The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II (2 page)

Dandra, however, had been freed from Dah’mir’s laboratory by Ashi. Unable to access her own powers fully without Tetkashtai’s aid and threatened by the devastating fascination Dah’mir wielded
over kalashtar, she was forced into a desperate plan. Acting swiftly, she caught Medala by surprise and put Virikhad’s psicrystal into her hand. The imprisoned and thoroughly insane spirit was unleashed on Medala and she was destroyed in a burst of silvery light. Freed from Medala’s influence, Batul and Geth made their move. Batul invoked nature’s own fury in a punishing storm that kept Dah’mir off balance while Geth closed to attack him. Dah’mir took wing, but Geth clung to him and was able to spot a point in his chest where a Khyber dragonshard was embedded in his scales. Swinging his Dhakaani sword, he struck, piercing Dah’mir’s chest and shattering the shard.

Although the blow was not deep, Dah’mir writhed and fell out of the sky. His black herons rose to meet him and as the dragon and the shifter fell through the flock, Dah’mir somehow vanished, leaving Geth to fall alone. He splashed into a river from which his friends were later able to pull him, but neither he nor Batul could offer any explanation for how a single blow could injure a dragon so badly.

Elsewhere, however, Vennet d’Lyrandar woke to the panicked fear of his crew and found a black heron in his cabin. A heron that spoke with Dah’mir’s voice.

K
arth raced down the narrow hallway below the deck of
Lightning on Water
and slid to a stop outside the captain’s cabin. He pounded a fist against the door. “Captain!
Captain!”

Vennet d’Lyrandar’s response had the edge of someone just roused from sleep to an alarm. “What is it, Karth?”

The sailor choked, trying to spit out his message. “Birds, captain!” he said. “Dozens of them!”

The words were nothing compared to the sight that waited above deck—an entire flock of eerie black herons dropping out of the dawn-pale sky to take up roost all over the ship—but Karth heard Vennet spit out an exclamation and begin to stir. He sagged against the wall with relief. The captain would know what to do.

The sudden yelp of surprise that came from inside the cabin sent fear stabbing through Karth’s guts. Already on edge, he didn’t stop to think—he just reacted, lowering his shoulder and slamming his weight against the cabin door. “Captain!” the sailor shouted. “I’m—”

He was a big man and the cabin door had been built for privacy, not security. The force of his impact flung it wide and sent a hail of splinters flying through the cabin.

“—coming.”

Two pairs of eyes looked at him. One pair belonged to Vennet and were wide with shock. The captain crouched atop his bed, still in his smallclothes, his bare chest heaving in surprise.

The other pair were bright acid-green and belonged to the tall black heron that stood in the shadows of the cabin. Thin bars of light fell through the shutters of the cabin’s windows, striping the bird’s feathers. Its eyes betrayed no surprise at all. Like the other herons that had burst out of the dawn to alight on the ship, it seemed utterly without fear. Even Karth’s sudden and loud appearance didn’t seem to have startled it.

If anything, it looked annoyed. It cocked its head at him and its eyes glittered.

“Leave us,” it said. Its voice was as rich and smooth as oil.

Karth’s guts clenched again. “Lords of the Host!” he whispered. He swallowed and glanced at the captain.

“Do it, Karth,” said Vennet. The captain slid out of his bed, his expression softening from shock to amazement. He rose to his feet and stretched out an arm to gesture for Karth to leave. The dawn light flashed on the complex pattern of the dragonmark that covered the back of his neck and shoulders. Karth saw him glance at the heron before he added, “And tell the crew not to harm any of the birds.”

“That,” agreed the heron, “would be wise.”

Instinct and long service more than anything else sent Karth backing out of the cabin. He couldn’t quite manage to get an “Aye, captain” out of his mouth, though Vennet scarcely seemed to notice. As Karth stepped out through the doorway, he reached back inside, seized what was left of the door, and pulled it closed. The latch was broken. He settled the door against the frame and started to turn away.

But not before his gaze fell through one of the cracks that had opened in the wood.

Karth froze, staring like a butler at a keyhole. Inside the cabin, the heron stalked out of the shadows and as it moved, it changed. It grew taller and broader, its legs thicker, its neck shorter. Its wings became arms, its beak a face. The bird became a man with pale skin, black hair, and eyes the same acid-green as the heron’s. What had been feathers blurred and merged, becoming robes of fine black leather. Crystals were set down each sleeve, half a dozen polished dragonshards that glowed a soft red against the black leather. Or rather, five shards that glowed red and one that was dim and scorched, as if it had burned from the inside out.

At the center of the man’s chest, his robes were torn. The raw, bloody flesh of a deep wound showed through, though the man moved as if it caused him no pain at all.

Vennet fell to his knees before him. “Dah’mir,” he said. “My lord, command me.”

Karth jerked away from the broken door. Something wasn’t right. He darted silently down the narrow corridor and back up onto the deck.

The crew of
Lightning on Water
stood clustered together, all of them staring at the herons that clung to the ship’s rails and any other horizontal surface. With a chill, Karth realized for the first time that all of the birds had the same acid-green eyes. He tried to slip around the clustered crew, but someone noticed. “Karth! Is the captain coming?”

“What did he say?” called someone else.

“Does he know what’s going on?”

“He’s coming! He’s coming!” Karth fought past the other sailors, then turned back. “He says not to hurt the birds.”

“Can’t anyway,” said one of the men in a nervous voice. “Whenever you try, they just fly up out of the way, then settle back down, bold as halflings!”

A chill shivered along Karth’s back. “Well, stop trying!”

