The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Singe’s already knotted stomach seemed ready to turn into a heavy stone. Vennet let out a wail and rushed for the burning, useless wheel. A shudder ran through the ship. The great elemental ring flared with new intensity, and they began to climb even more quickly.

  In the same instant, Medala reappeared with another flash to stand before Moon. Ignoring everything happening around them, the two kalashtar looked at each other.

  “You did well,” Medala said.

  “Dah’mir succeeded in Sharn,” Virikhad said with Moon’s voice. “And here?”

  Medala’s face twisted. “There are complications. We must hurry.” She held out her hand.

  Moon’s rose to meet it, and when their fingers touched, it seemed as if a silver-white spark leaped between them as a strange crystalline ringing shimmered on the air. A moan like someone waking in great pain escaped Moon’s lips and he went limp. Medala released his fingers and let him fall to the deck, then drew a deep breath. “Together,” she said, and it seemed to Singe that he heard two voices emerge from her mouth.

  Then she—and Singe and Vennet—whirled as Dah’mir came rushing up past the side of the ship. The sound of the dragon’s wings was like the clap of thunder. His eyes burned.

  Even as his legs folded under him, some part of Singe’s mind wondered if any other living soul had ever seen such a look of utter surprise on the face of a dragon. Dah’mir stared at Medala with wide eyes and an open mouth. Medala gave him a grim smile. “Too late, Dah’mir,” she said.

  The light that burst around her was blinding. Singe flung up an arm to shield his eyes, but the brightness faded in an instant—and Medala and the kalashtar were gone with it. Only Moon remained, sprawled on the deck.

  Dah’mir’s roar shook the ship. His forelegs crashed down, hooking over the rails, and the entire vessel listed and sank as his weight hung from her. His great head thrust at Singe. “Where has she gone?” he demanded. Fetid breath stinking of blood and acid choked Singe. His ears felt like they would burst from the dragon’s shout. He couldn’t have answered if he’d known, but Dah’mir’s eyes narrowed and something flashed in his eyes. “By the progenitors,” he hissed.

  He kicked away with such force that timbers cracked and the airship shot sideways at the same time that she bounced upright and began to climb again. Singe clung to the ship’s rail to avoid being thrown across the deck. Roaring his anger, Dah’mir arced away from the ship, folding his wings and plummeting back toward the battlefield. His wings snapped open at the last moment to slow his dive and Singe saw him thrust his forelegs out. Sparks of red flashed from the Eberron dragonshards embedded there.

  Tangled blue arcs of lightning leaped from his claws to rake the twilight battlefield. Against the searing flash, Singe saw the dark clusters that were orc warriors scatter into specks. As they scattered, Dah’mir’s form shrank as he transformed into a heron once more. From so great a height, the black bird might have vanished into the shadows of gathering night—but Singe could guess where Dah’mir had gone.

  The flaring arcs of lightning had pointed the way to the dark mouth of the tunnel that pierced the Bonetree mound.

  “Master! Master!” Vennet was at the rail, shaking with impotent rage. “Dah’mir, help me!”

  The crackling of the fiery ring around the ship was like a song of freedom, as if the elemental bound within it knew that it could no longer be controlled. Singe’s arms and legs felt stiff as wood, but he turned his head to look up at the sky and wondered just how high they might go.

  Then the air nearby shimmered, parted, and Dandra stepped out.

  Singe couldn’t think of when he’d ever seen anyone look so beautiful. Her red-brown skin glowed under the light of the ring and in the sunlight that still reached over the rim of the world below. Her hair flowed in the wind of the ship’s passage like a cascade of black water. Her dark eyes flashed, and her jaw was set with fiery determination. For an instant, he thought she had to be some kind of dream, but then Vennet let out a gasp and stared at her too.

  Dandra ignored the half-elf. Her feet pushed off from the deck, and she skimmed through the air to Singe’s side. He saw her face tighten with anguish at the sight of his injured face, but she didn’t pause or hesitate. “Can you stand?” she asked, offering him her hand.

  He took it, but the only word that he could force out of his mouth was “How?” She’d used the long step to reach him, but he knew her mastery of the power wasn’t enough to let her travel far.

