The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III

by Don Bassingthwaite

  “It was us,” Dandra said tightly. “He probably acted early because we got away in the arena.” She glanced back at Rhazala. “Take us down!”

  The goblin sounded alarmed. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “You don’t want to know,” said Dandra. She reached over her shoulder and drew her spear from across her back. “Just take us down. We need to get off now!”

  “No, wait.” Singe studied the herons. Was Dah’mir among them? He didn’t think so. The dragon would likely be in the thick of the action, not hanging above it like a common bird. “Take us closer.”

  Rhazala let out a squeak, but Singe dropped two more gold galifars onto the floor of the coach under her bench. “Don’t ask questions. Just make a pass over the birds.” He looked at Dandra. “We need to see what’s happening down there before we go charging in. We’ll be more effective if we know what we’re doing.”

  Dandra’s fingers tightened on her spear, but she nodded. Rhazala glanced at the gold, swallowed, and sent the skycoach gliding forward like a boat on a river. She pulled the steering rod, and they rose slightly, climbing above the herons. The birds seemed to pay them no attention, but then they were hardly the only skycoach in the air—just the only one with passengers more interested in what was below than what was above. Singe found himself holding his breath as he leaned over the edge of the coach and looked down.

  Just as Dandra had said, Fan Adar was quiet compared to the other neighborhoods around. Revelers seemed to avoid the kalashtar district. Fan Adar was dark too. Strangely dark. The everbright lanterns that should have lit the streets had been suppressed. Singe had to strain to see through the shadows. Biish’s goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears would have a strategic advantage in the darkness.

  But there was no movement in the streets. Except for the wheeling herons, everything seemed peaceful. Singe felt an eerie tension crawl up his spine.

  “Maybe we are in time,” whispered Natrac.

  “They’re there,” Ashi answered him. Her voice had a raw edge Singe hadn’t heard in weeks—the edge of a barbarian of the Shadow Marches. “Can’t you feel it? This is the moment before the hunt begins.”

  Rhazala squeaked out a curse. “Tell me what’s going on—”

  She didn’t finish. From somewhere below, a scream of fright echoed into the night before breaking off. An instant later, the herons dropped, screeching, out of the sky to plummet down into the streets. More shouts rose—more screams. A deep howl that must have been a bugbear or maybe even an ogre was followed by shrieks. Light flashed onto the streets as doors and windows were thrown open, but the light only served to make the shadows seem deeper and the shapes that ran through the street stranger and more wild.

  “Rond betch, you see?” shouted Ashi. The skycoach rocked as she turned from side to side. “They’re everywhere! They’re trying to panic the kalashtar.”

  “That won’t help them for long,” Dandra said. “The kalashtar and the Adaran humans will rally at the Gathering Light and fight back.”

  Natrac’s face flushed dark. “But that’s what they’re expecting! Biish said that kalashtar under attack always cluster together at a central location.”

  The mention of the hobgoblin’s name made Rhazala flinch. “Biish?” she choked. “You’re going against Biish? Khaari orces’taat! Keep your gold!” The coach lurched to a halt and began to turn as she pulled at the steering rod.

  Natrac twisted around with a roar that rocked Singe back on his seat. “Hold that rod steady! Kuv dagga, we’re going against Biish! This time the Biter has sunk his teeth into something too big for him. If they’re still telling stories about Natrac Graywall, you’d better start remembering them because you’ve got a front row seat for his return!”

  Rhazala’s mouth fell open in shocked awe. “Natrac? You’re Natrac?” Her eyes flashed and her grip tightened on the steering road. “My coach is yours!”

  For a moment, staring at Natrac was all Singe could do too. He’d seen the half-orc wear many faces, from blustering merchant to desperate fighter, but in the deep rage that colored Natrac’s features now he could see for the first time the man who might have earned a warrant-notice from the Sentinel Marshals of House Deneith. “Bloody moons, Natrac!” he managed.

  Natrac thrust his tusks forward. “I’ve had enough of Biish. I may be afraid of Dah’mir, but Host and Six curse me if I’m going to take anything more from that shekot! If he’s going to force me to go back to what I was, I’m going all the way.”

