The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II

by Don Bassingthwaite

  “Give me his sword,” she said.

  “Take it,” said Robrand. He turned his back on her, fixing the torch in a bracket, and stepped into the cell where she had been imprisoned. Geth felt Ekhaas reach forward and draw the ancient Dhakaani sword from his scabbard—then heard her dash away into the shadows and up the stairs.

  “Bring him!” Robrand called.

  Chuut and Lor heaved Geth in Ekhaas’s cell. His throbbing head lolled but Chuut held it upright as Lor locked the collar around his neck.

  “Look at me, Geth,” ordered Robrand.

  Geth’s eyes rolled up and he looked at his old commander from under his eyebrows. Robrand stood as stiff as he had on parade or at memorial services. His face was like ice. All of the cold words, all of the harsh glances Geth had felt from him on the road to Tzaryan Keep—none of them could match the expression Robrand wore at that moment.

  Geth tried to look away. Ogre fingers twined through his thick hair and wrenched his head up again. Robrand’s lips twisted. “You were going to disappear, Geth,” he said. “I was going to tell Etan that you’d run away. He would have believed that. But this—this is better. It’s legitimate.” He tugged on the hem of his coat, straightening the garment. “Tzaryan doesn’t like people who release his prisoners. Didn’t I tell you not to cross him?”

  He didn’t take his eyes of Geth, but he raised his voice in command. “Lor, you can soften him up—he’s tough—but don’t do anything serious.” His eyes bored into Geth’s. “I have a list of names I’ve been holding onto for nine years and I want to be sure he hears every one of them.”

  Robrand turned away.

  “Dah’mir!” Geth tried to croak after him. “Tell Singe Dah’mir—”

  The old man didn’t look back. Strong hands bashed Geth’s head back against the wall once more and this time the shadows swallowed him entirely.

  CHAPTER

  15

  Dandra didn’t need psionic skills to read Singe’s emotions. He wore his anger and hatred openly. Red blotches colored his face, stark against the pale skin of his cheeks, forehead, and neck.

  None of them said anything as they climbed up the stairs from the dungeon, heading to the upper levels of Tzaryan Keep. Even once they’d reached the light, they kept their silence. Natrac’s face was hard. Orshok and Ashi looked like they didn’t know what to say or how to react. Dandra didn’t think she could blame them. She wasn’t sure herself. Only the night before she’d told Geth that whatever he’d done in Narath, he’d proved himself to her. She wanted to think that nothing had changed, that she still trusted the man who had come to her aid more than once.

  Except that something had changed. Singe’s words haunted her. “More than a thousand people died because of what he did. Geth killed the Frostbrand. Geth killed Narath.”

  And Geth confirmed it

  More than a thousand people.

  I remember reading about Narath, said Tetkashtai. Even in the depths of the War it was horrible. Karrnath was usually tightlipped about its defeats, but I think King Kaius wanted all of Khorvaire to know what Aundair had done.

  Her voice was brittle. Tzaryan Keep had worn her down. Dandra could feel it too now. Singe’s revelation couldn’t have come at a worse time. Hard on the heels of their discoveries in Taruuzh Kraat and of the terrible dangers Ekhaas’s story had revealed, it was almost too much. She felt as though she was a knife blade that had been ground too fine and might snap if struck too hard.

  The halls and courtyards of Tzaryan Keep seemed even more discomforting and quiet than they had before. Singe led them from one passage to another, looking for Tzaryan. The best he managed was to get them back to the top of the broad stairs down to the keep’s gates. As the wizard glared at the stairs and cursed—the color in his cheeks rising even higher—Dandra clenched her teeth and stepped up to him.

  “Singe,” she said, “maybe you need to—”

  “Maybe I need to what?” He whirled on her. “Give him another chance? Forgive him?”

  Dandra stared at him, shocked by the sudden outburst. She took a step back. A cold anger ran along her back. “Maybe you need,” she said, “to ask for directions.”

  The others stared at them both. Singe stiffened. Dandra thought she saw a flicker of shame in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. “Ask who?” he demanded. He turned away to look around with angry eyes. “Twelve moons, this place is a tomb.”

  Natrac was looking around as well. “You’re right,” he said. “Where is everyone?”

  “Twilight,” said a deep voice from above them, “is a shift change here at Tzaryan Keep. Those who walked the day take their beds; those who will patrol the night are rising.”

