The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III

by Don Bassingthwaite

  The dragon reared back and roared as the lightning flowed on and on in a crackling stream. His bellows shook the cavern, bringing loose stones crashing down from the ceiling. His great wings unfurled and beat at the air, raising a storm of grit—Singe flung up an arm to shield his eyes. Dah’mir seemed almost to swell as his body absorbed the power that the daelkyr fed to him. His scales glistened. His acid-green eyes shone like eerie stars.

  And the lightning still flowed when he struck, dropping back down onto four feet, drawing his head back, then whipping it forward, mouth wide as if to vomit acid at Medala and the katalarash.

  But instead of acid, a colorless vapor distorted the air. Singe knew that attack—Dah’mir had caught him with it once, and it had dragged at him, slowing his actions and leaving him horribly vulnerable. Medala, however, just let the stuff wash over her as the killing song rose again. When she moved, there was nothing slow about her actions. Her arms came together, and a hollow crack shivered on the air.

  A stream of frost burst from her hand and streaked toward Dah’mir—except that he was no longer there. Powerful legs uncoiled, and the dragon leaped easily to the side. Medala’s bolt of frost passed under him and spattered across rocks on the far side of the chamber, coating them with ice. Dah’mir landed across the ledges that Singe and Medala had only just left, legs spread wide, clawed feet gripping the rock as easily as if he stood on a level surface. Singe gasped and flattened himself against the ledge. Dandra dropped down with him. Dah’mir’s blazing eyes were still only for Medala, however. He leaped again, directly at her this time.

  The killing song pitched deep. Medala’s head came up.

  Dah’mir’s leap spun sideways. He flew across the cavern and smashed into the wall.

  “Vayhatana!” Dandra said.

  “Bloody moons! Vayhatana, ice bolts—when did Medala or Virikhad learn to do that?” Singe asked.

  “They didn’t,” said Dandra. “Those powers belong to the other kalashtar!” She pointed at one of the men in Medala’s singing chorus. “Otonalast knows frost the way I know fire. Il-Yannah, the killing song must allow Medala and Virikhad to draw on the powers of those caught in it!”

  “And maybe the other way around too.” Singe said. “That would explain how Erimelk and Moon were able to use Virikhad’s far step powers.” He stared at Dah’mir—and hissed in amazement.

  The dragon staggered to his feet with one wing bent at an unnatural angle, but the black lightning still crackled around the seal and another arc of it leaped to the shard in Dah’mir’s chest. He howled as his wing straightened then stiffened, healed once more. His eyes flared again, and he spun on Medala, pacing the floor of the cavern like a hunting cat pacing before prey. From beyond the lightning-shot lens, the creatures of the Master of Silence’s court cheered at the battle, though the daelkyr himself only watched with narrowed eyes.

  Was he concentrating on his champion?

  “Medala can draw on the powers of her katalarash,” said Dandra. “Dah’mir has the power of the Master of Silence behind him. If they can’t stop each other, how do we stop either of them? And if we do, how do we stop the other one? We can’t take on either one!”

  Singe groaned and ground his teeth together, trying to think of something. Some solution. Had Virikhad shown any hint of a weakness while he’d inhabited Moon’s body on the airship? Had Dah’mir? Had there been anything that they could exploit?

  Yes.

  He rolled over, and his hand dug into the pouch around his waist. His fingers closed on a cold, hard object, and he drew out the binding stone he had removed from the bracer meant for Moon. Dandra recoiled at the sight of it, but then her breath hissed between her teeth.

  “You can’t use that against Medala! Whichever of her mind or Virikhad’s the stone traps, the other one will be left behind.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of using it on Medala,” Singe told her. He flipped back over onto his belly and searched the cavern for the Gatekeepers. Down on the cavern floor, Dah’mir stalked slowly closer to Medala. She waited for him with frost glittering on one hand and fire flickering around the other. The killing song had sunk to a dull throb, the katalarash still surrounding Medala like unmoving guards. Singe spotted the orcs pressed to the back of a deep ledge. He pointed them out to Dandra. “Can you reach Batul with kesh?”