  “I’m glad you’re on our side then.” Singe blew out his breath and thought quickly, trying to assess the situation. “If Biish is expecting the kalashtar to rally at the Gathering Light, that’s probably where he’ll stage the main thrust of his attack. How many people does he have, Natrac?”

  “Knowing Biish, more than enough to do the job. And Vennet told Biish he’d have assistance during the attack.”

  “Dah’mir,” Dandra said between her teeth. “Light of il-Yannah, Dah’mir will dominate the kalashtar while Biish’s attack takes down the Adarans.”

  Singe narrowed his eyes. “But he still needs Biish’s gang, or he’d have done all this himself. Biish is his vulnerability. Stop the raid and we can stop Dah’mir.”

  “That’s not much easier,” said Natrac. “‘More than enough people to do the job’ is more than us. He’s going to have us outnumbered.”

  “We’ve faced worse odds—and unless you have your old gang tucked away in your pocket, we don’t have a choice.” Singe glanced at Dandra. “Which way to the Gathering Light?”

  Dandra turned and flung out an arm. “Rhazala, that way!”

  “Moza!” The coach moved, curving smoothly in the direction Dandra had indicated—

  —a curve that ended in a lurch as Rhazala squealed and yanked at the steering rod to avoid a small skycoach that came swooping down out of the sky and directly at them. Four figures squatted in the other coach and Singe caught the unmistakable gleam of moonlight on drawn steel.

  “Biish!” Rhazala yelped.

  “Bandits!” spat Natrac.

  But steel wasn’t the only thing that moonlight flashed on. The figures in the other coach wore blue jackets, and the coach itself bore a familiar crest. “Blademarks!” shouted Singe. “Rhazala, get us down!”

  “Don’t move your coach!” A voice as familiar as the Blademarks crest rolled above the sounds of chaos that came from Fan Adar—but the voice didn’t come from the coach ahead of them. Singe twisted around. A second coach carrying more blue-jacketed mercenaries had come into position behind them. Crouched in the front of the coach, a wand in his grasp, was Mithas d’Deneith. “Don’t move your coach, don’t move yourselves, don’t try to cast any spells—and don’t try to use any psionics, kalashtar. At the first sign that anything is amiss, we will bring you down!”

  “One of the men in the other coach has a wand too!” said Dandra. Rhazala gave another little yelp of dismay and tried to shrink down.

  Anger burst inside Singe, and he stood up. “Mithas, you bastard! What are you doing?”

  “You know what I’m doing, Singe. I’ve been waiting for you to come back. When I realized you were hanging around with kalashtar, I knew you wouldn’t be away from Overlook for long.” The sorcerer’s voice was thick with anger. As his coach drifted closer, Singe got a better look at his face and the faces of the three men who rode with him. Mithas’s face was still patched with the burst blood vessels inflicted by Moon’s—Virikhad’s—psionic attack in the fight below Nevchaned’s home. Singe was fairly certain he recognized the other mercenaries from the earlier fight as well. They looked just as angry as Mithas.

  He ground his teeth together. “Have you seen what’s going on down below?”

  “No one’s paying me to worry about goblins and kalashtar. There’s only one thing I want.” Mithas nodded at Ashi. “Hand over the marked woman, and I’ll let you go down and play with the cog-puppies and dreamers.”

  From the corne
r of his eye, Singe saw both Ashi and Dandra stiffen. Even Rhazala poked her head up to glare at Mithas. The sorcerer raised with his wand threateningly. “I said don’t move!”

  “You’re a worthless idiot,” Singe growled at him. “Dol Arrah’s honor, Robrand was right to kick you out of the Frostbrand. Let us go, Mithas. We need to get down to the street. What’s happening here is so much bigger than your greed that you couldn’t understand it if you tried!”

  Mithas’s face darkened even more. Singe thought he saw a trickle of fresh blood break through the sorcerer’s skin. “You’re not in a position to talk back, Singe!” Mithas said. “I underestimated you before, and I think you underestimate how much I want that foundling and her mark. I don’t know where you found her, but when I bring her to the lords of Deneith the reward I’ll receive will be bigger than You can understand.” He leveled his wand at Singe’s chest … then let it drop to point at the hull of the skycoach under his feet. “I could shatter that coach with a wave of this wand. Surrender her to me, or you’ll be meeting the street fast and hard.”

