The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Singe’s hand tightened on his rapier. He spun around and gestured for Mithas. The coaches carrying the sorcerer and his men hovered only a short distance away. Many of the mercenaries were staring in open amazement at the battle going on below, but Mithas at least maintained a professional alertness.

  “Free the side doors!” Singe shouted at him. “Evacuate any kalashtar you can. Carry them out if you have to!”

  Mithas raised a fist in acknowledgment and slapped the gawking steersman of his coach. Singe turned to Natrac, Ashi, and Dandra. “Dandra, you and Natrac help defend the main doors. Ashi, you and I will break the guard on the captives.”

  All three nodded in understanding. Singe looked to Rhazala. “Take us down to the court—”

  A harsh shout in Goblin from below interrupted him, and an instant later, a flurry of arrows struck the belly of the coach. “They know we’re here!” said Ashi, peering over the side. “It looks like the goblin archers are waiting before they loose again—Rond betch! Singe!”

  Singe looked down again—and saw that Dah’mir had turned away from the battle to face them. He moved no further but acid-green eyes seemed to flare with hatred.

  Like soldiers responding to some silent drill command, the herons that had been swooping over the battle broke away. They began climbing toward the coach, wings hammering on the air. Singe glanced at Dandra. Her eyes were burning.

  “I’ll take the herons,” she said tightly. “You take the archers.”

  “Done.” Singe pointed at Rhazala. “Down!”

  The goblin screamed something that was probably unflattering, but thrust at the steering rod all the same. The coach dropped.

  The sight of the Gathering Light invaded—defiled—by Biish’s gang brought an anger out of the depths of Dandra’s spirit like nothing she had ever felt before. Maybe it was because the hall should have been a place of haven and community. Maybe it was because Dah’mir thought he could so casually seize kalashtar and bend them to his will—as the coach dropped, she saw old Shelsatori dragged unresisting through the fighting and thrust among the dragon’s other captives. Maybe it was because if they failed here, more kalashtar would experience the anguish that she and Tetkashtai, Medalashana, and Virikhad had experienced, stripped and sundered to meet an ancient evil’s ambition.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  The droning chorus of the whitefire rose around her, a throbbing counterpoint to the arcane words of the spell that Singe wove. She gathered her will and the psionic power coalesced in a hot shimmer around her hand. For a heartbeat, she waited as the distance between the climbing herons and the dropping coach closed—then she screamed her rage, thrust her hand forward, and released the fire.

  Pale flame roared from her palm in a gout that lit up the night. Caught in the blazing cone, the herons screeched as the whitefire consumed them. They fell out of the sky like balls of burning pitch, greasy feathers trailing stinking smoke. New shouts broke out below as the burning remains fell into the fight in the courtyard. Vennet’s voice rose above them all. “No! No! Storm at dawn, no!”

  Dandra ignored him.

  One of the foul birds had survived and kept climbing even as the flames ate at it. She fell back a short step as it surged up over the side of the coach and plunged toward her face with talons flailing.

  The thin blade of a rapier thrust past her and sheared through the bird’s scrawny neck. The heron dropped away, following the rest of Dah’mir’s unnatural flock into death. Dandra swung around to look at Singe. Beyond him, she caught a glimpse of four dead archers with the marks of fiery magic smoldering in their chests as the coach dropped past the roof line. The wizard’s eyes met hers with a fierce passion, though his words remained focused on the situation at hand.

  “Clear us a place to land?” he asked.

  She gave him a brief smile—then swung back to the side of the coach and vaulted over it into the night.

  Rhazala’s gasp followed her, but it took Dandra only a thought to draw the fabric of space around herself and slow her descent. She fell like a cat into the battle below, screaming as she dropped. “Adar! Adar! Bhintava adarani!”

  A hobgoblin looked up at her cry, saw her falling, and tried to leap out of the way, but he was too slow. Dandra came down with both feet across his shoulders. He crashed to the ground, his face slapping into the stone. Dandra thrust with her spear, driving the gleaming crysteel head into his neck at the base of his skull. He shuddered once and went limp, but Dandra was already moving on. She pushed herself off from the ground and skimmed above it. A goblin dived at her with a knife, but she just slid aside. The butt of her spear shaft snapped into his face, and he reeled back. Before any other enemies could move for her, she glanced up at the descending coach and concentrated.

