Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

“Slaves?” Dandra looked to Robrand.

The old man shook his head. “Serfs. One of Tzaryan’s projects. He had them clear the valley after he built his keep-it was nothing but a tangled mess before.”

Dandra sat up straight. The Bonetree story had mentioned entering a door above a tangled valley. Natrac didn’t seem to catch the implication though. He was still glaring at the huts. “Slaves,” he spat in disgust. “Filthy wretches!”

The loathing in his voice was so strong that they all looked at him in surprise. “Easy,” Singe told him. “It’s not their fault, is it?”

“Do they try to escape?” Natrac asked Robrand.

“Almost never.”

Natrac glared back at Singe. The wizard spread his hands in silent surrender, then, once Natrac had looked away again, glanced at Dandra in confusion. She shook her head and shrugged. She’d never heard Natrac sound so worked up before.

Orshok looked uncomfortable as well, though he kept it to himself until they were almost all the way across the valley and practically in the shadow of Tzaryan Keep. “Something doesn’t feel right here,” he said. “It’s as if something is disturbing the spirit of the land.”

“If the land seems disturbed here, maybe it’s because it’s actually being used,” Dandra suggested. The sense of desolation that had pervaded the landscape during the journey seemed to have lifted with their descent into the valley. Dandra couldn’t say she missed it.

“Maybe,” Orshok admitted grudgingly. He tore his gaze away from the keep. “Where are the ruins?”

“The Empire of Dhakaan didn’t build in valleys,” said Robrand. “Hobgoblin structures then were built much as they are today: mostly underground with an eye to defense. The Dhakaani who built their stronghold here chose the best location in the region. Tzaryan Rrac chose to build his keep in the same location.” He raised a hand to the hills around the keep. “The ruins are there-you’ll see them best from the keep in the morning.”

Dandra’s gut twisted with a sudden fear that the evidence they sought might have been destroyed. “Did Tzaryan build right over Taruuzh Kraat?”

Robrand laughed. “He knew better than that! How many times have lazy builders tried to take advantage of old ruins only to have something come up from underneath them? Tzaryan heard those stories, too. It’s almost impossible in these hills to avoid ruins entirely, but he made sure that he built well away from the main structure. The ruins have barely been disturbed.”

The final approach to Tzaryan Keep, the last section of the road from Vralkek, took them back and forth across the face of a steep bluff. The road was distinctly narrower-the ogre troops were forced to redistribute themselves so that fewer marched abreast than had before-and seemed carved from the bluff itself.

“The bed is Dhakaani,” Robrand explained. “Only the stones are new. When Tzaryan came to the valley, he found the switchbacks still in such good condition that his workers only needed to clear the road and lay a new surface.”

“I’m glad it’s the horse climbing and not me,” said Ashi. For the first time, she actually seemed to be pleased to be riding instead of walking.

“We should be glad no one is trying to stop us from climbing,” Dandra said.

Each turn of the trail was vulnerable to attack from the section above. It struck her as very odd that a location named for a smithy should be so difficult to reach. The slow climb would have made commerce inconvenient at best. Maybe the smithy had once produced weapons for an army and been given the defenses due to a military center. Even so, shipping weapons away from Taruuzh Kraat-or raw materials to it-wouldn’t have been easy.

They lost sight of Tzaryan Keep as they climbed. The last turn of the winding road, however, was guarded by a high wall pierced through with a simple archway-as soon as they stepped through the arch, the great keep rose up before them like a mountain that had been hidden behind a handkerchief. Even though she’d seen its daunting glory from across the valley, the sudden exposure forced Dandra to look at it again, craning her neck back in awe. It had seemed massive from a distance. Up close it was if an enormous stone block had been thrust up from the earth and a palace built on top. Dandra counted no fewer than four long and broad halls, two towers of medium height, and one exceptionally tall tower with a rounded dome on top, all joined and surrounded by a high wall. The tallest tower was the one where a dim light had burned earlier though it wasn’t visible now. The slightly angled base of the keep was dark gray stone; the upper levels were dark wood with tiled roofs.

The fires she had seen from across the valley did indeed burn on either side of a gate, but they burned in huge copper bowls. The gate was as massive as the rest of Tzaryan Keep, tall, broad, and set deep in the thick stone walls. Two ogre guards, polearms at the ready, stood before it and were utterly dwarfed. One of them called out in the heavy, deep language of ogres-some formal ritual of recognition-and Robrand responded, his human voice high and squeaking by comparison. The guards snapped to attention, stamping the butts of their weapons into the ground.

Robrand’s face, as he led them across the marshalling yard before the gate, resumed the neutral mask of the General. “Welcome to Tzaryan Keep, Master Timin.”

“Thank you, General,” Singe answered with the same cool detachment. “Your company has been most welcome during our journey.” He looked around and Dandra wondered if she was the only one who noticed the nervous twitching of his left hand. “Do we need to alert Tzaryan Rrac to our presence?”

“I’m certain he already knows.”

“The General is correct,” called a voice as deep as stones. “In fact, I have watched your approach for some time.” The voice came from somewhere above them, rolling and echoing down the walls of the keep. Dandra’s head jerked up again.

There was a large figure descending through the darkness overhead, dropping slowly with an ease that Dandra couldn’t have matched. Tzaryan Rrac stood upright, arms crossed, as if floating down through the air was second nature to him. The ogre mage stood no taller than his ogre troops-now filing up from the twisted road and falling into rank in the marshalling yard-but he seemed even more powerfully built, his shoulders and arms broad and thick with muscle. His skin shone a pale blue-green in the firelight, contrasting with the rich crimson robes that he wore. Dark hair was pulled back and tied in a knot, exposing short ivory horns that sprang from his forehead. His square teeth and the heavy nails on his hands were black. So were his eyes-not black in the manner of humans, but rather reversed, black where humans had white, with a pale pinprick at the iris. They were striking and eerie at the same time.

For a moment, his gaze met hers and Dandra felt almost as if Tzaryan’s weird eyes saw right through her. She clenched her jaw and sat up straight and bold, but his gaze had already moved on to sweep over the others.

Robrand dismounted calmly and bowed while Tzaryan was still in the air. “Lord Tzaryan,” he said. “All’s well in Vralkek. Your troops acted with excellent discipline.”

“Your troops, General. A fine commander makes fine soldiers.” Tzaryan’s voice was entirely free of the heavy accent and carefully practiced words that marked Chuut’s conversation. He spoken naturally, at ease with their language. His black eyes remained fixed on Dandra, Singe, and the others as his booted feet settled into the dust of the yard. “I would like to know more about those who have accompanied you. A rare occurrence, I think.”