  Singe glared at him. “Do that and you’ll drop all of us.”

  Mithas gave him a cold smile and raised his other hand. It, too, held a wand. “Levitation,” he said. “I can hold her up while the rest of you fall. Like it or not, she’s coming with me.”

  “I have a name!”

  Ashi stood abruptly, moving with a lethal grace that barely rocked the coach. She glanced at Singe for an instant and the wizard was startled to see that her face was pale and taut, then she turned to face Mithas.

  “I am Ashi,” she said, “daughter of Ner, granddaughter of Kagan who bore this sword.” She drew her weapon with a swift motion that made Singe catch his breath and Mithas jerk both his wands toward her. “An honor blade of the Sentinel Marshals.” She stared past the sword at Mithas. “I am no one’s to surrender. I go with no one I do not choose to go with. Threaten my friends again, and my blade will find honor in taking your head off of your shoulders.”

  Mithas seemed genuinely startled at Ashi’s blunt pronouncement, and Singe couldn’t keep his lips from curving into a smile. Who had the sorcerer underestimated now? Standing tall and proud, untouchable in her savage dignity, Ashi spun her sword around and slid it deftly back into her scabbard.

  She met Mithas’s eyes boldly. “But I will go with you,” she said.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Singe’s sense of triumph twisted into shock. “What?”

  His voice wasn’t the only one raised. “Ashi, no!” Dandra cried out at the same time Natrac said, “Host and Six, are you insane!” Rhazala’s face brightened and she called, “Moza, chib! Save us!” Mithas’s smile came back to his face in a grin that made Singe feel sick.

  At the same moment, the Thronehold spectacle began. Singe was dimly aware of ringing bells and blaring horns, a joyful call that spread across Sharn and climbed until it rang in the dark sky. It was joined by flashes of light high overhead. Two dozen or more spellcasters and dragonmarked would be working together to cast illusions into the night, their individual efforts combining to create vast panoramas and enormous phantasmal effigies. The wave of awed gasps as the entire city drew breath in amazement was audible even above the bells and horns.

  It mingled with the sounds of violence that rose from Fan Adar. A deep voice cursed in Goblin, then a higher human or kalashtar voice wailed in pain. Singe couldn’t look up. His eyes were on Ashi. His ears rang with the shock of her declaration.

  She would go with Mithas?

  But Ashi wasn’t finished. “There’s a price!” she shouted at Mithas over the noise. “I go with you for a price.”

  The sorcerer’s face grew suspicious. “What is it?”

  “Ashi, you don’t have to do this for us!” said Dandra.

  Ashi thrust a hand at her, motioning for her to remain quiet. She didn’t take her eyes off Mithas.

  “Fight for us,” she said. “You say the kalashtar aren’t your concern? Make them your concern! You’re a mercenary. You fight for payment.” She reached to her shoulder, seized the fabric of her sleeve, and tore it free. She held her bare arm across her body so that the shifting light from the spectacle above played across her skin and made her dragonmark seem to dance. “Here’s your payment. When this is over and everyone is safe, you can deliver me to the lords of Deneith and claim your reward. I’ll go willingly. You have my honor.”

  Mithas licked his lips but hesitated, looking like a hungry dog expecting the bowl of food placed before him to vanish if he moved. The greed in his eyes flashed bright. “Done!”

  “Then follow us—quickly.” Ashi pointed at Singe. “Whatever order he gives, obey it. Rhazala, get us to the Gathering Light!”

  “Moza!”

  Singe sat down heavily as the skycoach shot forward. Ashi stayed on her feet, her body rigid. Behind them, Mithas was shouting at his men, getting his coaches moving, but aboard Rhazala’s coach no one said anything for several long moments. Finally, Natrac growled and said, “We drop and run. After the kalashtar are safe, we drop and run. Mithas won’t catch you, Ashi—”

  “No.” The hunter shook her head. “I gave my honor—and even if I hadn’t, I meant what I said. I’ll go with him.”