  Visible only in her mind’s eye, threads of vayhatana spun out before her, piling into a woven mass. Where the coach would come down, two Adaran humans fought back to back against four goblins and a bugbear with rows of gold rings in its big ears. “Bhinto seshay!” she shouted at them. All of the combatants glanced at her, but only the Adarans dived for the ground as she released the threads of vayhatana.

  Waves of invisible force caught the goblins and the bugbear, hurling them away and into another cluster of Biish’s thugs. Dandra dashed forward, grabbed the startled Adarans, and pulled them out of the way as the coach came down. They stared at her in surprise for moment, then one of them raised his weapon. “Bhintava Adarani!” he crowed. His friend echoed him, and both of them threw themselves at the nearest hobgoblin. The cry spread, taken up by every fighting Adaran in the courtyard.

  Ashi was the first out of the coach, heaving Natrac with her. Singe followed, then slapped the side of the coach. “Up, Rhazala! Get out of here and take this coach back wherever you stole it from!”

  “Good luck, if you live!” the goblin said as she pulled on the steering rod. The coach shot up into the night, and for the first time, Dandra actually looked at the Thronehold spectacle unfolding in the sky. Among the stars and moons, warriors in ancient dress battled goblins in the story of the first human settlement of Sharn. She looked at Singe.

  “Do you think that’s an omen?” she asked.

  “I hope so!” He bent his head and gave her a kiss, then turned and sprinted in the direction of Vennet’s mad cries with Ashi watching his back.

  A cry from Natrac brought her around. The half-orc struggled against a knot of goblins trying to drag him down by sheer weight. Natrac stabbed at them, but they clung to the arm that bore his knife-hand. Dandra cracked her spear across their skulls, and they dropped, though not before one had sunk his teeth into Natrac’s good arm. He howled and shook his arm so violently the goblin was flung away.

  The bite was raw and deep, but Natrac just let it bleed. “Can you burn us a way through to the Gathering Light?” he said as they forced their way forward.

  Dandra shook her head. “No! There are too many Adarans fighting and too many kalashtar—oh!”

  A staring form, pushed by the dodge of a hobgoblin, fell against her. It wasn’t the sudden impact that forced the gasp from her lips—it was recognition. Nevchaned’s body was limp in her arms, his eyes fixed on Dah’mir. The old kalashtar was armed with a pair of heavy smith’s hammers, but they hadn’t done him any good. Rage and disgust surged in her, and she stared up at Dah’mir, still perched on the peak of the Gathering Light.

  Natrac grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “The doors, Dandra! We can’t fight Dah’mir!”

  “I can give him something to concentrate on other than the kalashtar though!” She reached into herself and summoned up the drone of whitefire. There was no one between her and the dragon. If she could break his hold on the kalashtar—

  She didn’t get the chance. Abruptly, the hot glow of intense firelight fell over the front of the Gathering Light and raked across the battle in the courtyard. A roar like a furnace filled the air. The battle cries of the Adarans grew quiet and even Biish’
s thugs froze. Her attack on Dah’mir forgotten, Dandra whirled around.

  An airship swooped down from the skies, slipping right in among the towers and buildings of Fan Adar. The light and the roar came from the fiery elemental ring that wrapped around the ship, supported by great curved beams arcing above, below, and to either side of her hull. She wasn’t the largest airship Dandra had ever seen—from her size and lines and the name Mayret’s Envy written in elaborate script on her bow, Dandra guessed the ship was some wealthy aristocrat’s private yacht—but she had a look of speed and maneuverability about her.

  The projecting ring made it impossible to land the vessel, but her unseen pilot brought her right alongside the raised walkway, on the other side of the Gathering Light’s sunken courtyard. The bugbears that had held the walkway pulled back from the heat, though they didn’t pull back far. Partway between the bow and the great ring, a hatch opened in the side of the ship and a long loading ramp unfolded, stretching beyond the radius of the ring to reach the walkway. Two bugbears rushed forward to seize and steady the end of the ramp.

