under …

A horse trough, he thought, I’d take a horse trough.

They didn’t have time for even that dubious luxury. The crowds on the streets were thinning with the end of the day. They’d hidden in the courtyard for as long as they’d dared but there was still a good chance that Vennet, his crew, or especially Dah’mir’s herons might still be abroad, and the thinning crowds left them that much less cover. As soon as they had all emerged-sticky and sweating-from the bolthole, they set off down the street at a brisk pace. They moved in two groups, trying their best to blend in, all of them alert.

Natrac took the lead, Singe and Geth at his side. They hadn’t gone far before Geth growled under his breath. “You’re taking us back to the bridge.”

The half-orc nodded but didn’t slow down. Singe looked up at the sky. There were no herons visible above the street, but the arc of sky overhead was relatively narrow, constrained by the buildings on either side. Once they were on the bridge-and in the plaza beyond-they would be exposed.

“Natrac,” Singe said, “the idea was to get under cover. The bridge and plaza-”

“We’re not crossing the bridge,” said Natrac.

“Running alongside the canal doesn’t seem much better,” Geth pointed out.

“We’re not doing that either.” Natrac’s voice was on edge. “We’re going down into the webs.”

Singe shot a glance at him. Natrac’s face was set as tight as his voice, as though he was preparing himself for something unpleasant. Before he could ask him more, though, Natrac held up his right arm, gesturing for them to stop. The bridge on which Geth, Ashi, and Orshok had escaped from Vennet was just ahead, the casual flow of people around it giving no hint of the panicked, tangled mob that had flooded across earlier. Singe scanned the bridge, the plaza, and the sky for signs of observers or an ambush.

The silhouette of a heron moved across a sky red with twilight. “Is that one of Dah’mir’s?” Singe asked.

Geth squinted, then shook his head. “I can’t tell.”

“We only need to get across the street.” Natrac pointed ahead. “There are stairs leading down to the canal just to the left of the bridge. That’s where we’re going.”

Singe twisted around and looked for Dandra and the others. They were less than a dozen paces away, pressed back against a wall. Singe caught Dandra’s eye and gestured to the stairs Natrac had indicated. She nodded. He turned back to Natrac. “Let’s go.”

Darting across the street and down the stairs for no other reason than the distant presence of a bird actually felt vaguely ridiculous. A half dozen similar-but much more deadly-situations that he had experienced over his years as a mercenary flitted through Singe’s mind. Running for cover on a battlefield in Cyre as arrows fell. Infiltrating an enemy camp. Leaping aside as a hostile wizard hurled bolts of lightning at him. Retreating through the shadows of Narath as the soldiers of Aundair, countrymen he had left behind when he joined the Blademarks of House Deneith, flooded the streets …

Dodging around strolling shoppers might have felt ridiculous, but his heart was still racing as he paused on the stairs to be sure that Ashi, Orshok, and Dandra made it into hiding as well. Dandra came last, shepherding the others before her even though, he knew, she could easily have outpaced them both. He fell in beside her as they hurried down the long flight of steps toward the canal below. “You saw the heron?”

She nodded. “Do you think it saw us?”

“I hope not.” Singe gave her a closer look. There was a particular set to Dandra’s chin and the line of her jaw that Singe had come to recognize as an expression of her unstoppable determination. It was an expression that she wore only when she was up against formidable resistance-most particularly internal resistance. His eyes flicked to the yellow-green crystal hanging around her neck, then away. “Is Tetkashtai bothering you?” he asked.

“Does it show?”

“If you know what to look for.”

Dandra grimaced, but nodded again. “She’s terrified at even being in the same city as Dah’mir,” she said. “All she wants to do is get away from him.”

“I can’t say I entirely blame her. Even if Geth’s right and he’s weak, I don’t like knowing he’s this close.” He twitched his shoulders. “It puts me on edge.”

“You might be on edge,” Dandra said tightly, “but I know you’ll step back. Every time Tetkashtai gets this way, she comes closer to falling over.”

Her eyes flickered as some inner dialogue passed between her and the presence. Singe raised an eyebrow as her face tightened a little more. Tetkashtai could hear what Dandra heard. “What does she say?” the wizard asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

Singe bit back the curiosity that her answer roused in him. The very first time that Dandra had touched his mind in the mental link that kalashtar called the kesh , she had shown him Tetkashtai as she saw her: a formless aura of yellow-green light, at the same time both part of her and something separate. That was as close as he could come to experiencing the union that Dandra had with the presence-and he knew that it was as close as he should come, too. Dandra was the only one who could stand up to Tetkashtai. Geth had tried drawing on the presence’s power once and almost ended up a prisoner in his own body. Singe knew better than to try.

Even though it cut him to see Dandra struggling alone with such a shadow across her fiery, determined personality.