  Dandra twisted around and looked up to see Tzaryan Rrac drifting down from an upper window as easily as a human might walk down a flight of stairs. The ogre mage’s expression was calm, but curious. “You’re still armed, Master Timin,” he said as his boots touched the stones of the floor. “You haven’t forgotten our agreement? You’re to join me for dinner. I was just looking for you.”

  Singe wallowed his anger with a visible effort and bowed low. “Our apologies, Lord Tzaryan. We were looking for you as well when we lost our way.”

  “Then this is a fortunate meeting. Allow me to be your guide to the dining hall. Our meal will be ready very soon.” Tzaryan bent his head and offered Dandra his hand. “Kirvakri?”

  Dinner was perhaps the farthest thing from Dandra’s mind, but it didn’t seem that they had any choice but to accept Tzaryan’s invitation. She shot a glance at Singe. He gave her a quick nod. She reached up and placed her hand in Tzaryan’s.

  The ogre mage’s grip was surprisingly gentle, as though he was used to handling delicate things, but her fingers still disappeared between his. He turned, guiding them back the way they had come with Dandra on his right and Singe on his left. Ashi, Orshok, and Natrac fell in behind. “You’re tense, lovely kalashtar,” he said.

  “We’ve had an … eventful day,” Dandra answered.

  Tzaryan nodded. “I apologize for the trespasser that troubled you in the ruins. Do you know him?”

  She wondered briefly what report Robrand had given Tzaryan. She tried to exchange another glance with Singe, but with Tzaryan between them it was impossible. “One of our guards had things in his past we didn’t know about,” she said—then winced at the truth behind her own lie.

  “I was in my observatory and saw what happened,” he said. “Such things usually don’t happen in my domain. I’m pleased the General was in a position to help you.” He glanced over his shoulder and his black eyes narrowed. “The shifter isn’t with you.”

  “No, my lord,” said Singe. “We left him in your dungeon.”

  A gash of a smile opened on Tzaryan’s face. “Were the things in his past that bad?”

  Singe was silent. Dandra found she couldn’t even manage a false smile. Tzaryan looked back and forth between them. “A joke,” he said.

  “I’m re-evaluating his service to me,” Singe replied. “For now, he’s standing guard over Ekhaas.”

  They stepped into a long room lined with tall wooden columns painted the same green as the tiles of the keep’s roofs. Between some of the columns, corridors opened, leading deeper into the keep. Between others were mounted the trophies of a warlord: battered swords and shields, a suit of armor with a crest Dandra didn’t recognize, another with a crest that she did—the emblem of the Church of the Silver Flame. She tried to ignore them, to pay attention to their ogre mage host. Tzaryan looked down at Singe as they walked. “That’s unnecessary. If you were in my dungeon, you’ve seen that the cells are quite secure. I’ll send one of my servants to fetch him for dinner.”

  Singe hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was cautious. “He’s not trying to prevent her escape, Lord Tzaryan. He’s watching over her. The General dismissed Lor, but we were concerned he might come back—”

  Tzaryan’s eyes narrowed and his grip on Dandra’s hand
tightened slightly. He cut Singe off. “Lor? What was Lor doing there?”

  Dandra heard the wizard hesitate again and wished that she could escape Tzaryan’s grasp.

  Singe recovered himself quickly. “When the General took our attacker to the dungeons, we went along with the intent of speaking to Ekhaas as you and I had agreed, my lord. We found Lor getting ready to … ah …” He swallowed as pretty words failed him. “Torture her.”

  “Lor started without my permission?” The ogre mage’s voice was like distant thunder. “I’ll whip him for this!”

  In Dandra’s head, Tetkashtai stirred uneasily. Something’s wrong, she said. Her yellow-green glow arced and snapped like captured lightning. Dandra, something’s wrong!

  Suspicion sank into Dandra as well. I think you’re right, she told Tetkashtai. Robrand had said that Tzaryan had ordered Lor to begin torturing Ekhaas. But if Tzaryan hadn’t known that Lor was in the dungeon …

  “Perhaps I misunderstood what he was doing, my lord,” said Singe. “I’m sure the General had a better explanation for what we saw when we—”

  “I’ll be certain to ask him,” Tzaryan said. He quickened his pace, releasing Dandra’s hand. She snatched it away as the implications of the ogre mage’s words settled into her. Robrand had left them in the dungeon with Ekhaas to go and report to Tzaryan—but it almost sounded as if Tzaryan hadn’t seen him.

