Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

Orshok and Natrac leaped forward, trying to calm Singe down and defending Geth. “Why would he do it?” Orshok asked. “If he ran, it was because you drove him away!” shouted Natrac. Nothing they said had any effect beyond, however, making the din in the hall even louder. Singe thrust them aside and stormed up to Robrand and Tzaryan, demanding a place in any hunt. Tetkashtai was still wailing and pleading in Dandra’s head, adding her penetrating voice to the chaos.

Dandra pressed her hands over her ears and clenched her teeth. A hand touched her shoulder. Dandra whirled to find Ashi standing at her side, her pierced lips drawn tight in concern.

“What’s wrong? the hunter asked.

“It’s too much,” Dandra choked. “I can’t think. Tetkashtai’s gone-”

“Enough!” roared Tzaryan. His bellow rolled through the hall, silencing Singe and Robrand, sending Natrac and Orshok flinching back, bringing Chuut to stiff alertness, and tearing a frightened shriek out of one of the orc slaves. Even Tetkashtai seemed shocked into a quiet whimper. Tzaryan’s black-eyed gaze raked them all. His fingers stabbed out, pointing at the orcs. “You,” he said, “leave us.” The orcs fled as if pursued by hounds. Tzaryan turned to Chuut. “You-find a patrol and join it.” The ogre nodded and turned for one of the other side corridors.

Tzaryan looked to Robrand and Singe, standing together with near identical expressions of cold anger on their faces, then to the others. “All of you-” He tugged on his robes, straightening them. “-will join me for dinner.”

“With respect, Lord Tzaryan,” Singe said, “unless you’re serving roast of shifter, I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Silence!” Tzaryan’s hands jerked as he shouted into Singe’s face. The crimson fabric of his robes tore under his grip, leaving everyone staring at wide rips through which blue-green showed like bone through a bloody injury. Tzaryan’s teeth ground down. Slowly and deliberately, he pulled the ruined garment back together. “Dinner,” he said with a horrible calm. “Now.”

He stepped up to one of the doors at the end of the hall and gestured for the General to take the other, then stared at Singe. The wizard drew a harsh breath, then bent his head in grudging submission. Tzaryan glanced at Robrand and the old man nodded obediently. Tzaryan’s grip tightened on the handle-

— just as Tetkashtai’s voice rose in a howl above the silence of the moment. Open yourself, Dandra, you stupid dahr! Think like a kalashtar for once and listen to me! Her light coalesced, then burst across Dandra’s mind like a slap in the face.

Dandra jerked, startled, and for an instant the walls she had erected in her mind to blot out Tetkashtai shivered and thinned-and Dandra felt the questing touch of another presence against her mind. It wasn’t an active, probing touch like that of Medala or a mind flayer, but rather something passive, like the pull of waves on an ocean. She wanted to go to it, to enter the waves even though they could be her doom.

She knew the feel of that presence. She knew what had kept Tetkashtai on edge in Tzaryan Keep. She understood what Tetkashtai had been trying to warn her about-and why Tzaryan was so insistent they accompany him. Dandra gasped and grabbed Ashi’s arm with a desperate strength. “Ashi, run! It’s-”

The warning came too late. The green doors were moving, swinging wide, to reveal a courtyard entirely open along one long side to the fiery sky of evening. In the courtyard sat Dah’mir, the setting sun turning his scales copper and gleaming on the Khyber dragonshard-now restored-that was embedded in the center of his chest. There was nothing of the weakness that Geth had described seeing in Zarash’ak about him. He looked strong and fit. Along the wall of the courtyard, black herons perched like a crowd gathered to watch an execution.

“Finally,” said Dah’mir, “I thought you’d never come.”

Tetkashtai’s wails rose into a piercing scream as the power of the dragon’s presence enveloped them. Dimly Dandra saw Orshok raise his hunda stick, saw Singe rip his rapier from his scabbard. She strained, fighting against the fascination that dug into her mind, straining to find some thought or power that would shield her, but Dah’mir’s presence was overwhelming-

Strong, lean arms wrapped around her, snatching her off the floor, throwing her over a tanned shoulder. Long hair woven with wooden beads whirled around her, and feet pounded the floor in long strides as Ashi seized on her warning and ran.

Dah’mir’s howl of startled rage followed them.

A grunt and rapid footsteps were all the warning that Singe had. Dah’mir’s gaze focused past him and the dragon roared in frustration. Herons rose into the sky in a flurry of black wings. Up so close, the sound was deafening. Singe staggered against it, but managed to twist around in time to see Ashi dart down one of the side corridors that opened off the long hall, carrying Dandra-dazed from even the brief exposure to Dah’mir’s awe-inspiring presence-over her shoulder. The hunter had the right idea. Singe’s rapier felt like a toy in his hand, the most powerful spell at his disposal a candleflame.

“Run!” he shouted at Natrac and Orshok.

But it was already too late for them. Dah’mir’s roar fell silent and even over the ringing in his ears, Singe heard the rasp of the dragon’s inhaled breath. Dread pierced him. Dah’mir’s head whipped forward and his mouth opened. Singe whirled, trying to cover his face as if that would protect him from the dragon’s acid venom. Except that no acid came-instead of searing liquid, Dah’mir’s breath billowed around them, warm and wet. The taste of copper seeped into Singe’s mouth and nostrils and across his tongue. Abruptly the air seemed thick. It dragged on him, impeding his every sluggish move. He turned back, looked up.

Orshok and Natrac had been caught in the dragon’s strange breath as well. They moved with such agonizing slowness that it looked almost as if they were swimming. By comparison, Dah’mir’s movements were fluid and lightning fast. Even his voice crackled in Singe’s ears, bellowing frustration turned sharp and staccato.

Further down the hall, Chuut and half a dozen other ogres burst out from one of the side corridors, weapons drawn and alarm on their faces-alarm that only grew deeper at the sight of Dah’mir in the courtyard. One of the ogres gave a yelp of terror and staggered back, but Tzaryan was already shouting terse orders in the ogres’ deep language. Chuut recovered himself with the discipline of House Deneith training. Slapping at his squad, he drove them on across the hall and toward the corridor down which Ashi had turned.

Herons were settling back onto the walls of the courtyard. Robrand was still standing frozen against the door he had opened, staring at Dah’mir in shock. His mouth worked in silent motion before he managed to force out words. “Dol Dorn’s mighty fist-!”

“Collect yourself, General!” said Tzaryan. “Dah’mir is our guest.” The ogre mage turned to the dragon. “My ogres will bring them back. They won’t escape.”

“See that they don’t.” Dah’mir’s head turned. “Don’t just stand there. This lethargy won’t last long. Seize them!”

To Dah’mir’s left, two figures emerged from the shadows to reach for Natrac and Orshok. One was Vennet, though the half-elf’s bloodstained clothes and bright, mad eyes scarcely matched Singe’s last glimpse of him. Behind him was Chain, freed from his cell in the dungeon. And to Dah’mir’s right …

A cold sweat broke out on Singe’s skin. At first all he saw were licking, flickering flames and glowing embers, stark against the night, then he saw past the brightness. He stared at a burning corpse, risen from ashes. And not just any corpse. Tongues of flame took the place of tendrils and tentacles. Charred flesh marked hollows in an eyeless face. Below them, a thin mouth twisted in hate.