He hastened to the stern of the ship. Mounted on huge beams behind the ship, the great elemental ring that drove the galleon roiled like storm clouds. Just enough wind escaped the ring to keep
Lightning on Water
moving and on course. Vennet’s junior officer, Marolis d’Lyrandar, stood at the ship’s wheel, his hands clenched on it. Like Vennet, he was a half-elf and carried the Mark of Storm that enabled him to command the ship while the captain slept. Though it had only been a short while since the herons had appeared—the sun had barely cleared the horizon—Marolis’s face showed the strain of crisis. He glanced at Karth. “Where’s Vennet?”

“He’s—” Karth found his words sticking in his throat.

The three passengers that had taken passage with them on this run—a trip from Sharn in Breland to Trolanport in Zilargo, a departure from
Lightning on Water
’s usual routes along the southwestern coast of the continent of Khorvaire—had joined Marolis rather than clustering with the common sailors. One of them, a
pompous little gnome woman, spoke up. “Speak up, sailor! What did the captain say when you told him what was happening?”

“He—he said that he’d be out shortly, mistress Feita,” said Karth.

“Shortly?” demanded one of the other passengers, a young Brelish man named Tomollan. “Shortly?” His voice rose and cracked.

Marolis turned to look at him. “There’s no need to panic, master,” he said tautly.

“Indeed.” The third passenger was Cira, a beautiful woman and apparently a seasoned traveler to judge by the way she was keeping her head. She folded her hands. “If there was reason to worry, Tomollan, the captain wouldn’t be so casually taking his time. If it makes you feel better, though, stay close to me. I have some skill in magic that could be—”

Marolis let out a hiss of relief. “There’s the captain!”

Karth spun around. Vennet had emerged onto the deck. He wore his shirt open, hastily donned, but he had buckled on his sword belt and his cutlass hung at his hip. He strode past the gathered sailors without a word, making his way quickly toward the stern.

“He … uh, he seems to be in a hurry now,” said Tomollan.

“Who’s that?” asked Feita. “Boldrei’s blessing, he’s wounded!”

Dah’mir had followed the captain up from below. Where Vennet was hastening along the deck, however, the green-eyed man was strolling, nodding and smiling to the crew. All over the ship, the herons turned their heads to follow his casual progress. Strangely, the clustered sailors were dispersing in his wake, calmly returning to their duties.

“Captain d’Lyrandar!” Tomollan said as Vennet mounted the aft deck. “What’s going on?”

Vennet ignored him. “Marolis, come about.”

The junior officer stared at him. “Captain?”

“Come about, Marolis!”

Feita looked ready to spit venom. “Captain d’Lyrandar, what’s happening here? Are we going back to Sharn? We’re due in Trolanport tomorrow!”

Cira stepped forward. Her eyes were narrow and suspicious. “Captain, is something wrong? If my magic—”

“Ah, yes,” Vennet said. “Your magic.”

He took a fast step back. His right hand darted to his cutlass and he drew and swung it in one powerful motion. Cira was wearing a white gown. The cutlass slashed the pale fabric with red.

“It could be a problem,” said Vennet.

Cira fell with a startled expression on her face. Karth and Marolis both stared in shock. Tomollan fumbled for a knife but Vennet’s cutlass flashed and the young man reeled back, screaming and clutching his arm. Vennet followed and silenced him with another blow.

For all her pompousness, Feita reacted with the quick reflexes of her race, darting away from the captain’s weapon and trying to get around him, maybe back to the safety of her cabin. Karth started to step forward, to try and restrain Vennet, but the halfelf raised his cutlass in silent threat. His eyes narrowed and he thrust his free hand toward Feita. Where his shirt hung loose across his back, Karth saw his dragonmark shimmer.

Wind summoned by the Mark of Storm howled from Vennet’s outstretched hand to pummel Feita. The gnome staggered, stumbled—then was caught up by the powerful gust and tumbled, shrieking, over the ship’s rail. Her shrieks ended in a splash.

The nearest herons turned to watch with glittering eyes.

“Lords of the Host! Man overboard!” Karth rushed past Vennet and leaped to the rail. Feita was struggling in the water. Even moving slowly,
Lightning on Water
was already passing her. He spun around to stare at Vennet and his bloody cutlass.

A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to meet a green-eyed gaze.

“Be at ease,” said Dah’mir.

Up close, Karth could see that the smile on the man’s face was strained, as if he held back tremendous pain. Even before the words were out of his mouth, though, it seemed to Karth that he could feel Dah’mir’s presence pushing at him, overwhelming his will. He tried to struggle, tried to remember that he had just seen his captain kill two people and send a third to her death, but there was a charisma about Dah’mir. The strange man was right. There was nothing to worry about.

He watched Marolis fight and lose the same battle. Vennet repeated his order to bring the ship around and this time Marolis
nodded. “Aye, captain,” he said, spinning the wheel.

Dah’mir patted Karth’s shoulder. “Why don’t you dispose of those?” he said with a nod at Cira’s and Tomollan’s bodies. His voice was tired, but still powerful. “Then give the deck a good scrub.”

“Aye, lord,” Karth said above the rising howl of wind. Overhead, the ship’s elemental ring began to churn furiously.

“Coming about,” called Marolis. “Coming about and turning back to Sharn!”

“No,” said Vennet. He bent and wiped his cutlass clean on Tomollan’s tunic. “Not Sharn.”

His world ended in fire. His last sensations were of the human wizard Singe clinging to him, then of a pinprick of heat as the wizard cast a final spell. He’d seen that spell before. He tried to leap away, but Singe’s weight dragged at him, holding him in place for the scant moments it took for the pinprick to explode into an inferno. Flame seared the delicate buds of his skin, burning away every sensation but pain. It ate his chest tendrils and fleshy head growths. The powerful tentacles that sprang from his shoulders flailed in the fiery air—flailed, blistered, charred and finally went numb as they crumbled into ash. He screamed and fire filled his lungs, scorching him from the inside out.