  Vennet’s voice rang out as clearly as if he’d been giving orders on the deck of Lightning on Water. “Make way! Time to load the cargo! Make way!” A cheer went up from Biish’s gang, and a new flurry of violence erupted as the thugs pushed back the Gathering Light’s Adaran defenders. Hobgoblins began racing up the ramp from courtyard to walkway, each with a kalashtar thrown casually over his shoulders. The bugbears from above met them halfway, taking two kalashtar at a time and lumbering across the loading ramp into the floating ship.

  “Light of il-Yannah, no!” Dandra cursed. Across the courtyard, similar cries rose from the Adaran humans. Many of them began to fight their way back toward the captive kalashtar.

  “Lords of the Host!” said Natrac. “That’s what Vennet needed Benti for! He needed a second Lyrandar pilot to fly that thing!” He looked at Dandra. “What do we do now?”

  “You die, Natrac!” roared a new voice. “This time, you die!”

  Heavy feet pounded stone. Dandra and Natrac turned together as Biish came rushing down the stairs of the Gathering Light, a jagged hobgoblin sword swinging in his hand. Goblins and hobgoblins alike jerked away from his charge. Most of the thugs around Dandra and Natrac took one look at the enraged ganglord and pulled away from the target of his wrath as well.

  Most, but not all. Dandra sensed rather than saw the movement behind her and tried to dodge. It was too late. A heavy club swung by a lean hobgoblin smashed into her shoulder and sent her staggering. Natrac tried to steady her, but a goblin grabbed at his arm, holding him back. Dandra fought past her pain and jabbed her spear at the goblin. He yelped and let go, but more thugs found renewed courage and crowded in—only to be thrown back as Biish burst through their ranks. He leveled his sword at Natrac and at her. “You should have run again, Natrac!”

  The half-orc thrust his tusks forward. “I’m through running, Biter.” He dropped into a defensive stance, knife-hand at the ready.

  Until the airship came down, Singe had lost track of Vennet in the swirl of fighting. A trio of hobgoblins had come at him and Ashi, backing them into a cluster of Adarans gathered around a pair of stunned kalashtar. By the time blood stained Singe’s rapier, the chaos of battle in shadows had turned them around.

  The flying ship arrived like dawn. The goblin who had been tying up Singe’s rapier with a pair of flashing daggers flinched at the sudden glare. Singe stayed focused, sliding his blade past the creature’s faltering guard and into his chest, before looking up to study the ship and read the name on her bow. He bit off a curse and blocked the swing of a hobgoblin’s sword. Ashi, fighting beside him, gave free vent to her emotions, however.

  “Rond betch! What’s this for?”

  Singe made a guess as he fought. If Dah’mir was going to stay in the city with them, skycoaches would have done the job. “To take the kalashtar out of Sharn!”

  He thrust and the hobgoblin fell back clutching his leg. Ashi’s opponent dropped as well. Singe grabbed the hunter and pulled her toward the corner of the courtyard where the captive kalashtar were being held. “We have to hurry or—”

  Vennet’s shouting voice cut him off. “Make way! Time to load the cargo! Make way!”

  Through the fighting, Singe caught a glimpse of Vennet waving his cutlass, then lost him again as the battle heaved in response to the command. A hobgoblin carrying a kalashtar appeared on the ramp, climbing up toward the walkway and the airship. Singe tried to picture how many captives he had seen from above. It couldn’t have been seventeen, could it? “Dah’mir doesn’t have all his captives, yet!” he said.

  “I think he does,” said Ashi. “Look on the walkway!”

  Singe looked and cursed. The angle from the sunken courtyard hid some of what was happening above, but he could see bugbears carrying more limp kalashtar in from the shadows. Three … four. Enough to make up the difference. Biish’s people must have made some captures as they drove the kalashtar toward the Gathering Light.

  They needed to break through the line of guards. Singe drew a shallow breath. “Ashi, be ready to move,” he said, then focused on a thick tangle of goblins and Adarans, pointed his fingers, and hissed a spell.

  Like grain before a scythe, the whole tangle crumpled to the ground. Ashi choked. “Dead?”

  “Asleep. Move!” Beyond the fallen combatants, only a few startled goblins separated them from open space. Singe raised his rapier high and charged with a scream. The nerve of the goblins broke and they dived aside. He and Ashi burst through into the clear at the bottom of the ramp to the walkway.