  Robrand had lied to them. Twice. Why?

  Dandra, Tetkashtai said urgently, listen to me! Do you feel—

  Not now, Tetkashtai! Dandra took a step back, moving a little closer to Ashi and Orshok as Singe hurried to keep pace with Tzaryan.

  “My lord,” the wizard said, “the point is that we spoke with Ekhaas and she co-operated with us. She told us what we wanted to know about the ruins. We agreed that if she spoke, you wouldn’t have her tortured.”

  “I recall our agreement.” Tzaryan nodded. “Very well. She won’t be tortured. You have my word.”

  Singe relaxed, but only slightly. “My lord, what she had to say was extremely helpful to us. Her attempt to follow us from Vralkek was nothing by comparison—it’s forgiven. Would you consider letting her go free?”

  Tzaryan stopped and turned to look down at Singe. His lips drew back from his square black teeth. Dandra caught her breath. Holding back Tetkashtai’s frightened ravings, she reached out to brush her mind against Ashi’s and Orshok’s. Stay alert! she warned them. Something is going on here!

  Tetkashtai lunged for the mental opening of the kesh. It’s not Tzaryan! she shrieked. Listen to me—

  Ashi flinched at the presence’s sudden outburst. Orshok’s hand tightened around his hunda stick. Dandra cursed and hauled back on Tetkashtai, reining her in like a runaway horse. Tetkashtai, be quiet!

  The warning and Tetkashtai’s outburst had taken scant heartbeats. Tzaryan still stared down at Singe while the wizard did his best to look strong yet optimistic. Tzaryan’s eyes flickered. “After dinner,” he said finally. “Let us discuss the matter after dinner like civilized folk.” He stood straight.

  Singe took a long breath and stood straight as well. He nodded slowly. “Certainly, my lord.” Tzaryan held out his hand, gesturing for Singe to continue along the hall. The wizard bent his head and the pair resumed their progress. The need to reach out to Singe with the kesh and offer him her warning as well burned in Dandra, but she didn’t dare. Tetkashtai’s ravings had become a desperate, mad struggle that took all of her concentration to maintain. She shouted at the presence, but Tetkashtai seemed beyond hearing.

  The long hall ended in a pair of tall doors as green as the columns. Two orcs stood ready beside the doors. Tzaryan beckoned one forward. “Go to the dungeon,” he told him. “Tell the shifter that Ekhaas is safe and that he is summoned to dinner. Guide him here.” He frowned. “If you see the General, tell him that he is summoned to dinner as well.”

  “There’s no need.” Robrand came striding out of one of the corridors that opened onto the hall. Chuut was close behind him. Robrand’s face was set in a stony mask. He marched up to Tzaryan and dropped down on one knee. “Lord Tzaryan, I’ve just come from the dungeon. Ekhaas and the shifter are both gone. He helped her escape.” He glanced sideways at Singe and added, “Whatever trust you had in him, he broke it.”

  Singe’s body stiffened as if someone were holding his feet and his neck and stretching them apart. His eyes opened wide, staring at Robrand with an angry intensity. His lip curled. He trembled. “No,” he breathed—then he flung his head back and screamed, “Twelve bloody moons! Geth, you hairy traitor!”

  Abruptly, everyone was talking at once. Robrand was on his feet, explaining to Tzaryan how he’d gone down to the dungeon only to find Ekhaas’s cell empty and that a preliminary search of the keep had turned up nothing. “I doubt they’re even here any longer,” he said. “Ekhaas probably used magic to get them past the guards at the gate. I’m organizing patrols now. We’ll find them.”

  Singe was ranting, stomping back and forth in the hall, his hand clenched around the hilt of his rapier. “I’ll kill him!” he spat, his voice seething. “This time I will kill him. Devourer take him, I knew I couldn’t trust him.”

  Orshok and Natrac leaped forward, trying to calm Singe down and defending Geth. “Why would he do it?” Orshok asked. “If he ran, it was because you drove him away!” shouted Natrac. Nothing they said had any effect beyond, however, making the din in the hall even louder. Singe thrust them aside and stormed up to Robrand and Tzaryan, demanding a place in any hunt. Tetkashtai was still wailing and pleading in Dandra’s head, adding her penetrating voice to the chaos.