  She pointed in answer, and Singe’s jaw dropped.

  The circling of Mayret’s Envy had brought the southern sky into view. Against the glow of the Ring of Siberys, another airship stood out a short distance away, encircled with a ring of streaming cloud instead of fire and racing to keep up with the out of control ship.

  “Twelve moons!” he gasped. “Where did you get—?”

  “Biish’s second target!” Dandra said as she hauled Singe to his feet. “A second airship to steal if he couldn’t get the first one for Dah’mir. Are the captive kalashtar still on board?”

  “No, only Moon. Medala—”

  Dandra took his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers. Kesh opened between them. Show me, said Dandra.

  It took only a moment for him to show her what he had seen and heard. Her eyes hardened. “Light of il-Yannah.” Her arm wrapped around his shoulders and drew him close. “Hold tight. We’re leaving.”

  The invisible pressure of vayhatana wrapped around him before he could even blink. Over Dandra’s shoulder, he saw Moon’s body rise and move closer, also caught by the force of her will.

  But with the young kalashtar came Vennet, racing across the deck. “Save me!” he shouted. “You have to save me!”

  Singe turned his head and bared his teeth at him. “The Master of Silence rewarded you with the Siberys Mark of Storm, didn’t he?” he said as smoothly as the hatred that twisted inside him would allow. “Command the wind to save you.”

  Vennet’s face brightened. “Storm at dawn! Yes!” He turned to face into the wind of the airship’s passage and raised his arms. “Come!” he shouted, his hair whipping around his face. “Come! Your master commands it! Carry me to safety!”

  For a moment, nothing seemed to happen—then Vennet’s feet rose from the deck of the ship.

  A grin of triumph spread across his face. “I bear the Mark of Siberys!” he said. His voice rose into a howl. “The wind answers me! I command the storm!” He kicked himself away from the deck and drifted effortlessly toward the ship’s rail. The fear that had been in his eyes turned to rage as he glared at Singe and Dandra. “You will pay for your defiance of the powers of Khyber. Try to escape! I will blast you from the air!”

  He pushed himself from the rail to stand firm on the empty air beyond and spread his arms again. “Vennet d’Lyrandar,” he crowed, “controls the skies!”

  “Enjoy them,” said Dandra and through kesh, Singe felt her release a small part of her concentration.

  There was confusion in Vennet’s eyes as he dropped and terror in the scream that faded into the distance below. Dandra’s arm tightened around Singe. He squeezed her back, then glanced at her.

  “How do we get down?” he asked.

  Her lips pressed together. “The same way,” she said and called out with her mind, Mithas, be ready!

  The unseen threads of vayhatana surged, flinging them off the deck of the airship, and they fell. The elemental ring of the ship passed over their heads in a roaring blaze. Singe squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

  Then something grabbed them and held them steady in mid-air. Singe opened his eyes. He still clung to Dandra, Dandra still clung to him, Moon floated silently next to them, and the other airship was slowing to a stop just below. On her deck stood Mithas d’Deneith, a wand in his grasp pointing at them. He gestured with the wand, and they began to sink. Singe remembered the wand the sorcerer had displayed over Sharn and his boast that he could save Ashi from falling. He was pl
eased to see that for once Mithas hadn’t just been boasting.

  Ashi and Natrac were on the deck as well and reached up for them as they descended. There was another person on the ship. Standing at the helm was a half-elf woman whose face had haunted Singe’s fevered dreams. He stared at her then looked at Dandra. “Vennet threw her overboard in Sharn!”

  “I thought she was you and caught her with vayhatana,” Dandra said. “She’s Benti. Stealing the second airship was her suggestion. By the time we had her, your ship was out of sight. We guessed at where Dah’mir would be taking the kalashtar, but the Bonetree mound isn’t on any airship charts—we had to fly to Zarash’ak then follow the river north. We’re lucky Dah’mir was too busy fighting the orcs and chasing your ship to notice our approach.”

  Singe barely heard her explanation. He blinked at Dandra. “Biish’s Benti?”

  Her lips curved. “Not exactly.”

