Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

“No,” Singe croaked. “You’re dead.”

Hruucan lunged forward, fiery shoulder tentacles lashing through the air. Singe tried to raise his rapier. He could feel the sluggishness inflicted by Dah’mir’s breath already starting to pass, but Hruucan had been faster than him before and now he seemed to move like the wind. One extended tentacle whirled past Singe’s face. The wizard lifted his rapier higher-and the other tentacle slammed across his belly.

The ring that he wore on his left hand glittered greedily, devouring the heat of the flame before it could burn him, just as it had protected him from the fiery spell he had used to kill the dolgaunt. There was more than fire in Hruucan’s blow, though. The tentacle punched into his gut and seemed to wrench something out of him. A sudden flash of weakness that he felt in his very core sent him staggering back. Hruucan’s tentacles whirled up for another strike.

“Hruucan!” snapped Dah’mir. The dragon’s wings flapped and furled, sending a gust of wind across the courtyard. His herons stirred in an echo of his irritation. “I said seize, not attack!”

The dolgaunt froze like a serpent. “I’ve waited, Dah’mir! Give me my revenge!”

“Wait a little longer,” Dah’mir said.

Singe saw Robrand swallow, then dart forward. With swift efficiency, he grabbed Singe’s arm before anyone else could. Still reeling from the dolgaunt’s attack, Singe couldn’t put up any resistance. Robrand seized his arm and twisted it in a lock-for a moment bringing his lips close to Singe’s ear.

“I didn’t know about this!” he whispered quickly. “Dol Arrah’s oath, Etan, I swear it!”

Singe forced himself to suck in breath. “Help us!” he answered in a soft gasp. When Robrand reached for his rapier to disarm him, he let him take it.

“I have this one, my lord,” the old man said out loud. Tzaryan nodded his approval. Hruucan hissed, but backed down.

Chain had Orshok in his grasp and the druid’s hunda stick was on the ground. Vennet held Natrac at the end of his cutlass. His eyes flashed merrily. “Like old times, Natrac,” he said. “I like the knife. Very ingenious.”

“Da ga shek erat,” Orshok snarled.

Vennet’s face hardened. “Watch your tongue. I’d be happy to set you up for a matching set of cutlery.”

He fell silent as a rumble grew out of Dah’mir’s belly. The dragon rose and paced forward. Singe could feel every footfall through the stone floor. Dah’mir looked down on them. “There’s one unaccounted for,” he said. “Where’s Geth?”

Tzaryan repeated Robrand’s news of Geth’s flight with Ekhaas. The rumble deepened. “Find him for me, Tzaryan,” said Dah’mir. “I owe him a special debt.” He lowered his head until his eyes stared into Singe’s. “It was a mistake coming here, Singe. Once I learned where you were going, I knew exactly what you were trying to do.”

Singe shivered as Dah’mir’s acrid breath whispered across his face. From the corner of his eye, he saw Orshok turn pale. “How did you know we were coming here?” the young orc asked. There was fear in his face. Singe felt an echo of it. Who knew they had been headed to Tzaryan Keep-or even that they were looking for the Spires of the Forge? Had Dah’mir found Bava after all? Had he somehow tracked down Batul and Krepis?

Vennet answered for the dragon. “A good sailor obeys his captain,” he said. His lips twitched slightly. “Karth was a good sailor in the end.”

The crusted blood that stained Vennet’s clothes. “Lightning on Water …” Singe breathed.

Vennet turned his smile on him. “… never made it to Sharn,” he finished for him. “Although I’m sure Marolis still had her on course right up until I split him open.”

Dread and disgust squeezed Singe’s chest. “Twelve moons, Vennet, your own crew? Your ship?”

“A ship?” Vennet’s voice rose and broke. “What need do I have of a ship when soon I’ll have command of the wind itself?” He shrugged with his free arm and his open shirt slipped down to expose part of his shoulders and back. “Do you see the power of the Dragon Below? My dragonmark grows. By the blessing of the master of my master, I will bear the Siberys Mark of Storm!”

Singe felt Robrand stiffen and mutter a curse of disgust. Orshok looked away. The bright pattern of Vennet’s dragonmark was red and inflamed, as if he had been scratching at it. Patches were crusted with scabs. An open sore over his shoulder blade oozed thin liquid and pus. If the mark had actually grown, though, Singe couldn’t see it.

Dah’mir’s blunt muzzle opened in something like a grin. “I hope you found what you were looking for in Taruuzh Kraat. Do you think it was worth the price?”

A spark of anger rekindled itself in Singe’s gut. He clenched his jaw and met the dragon’s gaze with grim determination. “We found Marg’s device and his ravings. We know Taruuzh’s story.” He narrowed his eyes and added, “We know that the magic of the binding stone is the same magic that defeated the Master of Silence. Your master.”

Less than an armslength from his face, teeth larger than knives clashed together. “Ironic,” Dah’mir said, “isn’t it? My master’s servants will be born from his defeat.”

Singe forced himself to stand tall when every instinct urged him to cower. “The binding stone that Marg made is broken. Dandra smashed it.”

“So I have found.” Dah’mir’s eyes shone. “But I studied the great stone for two hundred years. I understand the magic better than Marg ever did and I have centuries more to perfect it. I will create another.”

“If you could,” said Singe, “you would have already.”

Dah’mir reared back with a furious roar. Hruucan looked enraged at Singe’s defiance. His fiery tentacles struck the air like angry serpents and he lunged forward, but one of Dah’mir’s thick legs slammed down between him and Singe with such force that the stones underfoot cracked. Hruucan reeled away. Singe staggered, falling back against Robrand. Dah’mir glared down at him. “I didn’t have Dandra and Tektashtai to study before.”

Singe swallowed and staggered back to his feet. “You still don’t!”

“Be glad of that,” Dah’mir said, grinding the words between his teeth, “or I would already have given you to Hruucan.”

The sound of heavy running echoed from the side corridor down which Chuut and his squad had pursued Ashi and Dandra. Moments later, the ogres burst into the long hall. Dandra and Ashi weren’t with them. Chuut slid to a stop and dropped to one knee before Tzaryan. “My lord, they tricked us. We lost them.”

For a moment, Singe felt a surge of hope. Dah’mir’s growl rumbled on the air. Tzaryan looked furious-and embarassed. “General, take command. I’ll take charge of your prisoner,” the ogre mage said, striding forward. Singe’s heart froze as he reached for him. “Turn the patrols you have looking for Ekhaas and Geth and set them after Dandra and Ashi. I want the keep searched-”

“No,” said Dah’mir.

Tzaryan paused in midstride. “Dah’mir?”

“Searching will take too much time. I want Dandra found now.” The dragon eased himself back. His eyes flashed. “Chain!”

The big man flinched. Dah’mir glared at him. “Earn your rescue. You carry the Mark of Finding-find me Dandra!”

Dandra was dimly aware of the corridor that Ashi ran down, twisting and turning around corners, flashing from torchlight to shadow and back to torchlight. She was somewhat more aware of the discomfort as the hunter’s shoulder dug into her belly with each swift pace. She also knew that Singe and the others weren’t with them-that while Ashi’s quick reactions might have saved the two of them, the others had been left behind to face Dah’mir’s wrath, caught by Tzaryan’s treachery. There wasn’t anything she could do about it, though. The farther they fled from Dah’mir, the more her head cleared, sloughing off the shroud of the dragon’s influence. Unfortunately, her release was Tetkashtai’s release as well.