Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

The moment he descended the stairs, Vennet heard a muffled sobbing. An everbright lantern had been hung near the stairs. Vennet lowered the shade. The sobbing stopped, stifled, as light flooded the hold, but he knew where it had come from. He slid forward silently, cutlass ready.

Chains lay on the floor. Someone had been held prisoner-and recently. There were fresh, bright scratches on the open lock and a piece of bent wire, the kind sometimes used to bind crates, still stuck out of the keyhole. Whoever had been held prisoner had escaped. Vennet clenched his teeth. He wasn’t going to find the people he wanted here, he realized, but he might find answers.

The sobbing had come from behind some crates. Vennet slid up to them, paused, then stepped around sharply.

A length of wood swung at him. He leaped back and sliced with his cutlass. He felt it bite flesh. The wood fell to the floor.

Karth stared at him. The sailor’s face was wet with tears. He clutched at his arm and blood seeped between his fingers.

Vennet held his cutlass steady. “Where are they, Karth?”

The sailor’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Vennet cursed. He reached out and grabbed Karth’s shirt, hauling him out of his hiding place and dragging him to the center of the hold. He flung him down beside the chains. “Who was held prisoner here?” he demanded.

“A bounty hunter,” Karth choked. “A bounty hunter named Chain.”

Vennet ground his teeth together so hard they hurt-then twisted around and slammed the hilt of his cutlass across Karth’s face. The man staggered, stunned. Vennet grabbed him and hauled him close, swiftly wrapping the length of chain tight around his wrists. He strung the chain through the bolt in the floor and, just as Karth realized what was going on and started to struggle, hooked the lock through the chains and squeezed it shut. The bent wire that had picked the lock before he flicked far away into a corner of the hold, then watched as Karth tried to wrench himself free of the chains.

“What was Chain doing a prisoner in my hold?” Vennet asked him. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know! I came down here to hide from you and he was gone!” said Karth. He was starting to sob again. Blood from his wounded arm was running down to turn the chains red. “Dandra captured him in Zarash’ak,”

“Well then, where’s Dandra?” Vennet shouted. “Where’s Geth? Where’s Singe? Where’s Ashi? Where are they?” He swung his cutlass, cutting deep into the deck only a span from Karth’s legs. “Tell me or by Khyber’s glory, I will start cutting pieces off you just like I did Natrac!”

“Vralkek!” Karth wailed. “We let them off in Vralkek. They’re traveling to Tzaryan Keep.”

“Thank you.” Vennet wrenched his cutlass out of the deck and turned for the stairs. Karth sobbed in fear behind him-sobs that rose into a frightened shout as Vennet climbed up onto the deck.

“Captain? Captain, I told you where they are. Set me free.” Chains rattled as Karth climbed to his feet. “Captain, set me free!”

Dah’mir was waiting on the deck in his heron form. “Well?”

“Vralkek,” Vennet said. “Headed to Tzaryan Keep.” His face twisted. “Storm at dawn, they must have left the ship while we were in Shadow.”

“Tzaryan Keep,” repeated Dah’mir. “How did they-?” The heron’s expression was inscrutable, but his eyes seemed to flash in the dying light and when he spoke again, his voiced seethed. “Ashi. The tales of the Bonetree. Vennet, find Hruucan. We’ll be leaving shortly.” He flapped his wings and hopped into the middle of the largest stretch of clear deck the ship had to offer, then transformed. Lightning on Water groaned under the sudden weight of a dragon, but Dah’mir looked unconcerned.

Vennet found Hruucan’s body wedged among barrels and ropes, the stinking tunic half unwrapped from his charred form. He wrapped it up again, ashes sifting out with every movement. Vennet hoped that the dolgaunt wouldn’t notice when he woke again. He hurried to Dah’mir and climbed back up to the base of his neck.

“Master,” he said, “will we be able to catch them before they reach Tzaryan Keep?”

“We don’t need to chase them anymore,” said Dah’mir. “I know what they’re trying to do.”

With a leap that left Lightning on Water bobbing in the water like a toy, the dragon took to the air again, his herons following in his wake. They circled the drifting ship once, then broke to the northwest and began to climb into the gathering night.

For a long time after, it seemed to Vennet that he could still hear Karth screaming.

Tzaryan Rrac’s ogre troops marched Dandra across town to another inn that looked as if it had, in better times, been a place with aspirations. Singe had told her that until it had been weakened in the Last War, Breland had claimed dominion over the barrens. The inn was a fading remnant of Brelish civilization, clinging to a dream of luxury while ogres stood guard outside its door and painted plaster flaked away from the inside walls. Dandra saw no other guests-and no staff either-as the ogres hustled her through the common room and up a flight of stairs that creaked threateningly under the creatures’ weight. On the upper floor, the leader of the ogres opened a door and gestured for her to enter. She looked inside cautiously. The room was sparsely furnished, but otherwise empty.

“Where’s the General?” she asked.

“You wait here,” the ogre said. “The General will send for you.”

He pushed her through the door-it was like being nudged by a horse-then pulled it closed behind her. Dandra waited for the sound of a lock or a bolt, but there was nothing except the heavy footsteps of the ogres moving away. For a moment, she considered looking back out into the hall to see if a guard had been left behind, but there didn’t seem to be any point. She had no intention of escape.

The room’s single window faced west and the light of the setting sun painted the walls red. Dandra went over to the window and looked out over Vralkek. The Barrel was nowhere in sight. She tried reaching out to Singe with the kesh , but the wizard was too far away. She sighed, wrinkling her nose, and looked beyond the town. Far to the west, back in the Shadow Marches, Dah’mir and Vennet would have reached the Bonetree mound.

Dandra leaned against the window frame and wondered what the dragon’s next move would be. He’d look for them, she was certain of it, but they’d broken their trail. Dah’mir wasn’t going to have an easy time finding them again.

But he will find us , whispered Tetkashtai. The presence’s light was dim in Dandra’s mind. He’ll use magic. He’ll hire another Tharashk bounty hunter. He’ll-

Dandra’s lips pressed tight in frustration. Tetkashtai’s frantic terror had ebbed into a hopeless depression that was almost as frustrating and just as infectious. At times, Dandra found herself fighting to keep from falling into the same pessimism. Khorvaire is a big place , she reminded Tetkashtai. As far as Dah’mir knows, we could be anywhere. Maybe he will find us eventually-but it will take him time and by then we’ll have uncovered his secrets .

We might have uncovered his secrets , the presence pointed out. We don’t even know if we’ll find anything-if we find these Spires of the Forge at all. And even if we do find all the answers you’re looking for, what are you going to do with them?

Dandra lifted her chin. Whatever I have to .

Tetkashtai’s light flickered with a little of her old fire. You’re a fool , she said with disdain.