Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

Ekhaas’s words seemed to weave images in Geth’s mind. In his imagination, he saw a dark plain lit by moonlight. On one side of the plain massed the ordered ranks of Dhakaani hobgoblins in heavy armor with swords and spears of purple byeshk, with milling crowds of orcs on either flank wielding only axes and armored only in their faith. At the head of the army, a hobgoblin man in a smith’s apron and heavy gauntlets and an orc woman in rough leather robes. On the other side of the plain, waited a shadowy horde, all writhing tentacles and dead white eyes. There were dolgrims among them, and dolgaunts. Dark silhouettes took the place of lunanaes and psaretti and kagges-creatures he had never heard of, but whose names struck a strange primal fear into his soul.

“Madness was a tide that rolled before the legion of the Master,” said Ekhaas, “but Aryd and the Gatekeepers raised their voices in prayer. Nature answered them and from the night, white moths poured forth in unending numbers. At the same time, Taruuzh spread forth the weapon on which he had labored for two seasons: a thousand blue-black stones, each no large than a finger, each wrapped in a filigree of gold. Like snow falling on mountain tops, Aryd’s moths settled on Taruuzh’s stones, a dozen or more to each, and bore them toward the Master’s legion. Because they were small creatures without minds, the dread powers of the legion could find no hold on them, but as the moths passed among the legion, the stones of Taruuzh inflicted a deadly toll. Whenever a stone touched the flesh of an illithid or a lunanae or a psarett or a kagge, that creature’s mind-the seat of its powers-was drawn into the crystal and bound there. With mind and body separated, they were helpless.”

Geth felt Dandra stiffen at his side. One of her hands was wrapped tight around her psicrystal. “Light of il-Yannah,” she breathed. “Binding stones. A thousand binding stones that worked by contact alone.”

Ekhaas continued as if she hadn’t heard. “The legion was broken. The scattered survivors were run down by the army of Taruuzh and Aryd. When the sun rose, the legion was gone-dead or fled into the court of the Master of Silence-and the battlefield glittered with Taruuzh’s stones. The Gatekeepers gathered them, each and every one, and ground them into dust. With that dust, they made a mortar, and with that mortar built a seal, weaving their magics to bind the Master of Silence and all his court into the depths of Khyber. In the place where the land rose above the swamps, they raised a circle of stones to mark the site of the battle. And Taruuzh looked at his stones as they were ground into dust and said, ‘Of all my works, this was second only to the Grieving Tree.’”

She looked up at them, her face calm and almost shining. “Raat shan gath’kal dor,” she said. “The story stops but never ends.” Her ears twitched. “Does that answer your questions, human?”

Singe swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “I think it does.” His voice was strained. Geth dragged his gaze away from Ekhaas to look at him-and growled in surprise. The wizard’s face was pale and dotted with a light sheen of sweat.

“Singe!” said Dandra. She started forward, but Singe raised a hand and stopped her. He looked at Ashi. “The first time I saw the Bonetree mound, you told me that a Gatekeeper circle stood there before Dah’mir shattered it to build the mound.”

Ashi nodded slowly and a look of fear passed over her eyes. Geth felt it, too. “Tiger, Wolf, and Rat,” he said softly. “The Bonetree clan’s territory is dry, a place where the land rises above the swamp. Do you think that when Dah’mir talked about his master he meant …?”

He left the thought unfinished.

“Land can change in nine thousand years,” Natrac said into the silence. “And the ancient Gatekeepers built circles all over the Shadow Marches.” He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

Orshok shook his head. “But they never built them without a reason.”

“Twelve bloody moons.” Singe took a deep breath. “We wondered why Dah’mir would leave Taruuzh Kraat for the Shadow Marches, didn’t we? I think maybe we know now.”

Ekhaas’s eyes were darting between them. “What is this?” she demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“A story to repay yours when we have the time,” said Singe. He stepped backward out of the cell and bowed to the chained hobgoblin. “Thank you. You kept your end of the bargain. We’ll keep ours and talk to Tzaryan.” He straightened up and glanced at the rest of them. “Someone should stay here to make sure Lor doesn’t come down and start before we get back.”

Geth’s hand dropped to his sword. There was another story he wanted to hear from Ekhaas, and if Singe convinced Tzaryan to free her, he might never have another chance. “I’ll stay,” he said.

Singe looked him over with narrow eyes. “No,” he said tightly. The others paused.

“Singe!” Dandra said. She stepped between the two men, staring at the wizard with a harsh expression. “Why not?”

“I don’t trust him.”

Dandra’s eyebrows rose high. “You don’t trust him? You’ve fought beside him! He rescued both of us.” She twisted around to look over her shoulder. Geth dropped his gaze to the floor rather than meet her eyes. Dandra let out a hiss of frustration. “Il-Yannah, I’ve had it with this feud of yours!” He saw her shift as she turned back to Singe. “What did Geth do that was so terrible you can still hold it over him nine years later?”

Geth’s head snapped up, his heart leaping into his throat. “Dandra, don’t-”

It was too late. Singe’s eyes flashed. “He abandoned his post,” the wizard seethed. “The coward abandoned his post at Narath and because he did, the Aundairians got into the town behind our lines.” Singe looked past Dandra to glare at him. “The massacre at Narath is his fault. More than a thousand people died because of what he did. Geth killed the Frostbrand. Geth killed Narath.”

Silence. Geth could feel the weight of Natrac’s gaze, of Ashi’s and Orshok’s as well. In the cell, Ekhaas watched, her ears pricked forward.

Dandra turned slowly. “Geth, is that true?”

He ground his teeth together.

Dandra stood fast, her dark eyes wide. “Is it true?” she asked again.

Geth looked at her-at all of the people he’d called friends-and the secret that he had only ever spoken before to Adolan slipped between his lips. “Yes.”

Bastard.” Singe’s voice was cold. He picked up one of the torches Robrand had left behind. “You know what? If you want to stay here, you can stay. I don’t want to look at you.” He threw a glance into the cell. “Ekhaas, we’ll be back.”

The hobgoblin said nothing and Singe didn’t wait for a reply. He turned to the others. “Come on.” He started down the dark hallway toward the stairs without looking back.

Ashi and Orshok looked confused but they followed him. So did Natrac, though he turned to glance back with a strangely bleak expression in his eyes. Geth twitched his head away.

Dandra lingered. “Geth, I-”

He bared his teeth and snapped at her. She flinched back, then turned and darted after Singe and the others.

After a long moment, Geth turned to look at Ekhaas, still sitting silently in the cell. The hobgoblin’s eyes glittered as she watched him. “Truth tears its way out of the belly.”

“Shut your mouth,” Geth snarled, but Ekhaas just sat back.

“I owe you no kindness, shifter. I’m here because of you.” She looked at him with cold anger-and nodded toward his sword. “I know why you asked to stay and I’m pleased that your curiosity stung you.”