Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

By the smell in the air, Dandra could tell that they were back in the hallway that led to the ogre barracks. She tried to keep her eyes and ears on the shadows ahead, but as Ekhaas swiftly told them what had happened in the dungeon-of Vennet’s sudden appearance and Geth’s attempt to warn them, of Robrand’s treachery-she found all of her attention on the hobgoblin. Ekhaas’s story left her with a sickening hollow in her stomach.

“He was going to torture Geth?” she asked finally.

“By the six kings, I swear it. It sounded like the General wanted revenge on him for something. Maybe the same thing you argued with him about.”

“Why did you take his sword?” asked Ashi.

“It’s a relic of Dhakaan. I would die rather than let it fall into Tzaryan’s hands.” She raised at the sword, studying it by the light of dancing flames. “It belongs in the vaults of the Kech Volaar. I should have fled with it.”

“But you didn’t,” Dandra said. “Why? And why help us?”

Ekhaas was silent for a moment, then replied, “Geth told me he brought this sword out of Jhegesh Dol and used it to fight the dragon servant of the Master of Silence. Is that true?”

Dandra frowned, trying to guess why the hobgoblin was asking. “It’s true,” she said.

“Then your blond friend was wrong to call Geth a coward. No coward could wield this blade-and heroes shouldn’t die in chains. Geth won the sword. It belongs to him now.” Ekhaas’s voice tightened with disgust. “If I took it, I would be a thief. It must be returned to him.” She looked over her shoulder. “Finding help to free Geth just made going back easier. I know a way out of the keep, but I didn’t relish fighting Lor on my own.”

“You only rescued us so we could help you rescue Geth?” asked Ashi.

Ekhaas’s lips curled. “You are less important than what you can do, chaat’oor.” Her ears twitched. “Although I would enjoying knowing what you did to offend Tzaryan Rrac.”

“Nothing.” Dandra ground her teeth together. “Tzaryan betrayed us. Dah’mir is here.”

Ekhaas’s pace faltered for a moment. “Khaavolaar . The dragon? And the rest of you …?”

“Dead? Captives? I don’t know.” Dandra drew a breath. “This way out of Tzaryan Keep-can you get us all out? Geth, me, and Ashi?”

The words hurt her, left her feeling cold and sick. Fleeing the keep meant leaving Singe, Natrac, and Orshok behind-if they were still alive-but they didn’t have much choice. She had no defense against Dah’mir’s power, especially with Tetkastai still pounding at her mind as well. Even Ashi and Geth had little hope against the dragon. They needed to regroup, to find out what was going on, before they could come up with a way to rescue the others.

Ekhaas’s ears flicked back. “My price is your story. Tell me how Dah’mir stole Marg’s stone and what he did with it.”

“Done.” Dandra felt like a coward.

Just ahead, the glow of torchlight marked the head of another flight of stairs-the stairs down to the dungeon. Ekhaas gestured and her lights vanished. The hobgoblin switched Geth’s sword to her left hand and drew her own sword with her right, then crept softly down the stairs. Dandra could hear sounds drifting up from the dungeon: labored breathing, the slow grinding of a blade. She tightened her hand around the shaft of her spear and followed with Ashi at her side.

The door of the cell that had held Ekhaas was open and though a torch in one of the brackets on the wall outside cast the interior into shadow, Dandra recognized Lor’s broad back as he crouched over his victim.

The sound of the grinding blade slowed, then stopped. Lor bent down. Ekhaas moved to the open doorway, her sword raised.

With unexpected speed, Lor ducked his head and reared up on his hands like a kicking horse. His thick legs shot back and slammed into Ekhaas’s chest in a powerful kick that sent the hobgoblin staggering back. Lor twisted and rolled to his feet, a gleaming knife clutched in one hand, a whetstone in the other giving weight to his fist. He leaped out of the cramped space of the cell and charged, knife slashing, fist swinging.

Ashi pushed past Dandra and surged forward to meet him, her pierced lips twisted in a snarl. Lor punched at her with his left fist, but the hunter just spun inside the reach of his outstretched arm and thrust-once-hard with her sword.

Lor blinked, looked down at the hilt of the blade jammed between his ribs and up into his heart, and toppled over. Ashi grabbed his arm and pulled, twisting him around so that he fell back against a wall instead of face down on the floor. His incredulous expression ended up fixed on the ceiling. Beyond them, Ekhaas rose, one hand clutching her side, her face almost as astounded.

Ashi stared into Lor’s unblinking eyes. “So that was fighting an ogre,” she said-then snorted. “I was expecting something more.”

There was a cry from the cell. “Ashi?” Chains scraped and rattled. “Ashi, help.”

Geth’s voice, but tight and strained. Dandra shoved Ashi to one side and sprinted for the cell, then caught herself on the doorframe. “Light of il-Yannah!”

Geth sat on the floor of the cell, chained by the neck just as Ekhaas had been when they’d found her, but with his arms chained and stretched up over his head as well. His legs had been tied down to keep him from kicking. He was barechested, his great-gauntlet, coat and shirt stripped off and tossed in a corner. The thick hair on the shifter’s torso made it difficult to see the full extent of his injuries, but it didn’t look like Lor had started to use his knife on him. Geth held himself awkwardly, though, and his breathing sounded painful. Blood matted the hair on his head and turned his face into a sticky mask. One eye was swollen shut. The other, hazy with pain, fixed on her and cleared sharply.

Geth drew a shuddering breath. “Dandra! Run! Vennet’s here. Dah’mir can’t be-”

Dandra pressed her lips together and stepped all the way into the cell. “We know,” she said. “He’s here. Tzaryan betrayed us. Ashi and I barely escaped. Dah’mir’s strong again, Geth. That shard you shattered in his chest-it’s been replaced.”

Geth sagged a little. “What about Orshok? Natrac?” His voice seemed to catch. “Singe?”

She shook her head. “We’re going to have to try and come back for them.”

The shifter groaned. His head fell forward. “I tried to warn you, but Robrand. He and Chuut ambushed me.”

“We know that, too.”

Geth raised his head to look at her, then his eye went past her and opened wide. Dandra looked over her shoulder.

Ekhaas stood in the door. Geth bared his teeth and snarled like a wounded animal, but Ekhaas ignored him and held out a key of black iron. “Lor had this. You’ll need it.”

Dandra took the key and the hobgoblin retreated. Geth stared after her. “What’s she doing here?”

“She helped us so that we could help you. She’s got your sword.” Dandra knelt at Geth’s side and looked him in the eye. The shifter stared back at her with an expression that was halfway between defiance and fear.

After a moment, the defiance fell away, replaced by a bleak loss that left Dandra more shaken that rage or hatred could have. “Dandra,” Geth said before she could speak, “I-”

“You snapped at me.”

“I’m sorry.” He turned his face away.

The motion left the lock on the collar exposed. Dandra reached forward and shoved the key inside, giving it a hard turn. Geth stiffened as if she had prodded him. The lock sprang open and she pulled the collar away. Geth stared at her. Dandra pressed her brow to his bloody, sticky forehead. “I didn’t know you nine years ago, Geth. But I know you now and I’d trust you with my life.”