Don Bassinghtwaite - The Binding Stone

When Singe wasn't keeping watch on the bandits, he was staring at the bridge beneath them. About halfway across its span, with the din and stench of Yrlag growing in their ears and noses, he guided his horse close to the low rail at the edge of the bridge and peered over. When he straightened, he glanced at Geth.

"The footings on this bridge are massive," he said in wonder. "They look much older than the road surface, but they're in better condition."

"They are older," Geth said. "Adolan-" He grimaced. The druid's name lay across his tongue like the collar of black stones lay around his neck. "Adolan told me once that Yrlag is built on the ruins of a hobgoblin town from the time when the Dhakaani Empire spread across the whole south of Khorvaire. Yrlag was its westernmost outpost. New bridges have been built on top of the old hobgoblin footings ever since."

He turned away from the Aundairian and slouched down in his saddle. A week's travel had taught both Singe and Dandra when he wanted to be left alone. If the footings of the bridge still interested Singe, he kept his curiosity to himself. Geth forced his mind into the unthinking blankness that had become more of a companion to him in the last week than either the wizard or the kalashtar.

There had been too much time to think on the journey to Yrlag. None of the trio had felt much like talking. Geth almost wished that the Bonetree hunters had caught them-simple, mindless fighting would have been good-but there had been no sign of pursuit. Every night after Singe had cast the spell that created a simple, featureless black dome to give them shelter, Geth had backtracked along their trail, setting snares to catch the next day's food and watching the darkness. When he rose in the morning to collect his catch, he watched the empty landscape. By dark or by day, there was nothing to see. The Bonetree clan might almost have given up their hunt-but his gut told him they hadn't.

An old central street ran through Yrlag from the great bridge down to the deep pool cut into riverbank that served as a waterfront. Geth suspected that the pool, like the bridge, had been created by the ancient hobgoblins, an enhancement to the already deep riverbed. As they came off the bridge, he scanned the makeshift booths and stalls that lined the street, pulling the bundle that contained his great gauntlet from the back of his saddle and holding it protectively. Yrlag pickpockets would steal anything they could get their hands on.

In a niche between two booths, a tall figure draped in a badly fitting cloak caught his eye. From under the hood of the cloak, a woman's lean face stared back at him, framed by dark gold hair woven with beads and pierced through the lower lips with two small hoops.

Geth twisted around so sharply in his saddle that his horse whinnied and pranced in alarm. Singe cursed and reached out to grab the animal's bridle, bringing it back under control. "Geth! Watch what you're doing!"

"Singe, it's the Bonetree hunters! I saw one of them!"

Geth spun back to stare at the niche-and saw only a ragged old cloak hanging from a knotted post and shifting in the breeze. Geth blinked and rubbed his eyes. Singe followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"I saw her!" Geth insisted. "The big woman." He dredged up the name the old hunter had called out during the fight at the Bull Hole. "Her name is Ashi."

Singe pressed his lips together. "The hunters couldn't have passed us, Geth. We would have seen some sign. We're well ahead of them. Come on. We need to find a ship and you need to rest."

The wizard released Geth's horse and urged his own through the crowd. Geth stole one last look at the hanging cloak, then glanced at Dandra. She shrugged and turned her mount after Singe. Even after a week's riding, it was clear that she wasn't comfortable on a horse.

After a moment, Geth followed as well. He kept his eyes open as they rode, though, scanning the shifting crowd. Maybe Singe had been right, he thought. How could the hunters have moved quickly enough to pass them? He probably had made a mistake. Still, he couldn't shake feeling that he had recognized Ashi.

Ahead, both Singe and Dandra reined in sharply. "Twelve moons!" Singe gasped. "I was hoping to find a fast ship, but this is Olladra's own luck!"

Geth looked up. Docked in the nearest berth was a sleek ship easily eighty paces in length. She sat low in the water with the weight of her cargo but still looked like she could outpace anything else on Yrlag's waterfront. Deep blue paint shot through with bright yellow trim ran around her hull in a wide band below her rails and the name painted proudly on her bow was Lightning on Water.

The ship had, however, no masts and no sails. Instead, massive wooden beams reached out from its stern to clutch a pale blue ring of enormous diameter that hung above and behind the ship's hull. Geth stared at it, then squinted. There was a strangely translucent quality to the ring. He couldn't tell if it was carved from wood or forged from metal-or maybe even cast from some heavy glass.

"What kind of ship is that?" he asked in amazement.

"It's a House Lyrandar elemental galleon," said Dandra. "I watched them docking in Sharn. Il-Yannah, I wouldn't have expected to find one here!"

"They'll go wherever there's a profit to be made," Singe said. He bit his lip. "There's nothing faster on the water, but-"

"But-?" asked a salt-hoarse voice. "But nothing! I'll bet you a silver ring there's not a ship west of Sharn that's faster than Lightning!"

Geth twisted in his saddle and glared at a slim, fair-haired man standing with a sheaf of papers in his hand beside a stack of barrels. The man gave him a sharp smile. "Nervous?" he asked. "I've noticed Yrlag tends to do that to be people."

The man wore a dove-gray coat with long tails and upturned cuffs. His voice carried, like Singe's, the accent of Aundair. His hair was long and drawn back, exposing the graceful tapering points of his ears and a bright, swirling pattern that spread up the back of his neck. The man was a half-elf-and carried a dragonmark. Geth took a second look at his coat. The man's smile grew a little wider. "Looking for these, my shifter friend?" He held up his cuff so that bright silver buttons flashed in the sunlight. Barely visible on each one was the kraken crest of House Lyrandar.

Singe slipped down from his horse and stepped up to offer the half-elf his hand. "A common sailor doesn't check manifests, the average clerk in my experience doesn't dress so well, and neither generally carries a dragonmark. I'll make a guess that you're the captain of this fine ship."

The half-elf took Singe's hand in hearty grip. "Captain Vennet d'Lyrandar, friend." Bright eyes flashed at each of them. "And in my experience, the average traveler doesn't stand on piers gawking at ships for the fun of it." He glanced back to Singe. "Looking for passage?"

"Yes," said Geth. He climbed down and joined Singe. The Aundairian shot him a dark look, but Geth ignored him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he told Vennet, "We need passage to Zarash'ak."

"My own destination! Five days to the City of Stilts." Vennet swept his hand grandly across the length of his ship. "As I say, fastest ship west of Sharn. And loaded to the rails-but you're lucky. My passenger cabins are full, but if you don't mind staking out a corner of the forward hold, there's room for the three of you." His eyes traveled over their horses. "No room for the beasts, unfortunately, but I can recommend an honest stable master who would be happy to buy them from you."

Geth grunted. He gave the smiling captain his hardest bartering look. "He'd better be honest. Those animals are the price of our passage."

Singe let out a quiet groan. Vennet's smile didn't even waver. "They must be very special horses, then," he said. "Passage to Zarash'ak is one thousand gold."