A WORLD FORMED BY DRAGONS …
The Age of Dragons was a time of wonders. This was the age of the Three Dragons, the first and greatest of all dragonkind—Siberys, Eberron, and Khyber. In those most ancient of days, Siberys and Khyber fought one another. The powers wielded by these progenitor wyrms brought the world to ruin. Great Siberys, wounded and torn, became the Great Ring that surrounds the world. Khyber, the great Dragon Below, was sealed within the world. Eberron took his place between the rivals, healing the desolated world by becoming one with it.
But there are those whose thirst for power leads them to seek the power of the Dragon Below. Time and again they have risen to corrupt the world, and time and again heroes have risen to oppose them….
THE
DRAGON BELOW
Book One
THE BINDING STONE
Book Two
THE GRIEVING TREE
Book Three
THE KILLING SONG
For Ole
PROLOGUE
Screams, thin and high, shivered the night air.
In the camp that spread out at the foot of the ancestor mound, men, women, and even the smallest children of the clan touched their fingers to lips and forehead in a sign of obedience and respect to the great powers that dwelled beneath them—then went back to whatever they had been doing. Stitching clothes from leather or rough cloth taken in raids from neighboring tribes. Pounding pale yellow flour from the pith of dark gold reeds. Sitting by fires, telling stories beneath the light of Eberron’s moons and the glowing streak of the Ring of Siberys. In the case of the children, sleeping in knotted piles with brothers and sisters and cousins and such dogs as were allowed into the clan’s shelters.
In the case of Ner, leader of the Bonetree hunters, running a whetstone up and down the length of his sword until the metal sang. The ancient blade was the best weapon among the clan. When Ner paused and looked up as the screams continued, Ashi glanced away before he could see the envy in her eyes. “Che Harana shialo betgri jun,” she said. The Revered was praying late tonight.
“An shial todo’o mogri bet kei an tohushenr andgri’imo,” added Breff. He lounged on the far side of the fire, a bowl of beer in one hand. His other was held gingerly against his body. The fresh black of a new tattoo stroked his forearm.
Ashi smiled and the thin bone hoops that pierced either side of her lower lips pressed against her teeth. The Revered had prayed late every night since he returned from his most recent trip downstream. The three outclanners he had brought back with him must have been tougher than they looked. “Eches duskavs eva an toklavito itri taos pareis kto ans kritaos!”
“Eches toch krii ches duskavsit ahines,” Ner said. His face was turned toward the dark silhouette that the mound made against the winking lights of the sky. Ashi realized that he looked worried. The thin screams ended abruptly. She set her own bowl down and twisted around to follow Ner’s gaze.
She was just in time to see strange white flames flare in the mound’s mouth. “Rond betch!” she choked.
Her cry brought Breff upright, his beer slopping across his chest as he whirled around to stare as well. Across the camp, dozens more voices were raised in wonder and fear.
A long fluting call came drifting down from the mound. Instinct closed every mouth so that the hunters could hear the signal—even though this call was one that every member of the clan knew by heart.
Help! Danger!
Ashi recognized the warble in the call. “Eche Gig!” she said. The hunter had been standing honor watch outside the mound.
Ner was already on his feet, his sword sheathed so that his hands were free to cup his mouth and let loose a call of his own. All hunters respond! As the Bonetree warriors snatched up weapons and tumbled out of shelters in a flurry of reaction, Ner snapped around. “Ashi! Breff! At sutis!” he called, leaping away from the fire and racing for the mound.
Ashi grabbed her sword—a crude weapon stolen from orcs—and ran after him. The pale beads woven into her thick hair made a clashing rhythm as she stretched her legs. At her side, Breff matched her stride for stride. Downstream from the mound, the ground turned wet and mucky until it was overwhelmed by the water and became marsh. Bonetree territory was much drier, the footing solid.
Long strides on solid ground ate distance quickly. The hunters reached the mouth of the mound in only moments, but in those moments, Ashi saw flames flare again, this time even brighter, and a hot wind blew against her. By the light of the flame, she could see three figures at the mound’s mouth.