  Less than five paces away, Vennet whirled around. The half-elf’s eyes opened wide in a face speckled with blood. There were still hobgoblins carrying kalashtar up the ramp behind him, but a wild grin split his lips and he spread his arms as if in invitation. “You’re too late, Singe!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “It’s over!”

  Singe leaped for him in grim silence. His rapier darted forward, but Vennet folded his arms and brought his cutlass around to beat the thin blade down. Singe let his rapier drop with the impact, then twisted to the side and cut upward. A gap opened in the white fabric of Vennet’s shirt, and a bloody crease in the flesh of his side. Vennet gasped and jumped back, his smiling lips peeled back in a snarl. Ashi stepped up to Singe’s side, and Vennet’s eyes darted between the two of them before narrowing sharply. “Dabrak!” he screamed.

  On the ramp above, a bugbear with a nasty-looking axe in either hand turned, and his large, hairy face lit up pleasure. Letting loose a bellow, he sprinted down at them, axes held low and ready to strike.

  Singe’s rapier wavered between the two threats—and in that instant, Vennet pressed forward, cutlass chopping down. Singe pushed himself to the side and the curved blade cut the air just past his arm. He saw Ashi turn to take on Dabrak, her shining honor blade meeting his two axes blow for blow and block for block.

  Singe turned himself to focus on Vennet. The half-elf’s wild swing became a cut at Singe’s ankles. The wizard hopped back, stabbing at Vennet’s outstretched sword arm. Vennet snatched it clear. The two men circled each other for a moment, then Vennet flung himself forward once again.

  This time Singe met his blow before it fell. Rapier and cutlass grated together as Singe’s block and the momentum of Vennet’s attack pushed the blades high. Their forearms locked together, muscles straining. Vennet sneered into Singe’s face. “You can’t resist me,” he said. “I command the wind itself! I’ll steal the air from your lungs—yours and your false-marked bitch!”

  His eyes were bright and spittle flew with his words. There was a stink of decay around him, an odor of infection that brought memories of healers’ tents after battle, of rotting wounds and gangrene, flooding into Singe’s mind. He choked on the stench and Vennet grinned. “You can’t stand against the power of a true Siberys mark!”

  Singe clenched his teeth. “Are you as blind as you are insane, Vennet? You don�
��t have a Siberys mark!”

  He thrust hard with the words, heaving with all of his strength, and Vennet went staggering back. He glared at Singe with such rage and hatred that the wizard felt a chill spread through him. Singe brought up his rapier, ready for another attack—

  The cry that came down from the top of the ramp only made him colder. “Captives are on board!”

  Vennet’s eyes opened wide with terrible triumph. “Too late, Singe!” He thrust out his hand. “Storm lash my enemies!”

  The howling wind that burst from Vennet was no stronger than the power Singe had seen and felt Vennet display in the past. Mad words made the sudden gust no greater. The wind was still more than strong enough to send Singe stumbling backward, blown before its force. Ashi was caught in its path, as well. She cried out in surprise and through narrowed eyes, Singe saw her grab for the nearest solid object to steady herself. That object happened to be Dabrak, but even the big bugbear staggered in the face of the wind. Beyond hunter and thug, goblins screamed as the gale sent them tumbling.

  The wind only lasted a moment, vanishing with an abruptness that left Singe reeling, but a moment was all Vennet needed. By the time Singe had regained his feet, the half-elf was at the top of the ramp and onto the walkway.

  Curses and the clang of metal on metal behind Singe marked the resumption of Ashi and Dabrak’s duel. Singe didn’t even look back at them—legs pumping, a spell ready on his lips, he raced up the ramp after Vennet.

  He was just in time to see Vennet dash up a loading ramp and vanish through a hatch into the airship’s interior. A bugbear, apparently not fast enough to get out of Vennet’s way, was huddled on the walkway at the end of the ramp as blood gushed from a wound across its belly. The other bugbears and hobgoblins who had helped load the kalashtar onto the ship were all staring in confusion, but Singe’s appearance, rapier drawn, sent them scrambling out of the way. The end of the loading ramp was already swinging away. Singe leaped the gap between it and the walkway without looking down. Three fast strides carried him the length of the ramp, and he threw himself through the hatch, ready for an ambush.