  Then they were on the deck, and everyone was bustling around him and Moon. Dandra made him sit down. Natrac thrust a flask into his mouth, holding it there until Singe had drained the contents. The liquid inside was viciously bitter, but Singe felt the tingle of magical healing almost immediately. New strength flowed into his limbs, and while his belly remained empty, he thought like he could go another day before he needed a meal.

  The potion didn’t bring his eye back—not that he had expected it would. It would take more magic than could be found in a potion to do that. Natrac glanced at the empty eye socket. “Vennet’s work?” he asked. Singe nodded. The half-orc grimaced and twisted his knife-hand so the long blade flashed. “Too bad you got to him before me,” he said.

  A scarf fluttered down over Singe’s head. “Cover it up,” Mithas said in distaste.

  Singe pulled the scarf from his face and looked up at the sorcerer. “You’re the last person I would have expected to come on a rescue mission.”

  Mithas’s expression was sour. “I’m protecting my investment,” he said. “Ashi insisted on coming. She pointed out that our bargain was that she would let me take her to the lords of Deneith after everyone was safe. I didn’t realize she included you in that.”

  “As long as you sell people out to advance yourself, Mithas, you’re not going to understand someone like Ashi.” Singe pushed himself to his feet and away from the sorcerer. “I want to see Moon.”

  “That’s good,” said Ashi, stepping up to them. “He’s awake and he wants to see you.” She paid scant attention to Mithas.

  Moon was crouched on the other side of the deck, knees drawn up to his chest and rocking back and forth. Dandra had put a blanket over his shoulders, but he kept shrugging it off. He looked up as Singe approached, and the wizard saw that there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. For the first time, he was seeing Moon alone, not Moon with Virikhad’s presence behind him.

  The young kalashtar tried to rise, but Dandra held him down. Singe dropped to kneel beside him. He glanced at Dandra, his lips shaping a silent question—what did Moon want? She shrugged. Singe met Moon’s gaze. “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  “I wanted to say thank you. For not using the binding stone on me. You could have used it and trapped Virikhad, but you didn’t.” Moon swallowed. His face was pale and haunted. “I remember everything that happened. I remember what he did—” His voice caught.

  “It’s not your fault, Moon,” said Dandra. “You’re safe now.”

  “No!” Moon said sharply. Anger crossed his face. “I’m not safe. No one is safe. I still have a connection to him.” He struck a fist against his ear. “I can still hear the song!”

  “What?” Dandra sat up straight.

  Singe frowned. “Are you sure it’s not just something you remember?”

  Moon nodded. “I don’t know how,” he said. “Maybe he was inside me for too long. Maybe he got too close to my mind. The song is still there. I can hear it. It connects us. I don’t think he knows about it—or if he does, he doesn’t care.” There was a tremble in his voice. “You know how he used his powers through me? I think I can still use them. When he and Medala took the others away, I knew how to follow them with my mind. I felt them bend space.” He took a deep breath. “I know where they are.”

  “Where?” Singe asked.

  The young kalashtar rose to his knees and pointed through the rail of the ship directly at the Bonetree mound. “There,” he said. “Under there. Deep under.”

  Singe looked at Dandra. “Dah’mir said the kalashtar would wake in the presence of the Master of Silence. Do you think Medala and Virikhad are trying the same thing?”

  She nodded, then asked him, “Do you think we still have a chance of stopping them?”

  “You have to,” said Moon. He turned away from the rail and stared at them. “I’ve felt Virikhad’s mind. I know I wouldn’t want to be like that.” His voice broke. “Light of il-Yannah, I will do whatever it takes to make that song stop!”

  The anger in him made Singe jerk back but Dandra reached out and took the young kalashtar’s hand. “Easy, Moon,” she said soothingly. “I’ve felt Medala’s mind, and I touched the killing song in Erimelk. I know I what you’re feeling. But I’ve also been in the tunnels under the mound. I don’t know if we’d be able to find them in time—and Dah’mir’s down there now too.”

  Moon’s jaw tightened. “I can take you right to them. I can use Virikhad’s power against him.”

  Dandra’s breath hissed between her teeth. “Are you certain? The long step isn’t something to use lightly.”

