The Binding Stone: The Dragon Below Book 1

by Don Bassingthwaite

  “Ah.” Vennet turned around to look out across the sea. “Where?”

  The way he asked the question made Geth glance at him with new respect. When conversations turned to the Last War, he’d found over the years, people generally asked about his experiences in one of two ways. If they’d managed to stay out of the fighting, their questions tended to be curious and polite.

  If they’d seen fighting themselves, on the other hand, their questions were blunt, tempered less by curiosity and more by a need to share their own experiences. While he’d avoided discussing the War through his years in Bull Hollow, Geth found himself opening up to Vennet. “All over,” he said. “That’s how it was with a Blademarks company.”

  “Was?” Vennet raised an eyebrow.

  “Singe stayed in the Blademarks. I left.”

  Geth didn’t offer anything more and Vennet didn’t ask. “I can understand moving around,” the captain said. He looked back at the water again. “I earned my commission doing transport work along the coast of the Bitter Sea, from Aundair across the Karrnathi coast to the Lhazaar Principalities. Sometimes a run down Scions Sound to Cyre or Thrane. That was a touchy trip.”

  The shifter gave him a smile. “I manned a ballista on the Cyran side of the Brey River for five months, shooting at any ship trying to make that run.”

  “Did you ever hit anything?”

  “Did you ever get hit?”

  Vennet laughed and they swapped the bottle again. “Where else?” he asked.

  Geth dug into his memories, trying to remember the best of his time with the Frostbrand. “All over northern Cyre. Up into Karrnath. A little bit on the Talenta Plains. Wherever our commander drew a contract.” He looked at Vennet. “Transport work sounds more peaceful.”

  The captain shook his head. “I saw trouble enough. It’s hard to catch a Lyrandar ship if the captain doesn’t want to be caught, but there are always pirates and hostile ships willing to give it a try. Lyrandar doesn’t float warships, though. We leave the hard fighting to those on land—and they’re welcome to it.” Vennet rubbed his thumbs across the bottle. “There was one assignment. Transport accompanying an Aundairian raid on a Karrnathi logging town. After the Eldeen Reaches broke away, Aundair came up short on quality timber for shipbuilding, but Karrnath’s forests were still thick.” His voice dropped. “The town should have held out against the raid, but somehow the Aundairian soldiers broke through. I didn’t get any further from my ship than the docks, but it was like they turned into monsters when they got into that town. What they did …”

  Geth’s mouth went dry. A queasy nausea returned to his stomach. “You’re talking about Narath.”

  Vennet looked at him with haunted eyes. “You’ve heard of it.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Of course you have. Who hasn’t?”

  “Aye,” said Geth. He drew a rough breath. “I wouldn’t mention that story to Singe.”

  “Because it was Aundairians who did it?” Vennet grimaced. “I know how he feels. Believe me, I don’t talk about it often either. For a long time, it was like a stain on my soul.” He took another long drink from the bottle, then offered it to Geth again.

  This time the shifter shook his head. Vennet nodded and shoved a cork back into the bottle’s neck. “Enough for tonight,” he agreed. He clapped a hand across Geth’s shoulder. “Maybe when we reach Zarash’ak, though? There’s a tavern I know—”

  The sound of running feet on the deck saved Geth from having to decline the half-elf’s offer. Both men turned at the same time as one of Vennet’s crew slid to a stop in front of them. “Captain! Trouble in the aft hold!”

  Vennet’s eyes flashed angrily. “Natrac’s gang again?” The crewman nodded and Vennet cursed, then looked to Geth. “I wouldn’t normally ask a passenger to step into a fight, but some of Natrac’s clients are brutes. A veteran of the Blademarks would be a good person to have at my back.”

  The prospect of a good fight stirred Geth’s spirit. “I’m with you,” he said.

  “Good man.” Vennet stuffed the bottle into a pocket and strode toward the stern of the ship, sparing a hard glare for the crewman. “Natrac’s in my cabin. Tell him to get his backside aft!”

  The crewman saluted and dashed off.