  Dandra pressed her hands over her ears and clenched her teeth. A hand touched her shoulder. Dandra whirled to find Ashi standing at her side, her pierced lips drawn tight in concern.

  “What’s wrong? the hunter asked.

  “It’s too much,” Dandra choked. “I can’t think. Tetkashtai’s gone—”

  “Enough!” roared Tzaryan. His bellow rolled through the hall, silencing Singe and Robrand, sending Natrac and Orshok flinching back, bringing Chuut to stiff alertness, and tearing a frightened shriek out of one of the orc slaves. Even Tetkashtai seemed shocked into a quiet whimper. Tzaryan’s black-eyed gaze raked them all. His fingers stabbed out, pointing at the orcs. “You,” he said, “leave us.” The orcs fled as if pursued by hounds. Tzaryan turned to Chuut. “You—find a patrol and join it.” The ogre nodded and turned for one of the other side corridors.

  Tzaryan looked to Robrand and Singe, standing together with near identical expressions of cold anger on their faces, then to the others. “All of you—” He tugged on his robes, straightening them. “—will join me for dinner.”

  “With respect, Lord Tzaryan,” Singe said, “unless you’re serving roast of shifter, I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Silence!” Tzaryan’s hands jerked as he shouted into Singe’s face. The crimson fabric of his robes tore under his grip, leaving everyone staring at wide rips through which blue-green showed like bone through a bloody injury. Tzaryan’s teeth ground down. Slowly and deliberately, he pulled the ruined garment back together. “Dinner,” he said with a horrible calm. “Now.”

  He stepped up to one of the doors at the end of the hall and gestured for the General to take the other, then stared at Singe. The wizard drew a harsh breath, then bent his head in grudging submission. Tzaryan glanced at Robrand and the old man nodded obediently. Tzaryan’s grip tightened on the handle—

  —just as Tetkashtai’s voice rose in a howl above the silence of the moment. Open yourself, Dandra, you stupid dahr! Think like a kalashtar for once and listen to me! Her light coalesced, then burst across Dandra’s mind like a slap in the face.

  Dandra jerked, startled, and for an instant the walls she had erected in her mind to blot out Tetkashtai shivered and thinned—and Dandra felt the questing touch of another presence against her mind. It wasn’t an active, probing touch like that of Medala or a mind flayer, but rather s
omething passive, like the pull of waves on an ocean. She wanted to go to it, to enter the waves even though they could be her doom.

  She knew the feel of that presence. She knew what had kept Tetkashtai on edge in Tzaryan Keep. She understood what Tetkashtai had been trying to warn her about—and why Tzaryan was so insistent they accompany him. Dandra gasped and grabbed Ashi’s arm with a desperate strength. “Ashi, run! It’s—”

  The warning came too late. The green doors were moving, swinging wide, to reveal a courtyard entirely open along one long side to the fiery sky of evening. In the courtyard sat Dah’mir, the setting sun turning his scales copper and gleaming on the Khyber dragonshard—now restored—that was embedded in the center of his chest. There was nothing of the weakness that Geth had described seeing in Zarash’ak about him. He looked strong and fit. Along the wall of the courtyard, black herons perched like a crowd gathered to watch an execution.

  “Finally,” said Dah’mir, “I thought you’d never come.”

  Tetkashtai’s wails rose into a piercing scream as the power of the dragon’s presence enveloped them. Dimly Dandra saw Orshok raise his hunda stick, saw Singe rip his rapier from his scabbard. She strained, fighting against the fascination that dug into her mind, straining to find some thought or power that would shield her, but Dah’mir’s presence was overwhelming—

  Strong, lean arms wrapped around her, snatching her off the floor, throwing her over a tanned shoulder. Long hair woven with wooden beads whirled around her, and feet pounded the floor in long strides as Ashi seized on her warning and ran.

  Dah’mir’s howl of startled rage followed them.

  CHAPTER

  16

  A grunt and rapid footsteps were all the warning that Singe had. Dah’mir’s gaze focused past him and the dragon roared in frustration. Herons rose into the sky in a flurry of black wings. Up so close, the sound was deafening. Singe staggered against it, but managed to twist around in time to see Ashi dart down one of the side corridors that opened off the long hall, carrying Dandra—dazed from even the brief exposure to Dah’mir’s awe-inspiring presence—over her shoulder. The hunter had the right idea. Singe’s rapier felt like a toy in his hand, the most powerful spell at his disposal a candleflame.