Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

And this time, Chuut nodded. “Go that way,” he said, pointing. He stepped back out of Geth’s way.

“Tak!” Geth climbed up the last step and turned.

Just down the corridor, Robrand waited with his arms crossed and his eyes hard. Geth stopped still, startled.

Something moved in the corner of his eye. He started to turn, to lift his gauntlet, but Chuut’s mace was faster. The heavy weapon slammed into his head just behind his left ear and sent him reeling into a wall. His torch fell out of his hands and rolled across the floor. Geth tried to clutch at the stones, to keep himself on his feet, but they slid away from him. Shadows swirled in the corridor. Ogre hands seized his arms and legs-Chuut to his right and Lor to his left. He shook his head and roared. Or tried to. With a coordinated precision, Chuut and Lor swung him headfirst into the wall. Shadows collapsed down onto him.

He heard footsteps, heard a cold voice say, “Follow me,” and felt movement. His body tilted-the ogres were taking him back down the stairs. He raised his head and blinked. Shadows gave way to hazy shapes of light and dark. He saw two of everything. Two of Chuut. Two of Lor. Two of the back of Robrand’s head. Two of the torch the old man had picked up.

Two of Ekhaas as she crouched against a wall, her sword in her hands, scraps of frayed rope at her feet. Robrand and the ogres stopped. “Well,” said Robrand. “Geth, you were busy.” He gestured to Ekhaas. “If you can get out of Tzaryan Keep without being seen, you’re free. You’re of more use to me if you’re not here.”

“We could just kill her,” said Chuut. Ekhaas stiffened.

“It’s not worth the fight.” Robrand flicked his hand sharply. “Go, Ekhaas!”

The hobgoblin’s ears drew back in suspicion, but she slid around to one side of the old man. Geth tried to focus on her, to beg for her help as she eased past Lor, but neither his eyes nor his voice seemed to work so well. Ekhaas paused though and glanced back at Robrand.

“Give me his sword,” she said.

“Take it,” said Robrand. He turned his back on her, fixing the torch in a bracket, and stepped into the cell where she had been imprisoned. Geth felt Ekhaas reach forward and draw the ancient Dhakaani sword from his scabbard-then heard her dash away into the shadows and up the stairs.

“Bring him!” Robrand called.

Chuut and Lor heaved Geth in Ekhaas’s cell. His throbbing head lolled but Chuut held it upright as Lor locked the collar around his neck.

“Look at me, Geth,” ordered Robrand.

Geth’s eyes rolled up and he looked at his old commander from under his eyebrows. Robrand stood as stiff as he had on parade or at memorial services. His face was like ice. All of the cold words, all of the harsh glances Geth had felt from him on the road to Tzaryan Keep-none of them could match the expression Robrand wore at that moment.

Geth tried to look away. Ogre fingers twined through his thick hair and wrenched his head up again. Robrand’s lips twisted. “You were going to disappear, Geth,” he said. “I was going to tell Etan that you’d run away. He would have believed that. But this-this is better. It’s legitimate.” He tugged on the hem of his coat, straightening the garment. “Tzaryan doesn’t like people who release his prisoners. Didn’t I tell you not to cross him?”

He didn’t take his eyes of Geth, but he raised his voice in command. “Lor, you can soften him up-he’s tough-but don’t do anything serious.” His eyes bored into Geth’s. “I have a list of names I’ve been holding onto for nine years and I want to be sure he hears every one of them.”

Robrand turned away.

“Dah’mir!” Geth tried to croak after him. “Tell Singe Dah’mir-”

The old man didn’t look back. Strong hands bashed Geth’s head back against the wall once more and this time the shadows swallowed him entirely.

Dandra didn’t need psionic skills to read Singe’s emotions. He wore his anger and hatred openly. Red blotches colored his face, stark against the pale skin of his cheeks, forehead, and neck.

None of them said anything as they climbed up the stairs from the dungeon, heading to the upper levels of Tzaryan Keep. Even once they’d reached the light, they kept their silence. Natrac’s face was hard. Orshok and Ashi looked like they didn’t know what to say or how to react. Dandra didn’t think she could blame them. She wasn’t sure herself. Only the night before she’d told Geth that whatever he’d done in Narath, he’d proved himself to her. She wanted to think that nothing had changed, that she still trusted the man who had come to her aid more than once.

Except that something had changed. Singe’s words haunted her. “More than a thousand people died because of what he did. Geth killed the Frostbrand. Geth killed Narath.”

And Geth confirmed it

More than a thousand people.

I remember reading about Narath , said Tetkashtai. Even in the depths of the War it was horrible. Karrnath was usually tightlipped about its defeats, but I think King Kaius wanted all of Khorvaire to know what Aundair had done .

Her voice was brittle. Tzaryan Keep had worn her down. Dandra could feel it too now. Singe’s revelation couldn’t have come at a worse time. Hard on the heels of their discoveries in Taruuzh Kraat and of the terrible dangers Ekhaas’s story had revealed, it was almost too much. She felt as though she was a knife blade that had been ground too fine and might snap if struck too hard.

The halls and courtyards of Tzaryan Keep seemed even more discomforting and quiet than they had before. Singe led them from one passage to another, looking for Tzaryan. The best he managed was to get them back to the top of the broad stairs down to the keep’s gates. As the wizard glared at the stairs and cursed-the color in his cheeks rising even higher-Dandra clenched her teeth and stepped up to him.

“Singe,” she said, “maybe you need to-”

“Maybe I need to what?” He whirled on her. “Give him another chance? Forgive him?”

Dandra stared at him, shocked by the sudden outburst. She took a step back. A cold anger ran along her back. “Maybe you need,” she said, “to ask for directions.”

The others stared at them both. Singe stiffened. Dandra thought she saw a flicker of shame in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. “Ask who?” he demanded. He turned away to look around with angry eyes. “Twelve moons, this place is a tomb.”

Natrac was looking around as well. “You’re right,” he said. “Where is everyone?”

“Twilight,” said a deep voice from above them, “is a shift change here at Tzaryan Keep. Those who walked the day take their beds; those who will patrol the night are rising.”

Dandra twisted around and looked up to see Tzaryan Rrac drifting down from an upper window as easily as a human might walk down a flight of stairs. The ogre mage’s expression was calm, but curious. “You’re still armed, Master Timin,” he said as his boots touched the stones of the floor. “You haven’t forgotten our agreement? You’re to join me for dinner. I was just looking for you.”

Singe wallowed his anger with a visible effort and bowed low. “Our apologies, Lord Tzaryan. We were looking for you as well when we lost our way.”

“Then this is a fortunate meeting. Allow me to be your guide to the dining hall. Our meal will be ready very soon.” Tzaryan bent his head and offered Dandra his hand. “Kirvakri?”

Dinner was perhaps the farthest thing from Dandra’s mind, but it didn’t seem that they had any choice but to accept Tzaryan’s invitation. She shot a glance at Singe. He gave her a quick nod. She reached up and placed her hand in Tzaryan’s.