  Lightning on Water’s crew were gathered around the top of the ladder-like steps leading down to the aft hold—they leaped back at Vennet’s approach. The sounds of a roaring brawl thundered up from below. One of the crew called out to Vennet. “They’ve been arguing for a while, captain, but the fighting only just broke out.”

  The sudden splintering of wood punctuated her report. “Kol Korran’s wager, if they damage my ship, I’ll take the price out of Natrac’s gray hide!” spat Vennet. He pointed at two burly sailors who stood by with thick wooden pins. “You and you. After us.”

  He thundered down the steps into the hold with sure-footed ease. Geth sprang after him, ready for anything.

  At least he thought he was ready for anything. At the bottom of the stairs, he froze and bared his teeth. A snarl tore itself out of his throat.

  The dim, magical light that lit the hold shone on a dozen bodies, most struggling, a few stretched out senseless on the floor. In the center of the chaos—fighting in a whirlwind of fists, feet, knees, and elbows—was Ashi!

  CHAPTER

  8

  Dandra bit her lip to hold back her laughter as Natrac spun out the punchline of a long and embarrassingly self-deprecating anecdote. He probably wouldn’t have noticed if she had smiled, though. All of his attention was on Singe. The wizard sat near the head of the captain’s table, to the right of Vennet’s empty chair. His face was a stern mask of disapproval. He had to be working even harder than her, Dandra knew, to keep a straight face against Natrac’s frantic attempts to ingratiate himself.

  In truth, Singe had told her their first night on Lighting on Water, Natrac had been right all along. House Deneith had no interest in such a small, isolated operation as Natrac’s. Still, he hadn’t been able to resist winding up the blustering half-orc. The ship’s other passengers had picked up on the joke as well. Even thin, hunched Pandon kept his face buried in a goblet to hide his grin as Natrac’s anecdote lurched to an end. The cabin was silent. Dandra was certain she saw a drop of sweat run down the half-orc’s face as he waited for a reaction from Singe.

  In the back of her mind, Tetkashtai gave a silent sniff of disapproval. Childish. Dandra ignored her. Singe straightened and she could see a grave and measured response growing in his eyes.

  It never reached his lips. The door of the cabin swung open and a panting crewman burst through to point at Natrac. “Captain says get yourself a ft!”

  Natrac’s gray skin grew even paler and for a moment he seemed frozen between responding to the captain and toadying to Singe. The urgency in the crewman’s face was obvious, though.

  “Go!” Singe shouted at Natrac. “Go!”

  The half-orc leaped from his seat and raced out of the cabin. Vennet’s crewman went with him. The silence around the captain’s table was real.

  Dandra stood up. “We should see what it is.”

  Singe nodded and rose as well.

  They reached the hatch of the aft hold hard on Natrac’s heels. Dandra could hear the sounds of fighting below. A brawl had broken out. The crew of Lightning on Water were clustered around the hatch. Vennet, Geth, and two big crewmen were disappearing down into the hold.

  Only a heartbeat later, a terrible snarl ripped up from below.

  “Geth!” Dandra exclaimed.

  “Twelve moons,” cursed Singe. “That can’t be good!”

  He pushed through the clustered crew, shoved past Natrac, and darted down the steps into the hold. Dandra followed close behind him. Down below, the two big crewmen were laying into Natrac’s brawling clients. Vennet had waded into the fight as well, pulling the combatants apart with a ferocious ease that belied his slight frame, cursing blasphemously the whole time.

  Geth, however, was bounding s
traight to the heart of the free-for-all. The tall woman who fought there whirled at his approach. Anger washed over a face flushed from combat and Ashi gave the screaming battle cry of the Bonetree hunters.

  Light of il-Yannah! wailed Tetkashtai. Where did she come from?

  Dandra watched Geth shift as he charged—his hair bristling and growing thicker, his body becoming subtly tougher, even the features of his face turning coarser and more beastlike. As he closed with Ashi, the hunter snapped a leg around in a fast kick that smashed into his side. Geth shrugged it off.

  He responded with hammering punches of his own. Ashi stumbled backward under the flurry, barely able to block the shifter’s fists. When she managed to react with punches and kicks herself, Geth swung his right arm to defend himself with blocks that just as often turned into heavy blows. Dandra could see why Geth’s weapon of choice was the massive great-gauntlet—it was a extension of his own natural fighting style. Spinning and darting around Ashi, he took all of the punishment that she served out and returned it in equal measure.