  “I’m certain,” said Moon. “And I have to try. I don’t want his song in my head!” He looked at her, then at Singe. “I can take both of you. Maybe someone else too.”

  “Me,” said Ashi.

  Singe turned around. The hunter, Natrac, and Mithas had gathered around them. Ashi’s dragonmarked face was determined.

  Singe nodded, and Mithas let out a cry of protest.

  Ashi glared at him. “I said I’d go with you when this was over and everyone was safe. The lords of Deneith can wait!”

  “There’s no way to reverse what Dah’mir has already done to the kalashtar,” said Dandra. “The only way for the kalashtar mind to escape the psicrystal is through madness.” She looked from Ashi to Moon. “Whether they’ve already awakened as servants of Xoriat or not, if we want to release them, we’re going to have to kill them.”

  Both Ashi and Moon nodded. Dandra’s dark eyes turned to Singe. The wizard’s heart felt like ice. “I’ve already killed them once,” he said. “I owe it to them to do it again.”

  CHAPTER

  23

  Torches made from burning reeds soaked in sweet oils cast a wavering light on the tunnel walls. The illumination wasn’t for the Gatekeepers’ benefit. The orcs and Ekhaas could have navigated the maze beneath the Bonetree mound without any light at all. Nor, Geth knew, was it for his, though he would have been as blind as a human without it. No, the torches, which burned with a greenish glow and gave off a thin smoke that smelled of cut grass, had only one purpose.

  They held back the dolgrims.

  The vile creatures seemed to be everywhere. As the light that surrounded the procession of druids advanced, they retreated into the darkness ahead. Where the tunnel was wide enough, they clustered in the shadows to the procession’s sides. When the light had passed, they closed in behind. As the Gatekeepers entered a new passage where the ceiling soared high overheard, Geth caught movement above and looked up.

  Dolgrims crouched on ledges like spectators in the balcony of an arena. They shifted back from the light, but held their ground. Tiny dark eyes watched the intruders. Four bandy arms fondled sharp knives and spiked maces, even simple stones. Two wide mouths—one in the squat head that rose like a hump on each creature’s shoulders, the other in what should have been its chest—drooled and twitched. The passage, like all of the others beneath the mound, echoed with constant muttering as the dolgrims spoke to one another—and to themselves, each mouth t
aking sides in an unending conversation.

  When the gibbering had first emerged from the shadows, Geth had tried listening to it. He’d been holding Wrath and the ancient sword allowed him to understand the weird tongue spoken by the creatures of Khyber just as it let him understand Orc and Goblin. After only a few moments, however, he’d had to sheathe the weapon, sickened by what he’d heard. The dolgrims spoke only of violence, violation, and depravity.

  Ekhaas continued to listen, though it was clear she didn’t understand what they were saying. Her ears twitched with curiosity. “Their language almost sounds like Goblin,” she said.

  “They almost look like goblins,” Geth grunted.

  “They may have been goblins,” said Batul. “The oldest legends of the Daelkyr War, from the time when the daelkyr first burst from Xoriat to invade Eberron, say that the daelkyr brought creatures like the mind flayers with them, but that they also crafted new creatures from the races they encountered here. Some of the legends hold that the dolgrims were created from goblins.”

  “What about dolgaunts?” asked Geth.

  The old druid’s mouth closed tight for a moment, and he glanced at Ekhaas, then murmured, “Hobgoblins.”

  Ekhaas’s ears pressed back flat against her skull.

  A rock clattered somewhere close. One of the other Gatekeepers grunted something in Orc. Batul grimaced. “The dolgrims above are growing bolder. We need to get out of this passage.” He put his hand on the amulet of Vvaraak—it hung around his neck once more—and pointed with his hunda stick. “This way.” he said.

  When they’d first entered the mound—the nine most senior Gatekeepers from the horde, Geth, and Ekhaas—the guidance that the amulet provided had hardly been necessary. Closer to the surface, cross-tunnels and side-passages had been uncommon and the floors of the tunnels they had followed had been worn smooth from use. More tunnels appeared the deeper they went, however. The floor became slick-smooth, polished by the passage of countless dolgrim feet over many, many years. Batul had kept them to their path though, the amulet guiding him toward the great seal.