  Geth watched Dah’mir glide across the cavern, his burning green gaze and Medala’s pinprick eyes fixed on each other. The dragon paused, then extended his foot in one more step …

  Medala’s fiery hand snapped up, and white flames poured forth in a roaring bolt. Dah’mir flung himself aside—and so did Geth, ducking back into the niche between ledges that had become his hiding place. He had to drag Ekhaas back with him as Medala’s flame spattered like burning water on the rock.

  “You’re a hazard!” he snarled at her.

  The excitement in her amber eyes dimmed no more than it had since she had dropped down on him in the aftermath of Medala’s declaration, and as soon as the gout of fire faded, she was up again. Geth groaned and rose with her. It had been good to know that the Gatekeepers hadn’t abandoned him, but Ekhaas had hissed Singe’s message to attack Dah’mir just as the daelkyr’s black lightning had turned the dragon into a scaled juggernaut. He’d spent every moment since that one ducking up and down, alternately looking for some way to reach safety and pressing back to avoid bolts of ice or blasts of fire.

  Or falling dragons. The leap that had briefly broken Dah’mir’s wing had thrown him against the cavern wall less than three paces from Geth and Ekhaas’s hiding place. Dah’mir had been close enough for Geth to smell the acrid, coppery odor of his body. He’d almost taken the chance of leaping out and charging the stunned dragon, but that would have exposed him to Medala—and he wasn’t certain that even Wrath could do Dah’mir serious harm so long as the power of the Master of Silence flowed into him.

  Then the daelkyr’s black lightning had made Dah’mir’s broken wing whole again, and Geth had been certain that he wouldn’t be able to harm the dragon.

  Out on the cavern floor, Medala’s other hand rose as Dah’mir landed and frost howled like a slice carved from a mountain blizzard. This time Dah’mir didn’t dodge her attack but barreled ahead. Frost covered his chest as it expanded in a deep breath and rimed his muzzle as it thrust forward.

  Acid burst from between his jaws, yellow-green and foul.

  Medala stumbled back, but the song of the katalarash strengthened, and her head came up again. She brought her hands together and thrust outward, the heels of her palms joined and her fingers spread as if she were trying to shield herself.

  The gout of acid vanished into a flare of brilliant light that sent Dah’mir springing back. A few stray drops hissed down on Medala’s clothes and those of the singing katalarash, leaving smoking holes but nothing worse. Dah’mir ended up high on the wall over head, clinging to the stone, while he and Medala glared at each other once more. The thin cheering of the Master of Silence’s creatures penetrated the lens of the seal.

  Yet the katalarash didn’t move. The song didn’t waver.

  Geth stared at them and bared his teeth as a thought occurred to him. “Ekhaas, you’ve been in battles. Have you ever seen a unit take a charge like that without even flinching?”

  The hobgobin’s ears flicked. Eyes that had been watching everything with unblinking intensity narrowed. “No,” she said. “Even duur’kala warsingers would have fallen back.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Geth growled. “Grandfather Rat’s naked tail—kalashtar or katalarash, I think Medala’s controlling them just like she did the horde. If we could break that control, Dah’mir might have a chance at taking her down.” He looked at Ekhaas. “Do you think that countersong you were working on might work?”

  Her ears stood up tall. “Khaavolaar! Have you gone as mad as Medala? Once Dah’mir finishes her, he’ll still be strong and we’ll have to face him!”

  “What’s our choice?” Ge
th demanded. “We can’t hide here forever and we can’t face both—”

  There was a scuffling on a ledge above. Geth spun, gauntlet up and sword out, but it wasn’t some new threat, only the Gatekeepers scuttling down like monkeys, staying low and moving as quickly as they could. Batul flung himself flat on the ledge and leaned out to get closer to Geth. “Dandra’s in my head!” he said. “Singe has a plan. He says you need to be ready to attack Dah’mir.”

  Geth choked. “Rat! That’s crazy—” He caught Medala’s glare and choked off the word. Crazy as Singe or mad as Medala, they needed to make a move. He twisted around and looked for the wizard and the kalashtar. He found them creeping down the ledges at the far end of the cavern, getting closer to floor level. “What am I waiting for?” he asked tightly.

  “They’re going to try and weaken Dah’mir. We have a part in it too. Dandra’s says that if this works, you’ll know when to strike. If you can take him down, they’ll strike at Medala.”