  But the Bonetree hunter had the advantage of height and the beams in the ceiling of the hold ran only a couple of feet above her head. Ashi caught Geth with a solid, double-fisted blow that seemed to rattle even the tough shifter, then as he shook off the strike, jumped up and wrapped her hands around the top of one beam. Hanging from it, she snapped her body forward, putting her entire weight behind a stomping kick with both feet square to Geth’s chest. The shifter made a wheezing noise and flailed back away from her.

  Ashi dropped to the ground in a crouch. Across the hold, her eyes met Dandra’s. The kalashtar froze. Geth was down. The burly sailors had their hands full keeping back Natrac’s struggling brawlers. Singe stood in front of her protectively, but he was unarmed—and his fiery spells were as useless on a wooden ship as most of her own powers. Most, though not all. She reached desperately for the vayhatana she had used to move the stone in the Bull Hole. If she was fast, she could use it hold Ashi back. Tetkashtai, I need your help!

  The only response from the presence was another wail of despair.

  To one side of the hold, though, Vennet turned from bashing a man’s head against a barrel. Dandra saw his eyes narrow as he took in the hunter’s menacing stance. He shoved the man he had been struggling with away and turned to face Ashi. Even as her crouch turned into an outstretched leap for Dandra, concentration flickered across the half-elf’s features. The dragonmark that patterned the back of his neck shimmered.

  The roaring of a gale filled the hold. Dandra felt it only as a strong breeze, but in a path in front of Vennet, loose objects and abandoned clothing flapped and tumbled, blown up into the air. The worst of the windstorm, however, was focused directly on Ashi. Its unseen force snatched the leaping hunter out of the air and slammed her back into a stack of crates. Her impact scattered them and left her sprawled on the floor, struggling to climb back to her feet in the face of the howling wind. She grabbed at a big, heavy barrel and clung to it.

  Now, Tetkashtai, urged Dandra. She reached into herself and forced an image of what they needed to do onto Tetkashtai. The frightened presence finally responded, entwining her skill with Dandra’s raw power.

  A ripple of force passed through the air as invisible vayhatana wrapped around Ashi’s taut body—and around the barrel she clung to. With all of her will, Dandra held the two together. Trapped even as Vennet’s wind died away, Ashi spat and struggled, but the best she could do was rock the barrel from side to side.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Dandra could see Vennet staring at her. All of Natrac’s other “clients” were staring, too—at her, Vennet, and a slowly rising Geth. The brawlers were silent, shifting uncomfortably.

  Natrac peered down from above. “Is it over?” he asked.

  Vennet’s angry gaze shifted to the half-orc and rage fell over his face. Natrac flinched and slowly slipped back through the hatch.

  The mood around the captain’s table a short time later was far grimmer than it had been earlier in the evening. Vennet sat at the table’s head, Natrac and Geth to one side, Dandra and Singe to the other. In the aft hold, Ashi had been placed in shackles and chained to bolts driven into the wood of the ship. Lightning on Water had no brig. Chains had been the best solution Vennet could come up with. For the remainder of their voyage, the rest of the men and women who had taken Natrac’s offer of passage would sleep on the ship’s deck, their good behavior guaranteed by a promise from the captain that if they stepped out of line they would have to deal with him and Geth directly.

  A few swift questions had already uncovered the instigator of the brawl: an ugly man who was still unconscious after Ashi had slammed the back of his head against the floor of the hold three or four times in quick succession. It was generally acknowledged that she had been defending herself against the man and two of his cronies—at least initially. Once the fighting had started, everyone had joined in, most siding with the ugly man. Ashi, it seemed, had not made herself popular among Natrac’s clients.

  Natrac also held the key to how the Bonetree hunter had come to be aboard the ship in the first place. “It happened at the last moment,” the half-orc said, shrinking back from the combined gazes of the others at the table. “I was loading my clients on the pier at Yrlag when she came running up and demanded a place onboard. When I explained that there was no more room, she turned to the biggest man in line and hit him so hard that she broke his jaw with a single blow.” He spread his hands. “How was I supposed to pass over someone who fights like that?”

