Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

“Your hostage,” said Dandra as she stood up.

“To put it simply, yes,” the General admitted. “Chuut will show you back to your room.”

He held out his left hand. Dandra shook it clumsily, thought she couldn’t quite manage to keep her eyes from flicking to the man’s clenched and twisted right hand. The General’s face tightened and he released his grip sharply. Dandra held back a wince at having offended him. “Good night, General,” she said and turned to go.

She was reaching for the door when he said abruptly, “House Jorasco.”

Dandra blinked and looked back at him. “General?”

He held out his right arm. “House Jorasco did this. And this.” The General lifted his other hand to touch the scarves around his head and face. “You’ll forgive me for covering myself.”

Words froze on Dandra’s tongue. “House Jorasco carries the Mark of Healing,” she said after a moment.

“Healing and harming aren’t so different, especially in the fire of war,” said the General. “Consider that the next time you meet a halfling.” He sat down again. “Good night, Kirvakri.”

“House Jorasco?” Geth grunted as he heaved a saddle onto the back of one of the horses the General had provided for them, then looked back to Dandra. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” she said. “His right arm and leg, his right hand, his face. What could healers have done to him to leave him like that?”

Geth looked over his shoulder at the ranks of ogres-thirty of the big, smelly monsters-that were forming in Vralkek’s street. The morning was still cold and misty. Few of the town’s inhabitants seemed interested in rising so early to watch Tzaryan Rrac’s troops move out. The General’s ogre lieutenant, Chuut, stood close by, the reins of Dandra’s horse in his hand, his gaze shifting between the General’s “guests” on the journey and the other ogres. The General himself had yet to make an appearance. Geth wanted to lay eyes on this tormented soldier himself.

Singe scratched at his beard, his eyes narrow as he mulled over Dandra’s tale of her discussion with the General. “There have been rumors,” he said. “A dark shadow to Jorasco …” He shook his head. “It might be that he was injured and Jorasco could only do so much. He might just blame them for whatever scars he’s left with. It’s not important.” The wizard glanced at Chuut, then lowered his voice. “Kesh,” he said.

Concentration passed over Dandra’s face and a moment later, Geth felt her thoughts touch his-and those of the others as well. Hurry , Dandra said. I can’t hold all of us in the kesh for long .

Do you think the General believed our story? asked Singe.

Completely , Dandra told him.

Natrac thrust out his tusks as he fussed with his gear, trying to disguise his part in the silent conversation. We really are only a hair away from being treasure hunters , he said. What are we going to do if Tzaryan doesn’t give us permission to investigate the ruins?

Let’s worry about that if it happens . Singe bent to his own saddle. Do you think you’ll be all right? he asked Dandra.

If there’s any problem, I’ll call you or take the long step back to you. I’ll be fine . Dandra reached out and laid a hand on Singe’s shoulder for a moment, then the brief connection of the kesh faded from Geth’s mind as she turned to Chuut. “I’m done,” she said aloud. He handed her the reins of her horse and waited while she mounted.

Geth looked up at her. “See if you can get the General talking. I’m curious to know where he served during the Last War.”

Dandra nodded and gave them all a smile, then turned and moved toward the head of the column of ogres with Chuut striding beside her. Singe glanced at Geth. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“I want to know what happened to him,” Geth said defensively.

They finished saddling their horses and securing their gear. Although there were five of them, he and Singe ended up doing most of the work. Natrac’s severed hand limited him, while Orshok and Ashi simply had no idea what to do. Neither hunter nor druid had ever ridden before. “Just once,” Geth muttered as he held a stirrup for Orshok, “I would like to start a journey with everyone knowing at least how to sit in a saddle!”

Once they were mounted, Chuut returned and led them to their place near the rear of the column. Geth bared his teeth at the thought of riding in the stinking dust of sweating ogres.

Singe must have been thinking something similar. “Can’t we ride at the front?” he asked Chuut with a grimace.

The ogre shook his head. “The General says you ride here. Hold your position.”

“Where is the General?” asked Geth.

“Taking his place now.”

Chuut moved away back up the column. Geth twisted and looked after him. Sure enough, the shrouded figure of the General was turning his horse in place beside Dandra near the column’s head. “Grandfather Rat’s naked tail!” Geth cursed. “He moves like a ghost!”

The General’s hand rose and fell. Chuut’s voice-echoed by the voices of one or two other lead ogres-roared out an order. “Tzaryan company, forward!”

The column began to move with a well-coordinated precision that would have done credit to a Blademarks company. “I would have thought they’d use commands in their own language,” said Natrac.

“It’s all in the training,” said Singe. “The General has probably taught them this way. It looks like the man knows what he’s doing.”

They passed through the still sleeping town to the slow rhythm of big, trudging feet, punctuated by the clatter of horses’ hooves. Geth watched the decrepit buildings slip away in the gray mist. Vralkek looked strangely peaceful in the silence of morning and he could almost pretend it was just another town-aside from the two gnolls lying drunk against one wall or the corpse of a harpy sprawled in the street, arrows piercing its feathered body. And where other towns of similar size often had paupers’ huts clustered on the outskirts, Vralkek had nothing but crumbling, half-burned remains.

As even the burned huts fell behind them, another order rolled back along the column and the ogres picked up their pace, speeding up to a move at a distance-eating march. Geth growled softly. “They won’t be able to keep this up over rough ground.”

“We’re not marching over rough ground,” said Singe, a hint of amazement in his voice. “Look down.”

Geth glanced at the ground passing beneath his horse’s hooves and realized with a start that it was as finely cobbled and leveled as a city street. There had been no change in the hard clatter of horseshoes on stone as they left Vralkek. “A road?” he asked. “But there was no road on either of Bava’s maps!”

“This looks like recent construction,” said Singe.

“Who builds roads to the middle of nowhere in Droaam?”

Orshok pointed to a tall stone marker that loomed at the side of the road. “I think that’s your answer,” he said.

The stone was inlaid with a four-pointed blue star. Singe whistled. “Twelve moons, I think maybe we can thank Tzaryan Rrac’s interest in civilization for making our journey a little bit easier!”

With the flat, solid surface of the road under them, distance passed swiftly. By the time the sun was fully above the horizon and the morning’s mist had burned away, they were far beyond Vralkek and riding through some of the most desolate country Geth had ever seen in his life. As far as he could see in every direction, the land was very nearly flat. In many areas, it looked treacherously boggy. In others, very low hills rose like flat shoals in the sea of bogs. The vegetation was coarse grass and thorny scrub. Scattered groves of thick, black trees stretched for the sky. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of ruins, old and worn stones half sunk in the mire. The only signs of animal life were a few white birds that soared high on the wind.