Two were Bonetree hunters. Gig, who had given the call, writhed on the ground, his skin burned bright red. Pai, the hunter who had stood honor watch with him, was stretched out, charred black and motionless.
The third figure stood in the very mouth of the mound. White flames seemed to shimmer and cling to it. Ashi put up her hand to shade her eyes. Against the glare of the flame, she could see almost nothing of the figure. It was light and lithe, she could tell that much.
As more hunters swept up to the mound, though, and before Ashi could see any more, the figure crossed its arms over its chest. For a moment, the shimmering flames seemed shot with pale colors. Then the air around the figure seemed to collapse and fold before springing back again.
The figure was gone. The white fire guttered and died. Ashi blinked, trying to clear the glare of it from her eyes. The air was still heavy with heat and the smell of burned flesh. What had just happened? “Tokrii eche?” she asked.
“Khyberit gentis,” breathed Ner. “Toch pinde!”
He knew no more than she did. “Cheo as andoas tmake?”
Ner shook his head. “Breff,” he said, “ches broshamas viti. Gig domado kebrono—”
A cry cut him off. Every eye in the crowd of hunters darted back to the mound’s mouth. There was a new light glowing within it, pale and watery, dimmed further by smoke. Three more figures moved against it. One of them was a tall man, his face clear and pale, his hair black, his eyes bright and shining green. He was dressed in robes of fine black leather. Set into the sleeves of the robes, like jewels in a necklace Ashi had once seen around an outclanner’s neck, were half a dozen smooth, gently polished stones that glowed a soft red against the black leather. A single smoky crystal that winked deep blue was set at the center of the man’s chest. Dragonshards, all of them.
The Bonetree hunters dropped to their knees in unison, their fingers darting to their lips and to their foreheads. Ashi found herself trembling.
“Revered!” Ner gasped. “What has happened?” He spoke the outclanner language that the Revered preferred. Ashi and Breff spoke the language as well, though most of the hunters were ignorant of it.
“Ner, master of my hunters.” The Revered’s voice was smooth as oil. He held out long, perfect fingers. Ner crept forward on his knees and kissed the man’s fingers, then touched them to his forehead. The Revered lifted his hand, gesturing for Ner to stand. “I have lost someone,” he said. “Take the best of your hunters. Retrieve her for me.”
Ner glanced over his shoulder. “Ashi,” he said. “Breff. Hand-wit. Mukur. Dal. Etta. At dosut kebronos.” The named hunters shifted with anticipation—Ashi a little bit more for having been named first. She watched as Ner looked back to the Revered.
The tall man raised his eyebrows. “More.” As the hunter blinked in surprise, he added, “She is wily and fast, Ner. You will need more hunters.”
“No one is faster than the Bonetree hunters,” Ner said.
The Revered shook his head. “Don’t underestimate her, huntmaster. She escaped from me.”
Ner flushed and bent his head. “I can take
two dozen and still leave the mound and the clan protected, Revered.”
“Do that. You will have other help as well.” The Revered motioned, the smallest twitch of his hand, and one of the figures who had accompanied him moved forward. The figure wore a cloak and a deep cowl, but Ashi could tell that underneath it was tall and lean. “Hruucan will accompany you as my Hand,” said the Revered. “Address him as you address me. When the time is right, he will summon the children of Khyber to aid you.”
“Revered! Hand!” Ner dropped back down to his knees. “You honor us!”
The Revered reached out and rested his hand on Ner’s head. “Use every trick and tool you have. I must have her back!”
Ecstasy washed over Ner’s face at the man’s touch. Ashi, however, frowned. “Revered,” she said as loudly as she dared, her eyes downcast, “there is something. The woman you want … with the fire behind her, we didn’t see her. And when we approached, she vanished!”
She felt the weight of the Revered’s gaze on her. “Ashi, you are as bright as you are strong. Look up.” She did. The Revered favored her with a smile, then looked to the second figure who had come with him out of the mound. “Medala, show them.”