  “Grandfather Rat,” cursed Geth. Dandra watched as he glowered at Singe. “I knew I saw her in Yrlag. She must have run ahead of the other hunters and guessed where we were heading—on her own, she could have slipped past us. The Yrlag Bridge is the only way across the Grithic from the north. All she had to do was wait for us there, then follow us through the town.”

  “And when she found out we were taking passage on Lightning on Water, decided to get on, too,” Dandra added. She shivered. “She could have crept out and killed us at any time. We should be lucky that she was the only one.”

  Vennet glared at all of them. “So she’s on my ship because of you three,” he said angrily. “Whatever’s going on here, I’d like to know about it now!”

  Dandra hesitated, unsure of what to tell the dragonmarked half-elf. Singe came to her rescue. “Her name is Ashi, Vennet. She’s part of a Shadow March clan called the Bonetree. They’re a cult of the Dragon Below.”

  “Sovereign Host protect us,” said Natrac.

  Vennet’s face settled into a mask of intensity. “Tell me what this is about,” he said tightly. His eyes grew hard and bright as Singe recounted Dandra’s flight from the Bonetree, the attack on Bull Hollow, the trio’s escape to Yrlag, and their determination to see an end to Dah’mir’s power. The wizard made no mention of Tetkashtai, Medalashana, Virikhad or the cult leader’s terrible experiments, instead implying only that Dandra had been abducted as a potential sacrifice to the dark powers that the cult worshipped.

  When he was finished, Vennet sat back, his expression blank. Natrac, on the other hand, was pale. The half-orc stood slowly. “Vennet,” he said, “if there’s nothing else you need from me, I’d like the return to my cabin and barricade myself inside until we reach Zarash’ak.” He made a sign of protection against evil. “If you do the sensible thing and drop that cultist over the side, let me know.”

  “I’m not going to drop anyone over the side, Natrac,” Vennet growled. “House Lyrandar has rules against that. She’s chained up well enough. If you want to shut yourself in your cabin for two days, you’re welcome to. Keep what you know to yourself. I don’t want a panic onboard.”

  Natrac nodded tightly. “I’ll be in my cabin as long as she’s alive.” He turned to go, but laid one heavy hand on Dandra’s shoulder on the way out. “You’re lucky to have escaped,” he said. “I had a cousin who was taken by a cult in Zarash’ak itself. We kept finding pieces of him
in the canals for a week. And they say the cults in the marshes are even worse.”

  He walked out, shutting the door softly behind himself. Vennet looked after him for a moment, then glanced at Dandra. “Is it true?” he asked. “Are they worse?”

  Her belly tightened. The horrific memories she had shared with Singe and Geth surged back at her, forcing a whimper from Tetkashtai. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I don’t have anything to compare them to.”

  “If Dah’mir commands dolgrims and a dolgaunt, he must be very powerful,” Vennet said.

  “You know what dolgrims are?” asked Singe.

  “I’ve seen a lot of things I’ve tried to forget.” said Vennet. Dandra thought she saw his eyes dart briefly toward Geth.

  The shifter only grunted. “What are we going to do with Ashi? Dropping her over the side sounds like a good idea.”

  “Dropping people over the side is bad for business,” the half-elf said firmly. “The crew sees it, they start talking, word gets around …”

  He sat back in his chair. “When we reach Zarash’ak, we turn her over to the authorities there.”

  “I’ve been to Zarash’ak,” Dandra reminded him. “The authorities there seemed as likely to turn her loose as imprison her—if she didn’t just escape from them. Either way, she’s going to start tracking us again!”

  Vennet frowned. “What am I supposed to do then? Carry her all the way to my next stop at Sharn?”

  Dandra glanced at Singe and Geth. The wizard raised his eyebrows. “Why not?” he asked. “Even if she escapes or is turned loose there, she’s going to be hundreds of miles away from us.”

  “You’re asking me to carry a dangerous cargo,” Vennet said darkly. He steepled his fingers in front of his face for a moment, then looked up. “An extra five hundred gold from your letter of credit when we reach Zarash’ak and I’ll do it.”