  “Ashi, we could have fought our way free!” The words broke out of Singe’s chest. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Rond betch, how exactly could we have fought free?” Ashi snapped. She turned to glare at him and Singe saw that her mouth was set in a hard, thin line. “Mithas had us and every moment we fought with him was another moment for Biish’s raid to go unchecked.”

  Singe blinked. There was no answer he could think to give for that. “But … Mithas wins. He gets what he wanted.”

  Ashi’s lips twitched and her teeth flashed in a sudden, savage grin. “Mithas wins? I would have gone to Deneith at some point anyway, wouldn’t I? It’s my clan now. This way we still have a chance to stop the raid—and maybe a better chance because we have Mithas and his men to fight with us.” Her eyes softened slightly. “Who told me I had to look at the greater good?”

  His mouth opened and closed, then he smiled too. “Twelve moons, I hope the lords of Deneith are ready for you, Ashi.”

  They were over the Gathering Light in only moments, but the confrontation with Mithas had cost them more than just time. Singe peered down over the side of the skycoach, trying to assess the situation with the dispassionate logic he had learned during the war. It was hard to be dispassionate, though, when he felt a connection to the people struggling below—and such a hatred for their attackers.

  Fleeing prey and pursuing predators had converged on the Gathering Light. Singe had to give the kalashtar and Adarans credit—the hall was admirably situated for defense. The walkway and ramp that led down to the sunken courtyard before the building were broad, but allowed only a single means of access, while the courtyard itself left anyone in it exposed and fighting up stairs to enter the hall.

  The same features made the Gathering Light a trap. A few burly bugbears held the walkway and the top of the ramp. A handful of goblin archers perched on the roof of one of the other buildings that overlooked the courtyard, loosing arrows into the fray. At the sides of the Gathering Light, Singe spotted fighting in alleys that must have led to other exits from the buildings. The members of Biish’s gang were forcing back anyone who tried to escape. The refuge of Fan Adar had become a prison.

  It was a sight to rival any the spectacle projected into the sky and far more terrible. A statue of a kalashtar woman with crystal eyes standing in the center of the courtyard was the only fixed referenced point. All around it, Adarans fought hobgoblins in a seething mass of bodies, bare fists and strange weapons against sharp swords and heavy axes. Herons darted in and out of the fighting, clawing with talons and battering with wings. The doors of the hall had been forced open and light spilled out onto the battle. A line of Adarans stood against those who tried to enter, but that line
crumbled even as Singe watched. Goblins leaped across their fallen foes and sprinted inside. They didn’t get far—thin, high-pitched cries rose and faltered—but the way had been opened.

  There were no kalashtar fighting. Some stood here and there in the midst of the heaving conflict, but none of them moved except when they were jostled by the combat. The Adaran humans tried to protect them. Biish’s people ignored them. The kalashtar themselves stood with their faces raised like flowers toward the sun, staring at the peaked roof of the hall’s porch.

  A solitary heron perched there, acid-green eyes staring down at the scene below. The bird looked like all the others, but there was a focused intensity about it that hinted at a greater power hidden in that feathered form. It was Dah’mir.

  Singe caught a glimpse of slackness entering Dandra’s face and his heart almost stopped—the protection of Ashi’s dragonmark shouldn’t have faded so quickly—but before he could even speak, she blinked and drew a shuddering breath. “I called out through kesh,” she said. “There’s nothing! Dah’mir’s presence has captured them all!”

  Singe stared at Dah’mir. The heron was as still as the statue in the courtyard—he must have thrown all of his concentration into controlling the kalashtar. As long as it kept him out of combat, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing. “Don’t try to fight him!” he said. “Concentrate on stopping Biish for now!”

  “Singe!” Natrac cried. “Look there!” He pointed with his knife hand and Singe looked. In a corner of the courtyard protected by the descending ramp, hobgoblins guarded a group of nearly a dozen kalashtar, fighting back any Adaran who approached. Vennet stood with them, leaping about and screaming as his cutlass slashed air and flesh indiscriminately.

  The captive kalashtar were too far away for Singe to be certain, but he had a feeling that all of them carried psicrystals. They were Dah’mir’s targets, the ones the dragon had arranged all of this just to capture.