  Geth’s mouth twitched and a smile broke across it. A rush of energy filled his belly. “They’re going to weaken Dah’mir,” he repeated, then glanced at Ekhaas. She looked back at him, her ears twitching, and slowly nodded. Geth looked back at Batul. “Tell Dandra we can weaken Medala for them.”

  The old Gatekeeper’s eye twitched as he relayed the message back to Dandra, then blinked. “Singe says there’s one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “They’re going to need a distraction.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  Dandra released her hold on the kesh. “They’re ready.”

  Singe looked at her. “Are you ready?”

  She drew a deep breath and glanced up at Dah’mir. The dragon still clung high on the wall of the cavern, his eyes on Medala. The gaunt kalashtar—or katalarash or whatever she wanted to call herself—still stood with the captives from Sharn behind. Dandra tightened her grip on her spear and nodded.

  “Good,” said Singe. “Then let’s hope we don’t have to wait too long.”

  She could feel her heart beating. It seemed loud in the cavern, even with the soft murmur of the killing song—ready to swell again in an instant—and the excited buzz of the Master of Silence’s creatures as they pressed close to their side of the lens, eager for another flurry of strikes between Dah’mir and Medala. She wondered where the daelkyr’s throne room really was. Before the lens had formed in the seal, the tunnel beyond had looked empty and long. The throne room could be deep, deep below them, far down in the dark reaches of Khyber. Batul had assured her it didn’t matter, that what Singe had proposed would work.

  At least in theory, and theory was better than nothing.

  She drew another breath, holding herself ready.

  Geth burst from cover with a bound and a shout, tearing across the cavern floor. The shifter ran a weaving pattern, back and forth. Dandra saw Medala’s face turn to follow him and prayed that she wasn’t ready with a psionic power to throw against him. It was tempting to look up and see what Dah’mir’s reaction was, but she didn’t dare. She kept her attention fixed on the lens and on the Master of Silence. The daelkyr’s eyes, at least, followed Geth.

  “Good,” Singe breathed. “Good. That’s far enough …”

  The moment Geth reached the midway point of the cavern floor, Batul and the Gatekeepers stood up on the ledge where they had been hiding, and their old voices rose in a chant. Their faces were intent, and the words they spoke so low that even knowing what they were doing, Dandra could barely hear them. Medala’s head didn’t turn. The Master of Silence’s eyes didn’t leave Geth. There was a cry from above though. Dah’mir had seen the druids! Dandra’s teeth clenched down. Eyes on the daelkyr, she told herself, eyes on the daelkyr!

  Dah’mir’s cry turned both Medala and the Master of Silence toward the Gatekeepers. Batul’s face grew taut. He thrust out his hunda stick and the chant broke into a shout. Geth dived for shelter. Dandra held her breath and gathered her will.

  A shimmer passed over the lens in the seal. The black lightning that crawled across it pulled suddenly to the edges and stayed there.

  And one of the dolgrims who must have been especially close to the other side of the lens stumbled and fell through into the cavern with a dazed yelp.

  “It’s open!” shouted Singe. “Now, Dandra!”

  The seal would only be open for an instant. The druids couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave it open any longer. Their voices were already strained. An instant, though, was long enough. Singe tossed the binding stone into the air. Dandra focused her will on it, caught it with vayhatana—and flung it straight at the Master of Silence’s stunned face.

  The blue-black dragonshard flew as hard and true as a stone flung from a sling, flying through the lens and the open seal with barely a ripple. The druid’s voices fell silent and they stumbled back. The lens flickered again as the seal closed once more.

  But the Master of Silence’s eyes flicked as well. The binding stone came to a stop an armslength before him.

  “Light of il-Yannah,” Dandra whispered. Singe’s expression fell in shock. On the cavern wall, Dah’mir laughed. His roar shook the cavern.

  “Who would stand against the Master of Silence?”

  Beyond the lens, the creatures in the daelkyr’s throne room had drawn back from their lord and from the binding stone. Dandra was certain that even if they didn’t know what it was, they could sense just as she could what it would do to any psionic creature who touched it. The Master of Silence, however, leaned forward slightly, studying the stone. Dandra saw it flash darkly as some power like vayhatana rotated it so the daelkyr could see all sides. After a moment, he sat back.

