Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

Tears threatened to cloud Geth’s vision. A howl of anguish built in his throat.

“Hruucan,” Dah’mir said sharply, “hold.” The dolgaunt paused in midstride. Dah’mir lowered his head to peer into the passage. “Geth, I have a proposal for you.”

“I’m not going to deal with you,” Geth said. “All you want is the sword!”

“Not exactly. I also want to make you suffer for the injury you inflicted on me at the Bonetree mound. I want to punish Ashi for abandoning me.” The dragon’s voice was hard. “But I am capable of compromise. You’re strong enough to let your friends die in a vain attempt to keep the sword safe, but I will have it eventually. I may not be able to reach you, but we both know that you can’t escape. I can wait, you’ll starve in that hole, and the sword will be mine.”

Geth bared his teeth. “You’ll be waiting a long time!”

“Exactly.” Dah’mir blinked slowly, acid-green eyes closing then opening again like a double eclipse. “The Bonetree hunters would say that you’ve shown yourself to be a good enemy, Geth. You’ve survived everything I’ve thrown at you. That’s why I’ll offer you the warrior’s choice. You can hold the sword and I’ll claim it after you and all of your friends are dead-or you can surrender the sword to me now and I’ll let all of you go free to try and win the sword back another day.” His muzzle curved in a smile. “I like a challenge.”

All of the tension inside Geth came together in a single knot. “You’d use the sword to claim Taruuzh’s stones.”

“Of course, I would. But I don’t have all the pieces to the puzzle, do I? I don’t have a hobgoblin lord. There’s a little time for you to try to stop me.”

Something tugged at Geth, something out of place in what the dragon had said, but he couldn’t quite identify it. He thrust it aside. “What’s to stop you from attacking us as soon as we leave the passage?”

“Geth!” hissed Ashi. “You’re not going to take his deal, are you?”

“Take it!” Ekhaas said from his other side. “Khaavolaar , I don’t want to die here!”

Geth swallowed. “I … I don’t …”

“Not an easy decision, is it?” asked Dah’mir. “But I’ll make it easier for you: keep the sword until you’re out of this place. You’ve said yourself that I don’t risk attacking you for fear of destroying the sword. So long as I need the sword, you’re safe. Once you’re out of Taruuzh Kraat, leave the sword and I pledge not to attack you or yours until we meet again.” He bent his head. “Majak wux aridarastrixszaka -I give you the word of a dragon.”

Suspicion rose immediately in Geth. “How can I trust your word?” he asked. “You’ve tried to kill us. You’re our enemy. Grandfather Rat, you serve a daelkyr!”

Dah’mir smiled again. “You stand between a duur’kala of the Kech Volaar and a hunter of the Bonetree clan. Ask Ekhaas about the pledge of a dragon. Ask Ashi if I’ve ever failed to keep my word once it was given.”

Geth glanced at the two women. Ashi’s brow furrowed. “Bonetree legends say that when the Revered promised something, it was always carried out.”

Ekhaas nodded. “Among the Kech Volaar, it’s said that a dragon doesn’t give his word lightly, but once given it’s always honored.” Her ears bent forward, though, and her voice dropped. “But it’s also said that the word of a dragon can have many meanings.”

Geth’s jaw clenched. “He’s trying to trick us.” He looked back up-and focused on Tzaryan standing at Dah’mir’s side. “Tzaryan, too. And Hruucan and Vennet. Your pledge extends to them.”

Dah’mir’s smile faded slightly, but his voice betrayed nothing. “Done,” he said. “I expect you to honor the pledge as well. Leave the sword outside Taruuzh Kraat or you’ll face a fury such as you’ve never seen.”

“You’ll have the sword,” said Geth.

“You’re going to do it.” Ashi stared at him in disbelief. “Rond betch , you’re going to give it to him.”

“We’ll get it back.” Geth said. He glared at Dah’mir. “You have my word on that.”

Dah’mir chuckled faintly. “I said that I like a challenge.” He straightened up and turned toward Hruucan as he hovered over Singe’s unmoving form. “Away from him,” Dah’mir said.

The dolgaunt’s tentacles whipped at the air. “He still lives!” he said, his voice an angry rasp. “My revenge-”

“-can wait. I need him alive. Back away!”

Dah’mir’s presence poured through the command. Hruucan, poised on the edge of lunging for Singe, instead staggered and thrust himself back violently, tumbling off the platform and darting across the great chamber. Only when he could run no farther did he stop and turn back to bare his teeth at Dah’mir.

The wash of the dragon’s power also seemed to bring Singe starting back to consciousness. His eyes twitched between Dah’mir and Hruucan in confusion. “What-?” he gasped.

“Don’t ask questions, Singe,” said Geth. He glanced at Ekhaas and Ashi. “Ekhaas,” he said, “come with me. Ashi, bring Dandra to the mouth of the passage. Be ready to leave.” He tightened his grip on the sword and strode forward with Ekhaas behind him. At the end of the passage, he hesitated for a moment, then stepped out into the cavern.

No one moved. Hruucan crouched against the far wall of the cavern, Chuut and the ogres of Tzaryan Keep arrayed in the shadows, Vennet to the right of the passage, Tzaryan Rrac and Dah’mir to the left, Robrand still standing near the base of the Grieving Tree-none of them moved. Every eye was on him, though.

He fixed his gaze on the grieving tree and walked. He passed Robrand. Neither of them said anything. Geth leaped up onto the platform and looked at Singe. “Do you think you can walk?” he asked.

The wizard grimaced and climbed unsteadily to his feet. “With help,” he said.

“You may have to do it on your own.” Geth glanced up into the branches, then turned and faced Dah’mir. “Get them down,” he said.

Dah’mir growled a word and the branches of the Grieving Tree shivered. Natrac groaned as the carved stone passed him toward the ground. The tree released him with surprising gentleness, lowering him to crouch on the platform in a shuddering, shaking heap. “See to him,” Geth told Ekhaas. “Carry him if you need to.” He looked back up to Dah’mir. “Orshok!” he demanded.

Dah’mir’s voice growled and once again the tree moved. This time though, there was little gentleness. As if reluctant to give up its prey, the Grieving Tree thrashed rather than shivered. Orshok screamed, then twisted among the branches. His drop was sharp and hard; he hit the ground with a cracking of bones.

“Orshok!” Geth threw himself toward the young druid’s twisted body. One of Orshok’s arms was bent at a hard angle underneath his body. His breath whistled in his throat. One of his legs shook in an uncontrolled spasm. Geth hesitated, then reached for him with his free hand. “Orshok.”

The orc’s eyes fluttered. “Geth …” He lifted the arm that wasn’t trapped and groped for Geth’s hand.

The instant that their fingers met, Wrath’s blade flared with a purple radiance that seared Geth’s eyes. There was a sharp crack like lightning striking close and the sword bucked in his hand. The branches of the Grieving Tree stiffened, its truck split-and, like an echo through the ages, Geth heard Taruuzh’s voice cry out.

Three great works stand together as allies: treasure, key, guardian, disciple, and lord. The time has come again!

The grinding of sliding stone rumbled over a chorus of shouts and fell apart into the deafening clatter of rock against rock. Geth blinked, fighting to clear the radiance of Wrath’s flare from his eyes, but all he saw were shadows as the Grieving Tree split and fell away from him. Orshok clung to him. He tore his hand away and staggered blindly to his feet.