Don Bassinghtwaite - The Binding Stone

"Yes, dark master! At once!" babbled the man. Ashi stared at him in loathing.

"They play at power," murmured Dah'mir to her. The green-eyed man stood close-possibly closer than he had ever stood to her before, close enough that Ashi could smell a slight metallic, acrid odor clinging to him. "They do not live with the Dragon Below. They are not the pure servants that the Bonetree hunters are." He bent down and retrieved the huntmaster's sword from where she had dropped it in her final charge and returned it to her. "I am pleased with your service. When we return to Bonetree territory, you will be the new master of my hunters."

"Thank you, Revered," Ashi replied tightly. "And until then?"

Dah'mir touched the groaning wizard, then the woman who had been Ashi's quarry for so long. "They are in your charge," he said. "Guard them and see that they survive the trip into marshes. The children of Khyber await their return to the mound."

His touch lingered on the woman. "Especially your return," he told her blank, staring face. "I'm very curious to learn how you slipped free of my control, Tetkashtai."

Ashi blinked, but touched her lips and forehead as Dah'mir glanced at her. "I will watch over them, Revered," she said obediently.

"Come on," Singe said with frustrated patience. "Come on, eat."

He held a little chunk of meat to Dandra's lips. He wasn't exactly sure what kind of meat it was-fowl, snake, or something else-but it was cold and weirdly greasy. At least it was soft and shredded easily under his fingernails. "Eat," he urged Dandra again.

She paid no attention to him. Her eyes were on Dah'mir, watching the green-eyed man in rapt fascination as he laughed and spoke with Fause and the other cultists around the fire of the night's campsite. Virtually all she had done for the last two days was stare at him. Singe pushed the food against her unresisting lips. Her mouth finally opened and she took the meat, chewing it absently.

"Good," Singe told her. "Now swallow." She did, and that was a minor triumph, too. The first time Singe had tried to feed her, Dandra had just kept chewing, the food still in her mouth. Singe had never had to feed a child himself, but he was certain it would be something like this. He plucked another morsel from the small heap that he cupped in his palm and held it to Dandra's lips. The slow process of coaxing her to take another bit of food began again.

At least it gave him something to focus on besides their situation. Two days spent in the broad boats that Fause had scrounged at Dah'mir's command, two days spent rowing slowly upstream at Dah'mir's command, two days spent rowing slowly upstream along the sluggish river that lay beyond Zarash'ak. Only Dah'mir, Medalashana, and Dandra had been spared the labor of rowing; Singe had been forced to take an oar alongside Ashi and the cultists. His shoulders and back burned and he had big welts wherever marsh flies had landed to nip at the salt on his sweaty skin. On the first day, the wound that Ashi's thrown knife had inflicted on his arm had open up and bled profusely. Singe had faltered like a lame horse, with so many flies buzzing around the wound that he'd begun to imagine the wriggling of maggots and the stench of infection.

Ashi took the charge of looking after Dah'mir's captives seriously, though. When the boats had been drawn up on a patch of dry land along the marshy riverside for the first night's camp, she had dragged Singe before Fause and forced the cult's leader to use his prayers to heal the wound.

The touch of the Dragon Below's power had made Singe long for his imagined maggots. Fause's prayers brought no gentle healing-Singe's flesh had flowed and knit together in a horrible, unclean rippling. All through that night, he had found himself touching his arm, half-expecting to find some vile cyst left behind where the wound had been. He'd stared up at the cold stars and shivered, feeling more alone than he ever had before.

The image of Geth plunging into the foul water under Zarash'ak-defiant to the last, Natrac and Dandra's psicrystal lost with him-played itself out in his memory again and again. The anger he had carried for nine years seemed as empty as the revenge against Dah'mir that they had planned on the hillside above the Eldeen Reaches.

But they hadn't seen Geth's body, Singe told himself, or Natrac's. And the orc who had come to their aid had leaped into the water like a child into a swimming hole. There was a chance, wasn't there?

Wasn't there?

Singe forced desperate hope out of his head. He couldn't afford to dream. He had to keep his eyes and his mind clear. His chance would come. He bent his thoughts back to Dandra. "Come on," he murmured. Dandra ignored him. He clenched his teeth. "Twelve moons, how did you eat the first time you made this journey?"

"We didn't," said a harsh voice over him.

Singe jerked and flinched back from Medalashana-Medala as Dah'mir insisted on calling her. The abbreviation suited her. Compared to the woman he had seen in Dandra's memories, she was like someone cut short, half of her substance and half of her soul stripped away. The kalashtar crouched down, staring at Dandra as if Singe wasn't even present.

"We starved. The Bonetree clan tolerates weakness in no one. Dah'mir forced them to give us water, but they didn't feed us and we were too enraptured by Dah'mir's presence to feed ourselves."

Singe said nothing. He couldn't bring himself to it. When Medala had forced herself on his mind, the experience had been nothing like Dandra's gentle touch. Just having her close made his breath catch as little else ever had.

Medala's lip curled. "Don't try to hide your fear, Singe," she said without looking at him, "I can feel it pouring off of you without even trying." The kalashtar reached out to brush Dandra's hair. Dandra gave no reaction and Medala hissed. "But I can't read you, can I, Tetkashtai? Dah'mir's hold presses your mind down into places even I can't reach. We'll be back at the mound soon enough, though, and when he releases you-"

Shadows stirred in the gathering twilight. "Medala!" snapped Ashi as she strode up to them. "What are you doing? Get away from her!"

The gray-haired woman stood slowly, her eyes flashing. "Are you challenging me, Ashi?"

The camp went quiet, even Dah'mir's smooth voice fading away. Ashi leaned in close, face to face with Medala. "In this," she said gruffly, "yes! Singe and Tetkashtai are in my charge. Dah'mir said so."

"Dah'mir has placed me above the hunters," Medala hissed back, "and thus above you. I'll do as I please!"

A chime rang in Singe's mind and pain lanced through him, just as it had in Zarash'ak. He fell back onto the ground, scattering Dandra's food as he curled up into a ball and gasped for breath. He heard Ashi yelling angrily-and then Dah'mir's voice rose sharply. "Ashi! Medala!"

The green-eyed man's shout was like a slap in the face. The chime in Singe's mind vanished-and with it the scourging pain of Medala's power. He rolled over onto his side, panting and shaking. Medala was on the ground, prostrate before Dah'mir's approach. Ashi kneeled as well, but through watering eyes, Singe could see that her back was rigid with fury. Dah'mir stopped in front of both women, his black robes whispering softly, the dragonshards set into them shimmering softly in the gloom. His presence was like a tangible force in the air and there was the trace of an edge in his voice when he spoke. "Medala, control yourself. I have plans for the wizard and I don't want him damaged beyond use."

The words sent a shiver down Singe's back, but not quite so much as the sight of the powerful kalashtar groveling in the dirt before Dah'mir. "Forgive me!" she begged. "I wouldn't have harmed him! I only wanted to make Ashi understand her proper place."