As the figure moved out from the Revered’s shadow, the gathered hunters fell silent. Dressed in draping robes of fine but soiled green fabric, Medala was a woman with dusky skin and dark hair streaked with gray at an early age. An outclanner. One of the three outclanners the Revered had brought back from his recent journey downstream and taken away into the depths of the ancestor mound.
By all rights, she should have been dead instead of standing at the Revered’s side.
For a moment, the woman’s gaze swept over the hunters, her face as hard as if she could sense their fear and dislike. Then, with an effort, her face smoothed and she nodded to the Revered. “Of course,” she said in a knife-edge voice. She looked back out at the hunters.
Ashi’s ears seemed to ring with the sound of a single, pure note and an image leaped into her mind—an image of the woman they sought, as clear as if she had stood before her in broad daylight. Her name poured into Ashi’s mind. Her name, what she was, what she was capable of doing. What she had done within the mound—or at least some shadow of it. Ashi gasped out loud, her exclamation part of a chorus that erupted from all the hunters. She clutched at her head. “Rond betch!” she cursed. “Cheo kint? What kind of magic—”
“Not magic,” said Medala. “Psionics. The power of the mind.”
“Kint by any name has the same stink,” groaned Breff.
Medala’s eyes narrowed, but the Revered gave her a sharp glance. “Medala,” he said.
The green-robed woman flinched as if he had struck her, shrinking back in terror from the rebuke. “Your pardon, Dah’mir.”
Her words silenced the hunters more than any actions ever could. The name of the Revered hadn’t been spoken aloud among the Bonetree clan in four generations. Ashi held her breath, waiting.
But if the Revered was offended, he didn’t show it. “What of her vanishing?”
“She can step short distances across the dimensions of space,” said Medala. Confusion must have shown on the face of the hunters because she looked disgusted. “She moved from one place to another,” she added, then looked back to the Revered. “She can’t manage it more than once a day and she can’t go very far. Two hundred paces at most. Enough to break her trail.”
“Two hundred paces?” asked Ner. His pride seemed to return. “Nothing. We’ll pick her trail up again, Revered.” His hand dipped into a pouch at his hip and emerged with a thin bone whistle. He put it to his lips and blew a series of shrill notes.
A moment later, Ashi heard a splash and a rustle from the specially prepared pond close to the village. Wings beat into the sky. “Your birds, Revered,” said Ner. “They will see her and guide us to her.”
The Revered smiled. “Move fast, Ner. Bring her back to me.” He held out a strange band of woven copper wire and clear crystals, folded like a cloth headband and big enough to stretch around someone’s head. “Take this. If you need to speak with me, wear it and Medala will hear you.”
Ner bowed his head and accepted the device, but not before Ashi saw him throw a look of malice toward Medala. She understood his anger. How could an outclanner claim a favor and trust from the Revered that he barely showed to the Bonetree, a clan he had guided for generations?
The master of the hunters said nothing, however, and Ashi knew he never would. She kept her mouth closed as well.
The Revered raised his hands over them. “Go,” he said. “Do my bidding and with it the work of Khyber. The Dragon Below promises glory to the Bonetree!”
The gathered hunters might not have understood the Revered’s words, but they understood the blessing. Their voices rose in a roaring response. “Su Drumas! Su Darasvhir!”
For the Bonetree! For the Dragon Below!
Ashi mouthed the words, but her eyes were on the Revered and Medala. And Medala’s eyes, she saw, were on Dah’mir.
998
YEAR OF THE KINGDOM
CHAPTER
1
The golden light of late afternoon filled the little valley like honey. Insects flashed as they drifted through the still air, lazy now that midsummer’s fierce heat had passed from the far west of the Eldeen Reaches. There was a spot Geth knew of, up high on the valley’s northern slope, where a slab of bare rock thrust out from the trees. On an afternoon like this, there was nowhere better to lie out and bask in the sun, alone with the sky, the forest, and the stone.