  One of the stones of Taruuzh. I remember the night that the Gatekeepers rained these down upon my armies at the Battle of Moths. He looked out through the lens, and his eyes settled on Dandra. A sensation of great presence, similar to what she felt when she faced Dah’mir but even more intense, washed over her, held back only by the protection of Ashi’s dragonmark. Not an attack, Dandra realized, but only the unnatural effect of the Master of Silence’s simple attention. She forced herself to stand straight, to meet the daelkyr’s gaze.

  A touch of amusement entered his voice. Frail creations, as fragile as the moths that carried them. Taruuzh knew better. He never tried to turn his creation against me.

  The Master of Silence stretched out an open hand. The binding stone dropped, and he closed his fingers around it.

  Nothing happened. Dandra heard one of the Gatekeepers cry out in dismay.

  Then one of the mind flayers beyond the lens staggered and dropped to its knees. As did another. And another. One of the hairless monkey creatures plunged to the ground, dead. The elf-like women dropped and doubled over, the tentacles on their backs drooping limp as huge dead slugs. Dolgaunts and dolgrims fled. The lone dolgrim who had fallen through the open seal wailed and fled for the darkest corner of the cavern. A look of discomfort crossed the Master of Silence’s face—discomfort that turned swiftly to pain. His other hand clenched the wrist of the one that grasped the binding stone. The black lightning that had played across the lens flickered and contracted to single dark speck as the daelkyr concentrated on fighting the power of the stone.

  “Yes!” Singe hissed.

  Dah’mir’s laughter turned to panic as he saw the source of his strength cut off. “Master? Master!” He sprang from the wall to the floor, landing in front of the lens. “Master!”

  The Master of Silence flung back his head and let loose a howl that made Dandra stagger. The dark speck on the lens gaped wide for an instant, and black lightning leaped from the Khyber shard in Dah’mir’s chest in a short, brilliant arc. Dah’mir’s howl joined his master’s, shaking air as well as minds.

  But even that reclaimed energy must not have been enough. The lens flashed and collapsed with a crack like thunder, the vision of the nightmare throne room vanishing along with the daelkyr’s howl. Dah’mir staggered back. When his eyes opened,
they were dull, and he stared at the empty seal in disbelief.

  Medala’s laugh rose, harsh as slate. “You called for your master? We are here!” She raised her arms and the killing song rose in a powerful chorus—

  —that faltered as another song wove around it. From the same niche out of which Geth had emerged, Ekhaas appeared, walking slowly forward. She held her head high, her eyes were intense, and the muscles and tendons of her throat stood out. The song that rolled from her open mouth was … powerful. Primal. Whenever Dandra had heard Ekhaas sing her magic, she could feel the ancient energies that the hobgoblin drew on, but this was something even older. As if Ekhaas were singing the music of creation itself.

  The killing song had always sounded somehow incomplete, strangely discordant and barely musical at all. Ekhaas’s song completed it. The notes that she sang slid between the mad syllables of the killing song and lifted them up into something that throbbed with a harsh beauty, like beautiful jewelry hammered out of steel. Dandra almost wished she dared touch one of the katalarash with kesh, just to listen as the magic of the music eased the storm that must fill their minds just as it had filled Erimelk’s. But she could see a softening in the singers’ faces, an easing of the madness behind their eyes.

  And now it was Medala’s laughter that turned into a scream. “No!” She thrust a hand toward. Ekhaas, as if to blast her with frost or fire or vayhatana, but the stolen powers were gone, lifted away as the killing song had been lifted. Her gaunt face twisted and two voices wailed in unison from her mouth. “No!”

  “Now!” shouted Singe. “Geth! Now!” His left hand pointed at Dah’mir. His right hand pointed at Medala. “Dandra, now!”

  Dandra was moving before the words were out of his mouth, thrusting herself away from the ledge and skimming across the cavern floor for Medala. The mighty had fallen. Where both Medala and Dah’mir had been too powerful to even harm each other, with the sources of their power lost they were a match—and maybe, just maybe, they could be brought down. She heard Geth’s roar as he leaped for Dah’mir, caught a glimpse of the dragon’s bared teeth as he turned to meet the shifter, then all of her attention was on her part in the battle.