On another afternoon, the shifter thought, but not today. He shook thick, sweat-damp brown hair out of his eyes and growled between sharp teeth, “They’re toying with us, Adolan. Three times back and forth across the valley. Are they going to run us all the way to the Shadowcrags?”
Well-worn leather leggings whispered as Adolan paused and looked back along the valley’s length. His nose, sharp and pointed as human noses tended to be, crinkled. “If we take a straight path, it’s not so far back to Bull Hollow.”
Geth stared at his friend, then blinked wide amber eyes. “You’d see the Ring of Siberys in a mud puddle,” he grumbled in annoyance.
Adolan’s smile broke through his red-brown beard. “What’s the matter, Geth?” he asked. “Can’t enjoy your fleas when someone’s scratching you?”
Geth paused in the act of reaching to scratch at the thick sideburns that grew down a shifter’s jaw line. Another low growl rolled up out of his throat. The heavy hair on the back of his neck and on his forearms rose and his lips pulled away from his teeth. “If one of my fleas ever bit your thin skin, Ado, we’d need a needle and thread to sew up the wound!”
“Then it’s good thing they like your furry hide better, isn’t it?”
“Small-eye human.”
“Furball shifter.” Adolan held out a flat packet. “Jerky?”
“Tak.” Geth plucked a strip of the dried meat from the druid’s packet with thick, heavy-nailed fingers. He stuck it in his mouth and sucked at the smoky saltiness for a moment, then said around the meat, “They are toying with us, though.”
“They’re too bold,” Adolan said as he took a piece of jerky for himself. “We’re closer to them than they think. We’ll catch them soon.”
The tall human slid the jerky into his mouth and started walking again, eyes scanning the ground for signs of their quarry. Geth followed him at an easy, loping gait. “Do you think they’ll talk?” he asked. “I hate it when they talk.”
Adolan’s only answer was the slow grind of flat teeth on jerky. Geth snapped at his jerky twice. Sharp teeth tore the hard meat into slivers. “More?” he grunted.
Adolan tossed him the packet.
“There’s something in the woods,” Sandar had said when he dropped by their cabin that morning. The man who owned the last inn in the Eldeen had somehow appointed himself the mouthpiece of Bull Hollow’s elders.
“There are a lot of things
in the woods, Sandar,” Geth had told him with his usual bluntness.
Blunt words rolled off Sandar like water. “A lot of things,” the elder had replied, “don’t come prowling around people’s farms.”
Adolan had stepped in, as he so often did, before things deteriorated too far. “Bull Hollow doesn’t have any shortage of hunters, Sandar,” he had pointed out.
Sandar had crossed his hands over his belly. “Bull Hollow only has two hunters who can take on whatever dragged Ellio Tuck’s biggest breeding sow out of her pen and carried her off toward the high valleys.”
Geth and Adolan had been on the trail by mid-morning.
Fortunately, their quarry had been easy to track—and to identify. Two trails of massive cat-like paws traced around Tuck’s farm, led to the remains of an enormous sow in the woods, and continued on up into the higher reaches of the forest. Two trails, but with six paws to each trail. Deep scratches had been torn in the wood of the sow’s pen and high on tree trunks along the trail, all without any of the twelve paws leaving the ground. Only displacer beasts—six legs and a pair of barbed tentacles sprouting from the shoulders—left spoor like that.
Not even Adolan could argue that the beasts might be passing through on their way to new hunting ground. Everywhere was a displacer beast’s hunting ground. The monsters were dumb enough to hunt anything they came across—and just smart enough to get away with it.
An uneasy thought made the hair on Geth’s arms and neck stand up again. How long had the beasts known they were being followed? Had they been toying with their pursuers even before they reached the valley?
Had the beasts led him and Adolan here deliberately?
The beasts’ trail turned back down toward the valley floor. Geth scanned the valley through gaps in the trees. The valley was uninhabited, so no chance of allies. Lots of crags and displaced boulders. Steep sides. A narrow lower mouth that was easily guarded, an upland slope that was steep and more easily descended than climbed. A good place for an ambush.
The Binding Stone: The Dragon Below Book 1 Page 1
