The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II (21 page)

The dragon nodded and bent down so that Vennet could climb onto his back. “Sit at the base of my neck,” he said. “Hold tight.”

Vennet barely had time to settle himself and wedge his hands among the thick scales that ran down Dah’mir’s back before the dragon coiled and leaped into the air. His wings snapped out, beat down and caught the wind. They climbed. Dah’mir let out a strange whistle and the herons that had traveled with them from Zarash’ak burst from the riverbank below to soar up and meet them. They had to fly fast—even barely beating his wings, Dah’mir was still climbing. The Shadow Marches spread out below Vennet and he laughed.

Like flying in an airship
, the passing wind howled.

“Better!” Vennet shouted back.

Far ahead, clouds piled up in a thick bank. Dah’mir soared toward them and after what seemed like only a few moments, they
plunged into the thick mists. The sunlight vanished, leaving everything damp, cool, and dim.

“Prepare yourself!” Dah’mir roared. Peering past his neck, Vennet saw him stretch out a foreleg and heard him snarl a word of magic.

One of the red Eberron shards embedded in the scales of his leg flared suddenly and seemed to burn. Darkness flared around them, as if the world had been turned inside out and what had been bright was made black.

“I have flown through a plane of shadow to reach you,” Dah’mir had said when he first appeared on
Lightning on Water
.

Vennet could see nothing but dim forms as they whisked through the weird dark skies, but the shadow winds were as talkative as the winds of Eberron.
What about the reward Dah’mir promised you?
they asked.
What about wealth and power?

Vennet laughed, the speed of their passage snatching his breath from between his teeth. “I have my reward!” he said.

C
hain looked up as Singe climbed down the ladder-like steps of the aft hold of
Lightning on Water
. “Look at you,” said the bounty hunter. “Dressed up like you’re trying to impress someone.”

In the glow of the everbright lantern that lit the hold, Singe tugged on the hem of the vest he had bought during their last few hours in Zarash’ak, part of a sturdy but stylish outfit well suited to the part of a traveling scholar. “I can tell it’s working,” he said. “This is the first time I’ve come down here and you haven’t cursed me.”

Chain’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve stopped during daylight this time. We must be in Vralkek. You’ll be leaving soon. The next time I see you I’ll have a sword in my hand.”

Singe cocked his head and gave Chain a long look, then drew his rapier.

“Back up,” he ordered.

Chain shuffled backward as far as he could, pulling tight the chains that shackled him to a strong bolt embedded in the deck. Singe leaned cautiously close to examine the heavy padlock that held the chains. The first time Singe had come to inspect his bonds, Chain had tried to use the slack in the chain to attack him. The wizard had demonstrated to him that while he wasn’t quite as fast Dandra, he was fast enough to avoid a clumsy attack. A stinging blow from the flat of his blade had left the bounty hunter sitting uncomfortably for two days.

Whatever worries, he might have had, however, Chain’s bonds were just as they had been when they’d bound him almost a week ago. Bolt, lock, and chain were still solid. The same shackles had once held Ashi prisoner, and if the hunter’s strength hadn’t been enough to free her, Singe was certain Chain’s wouldn’t be either. He stepped back. Chain eased forward and squatted on the deck, glaring up at him. Singe clenched his teeth at the man’s blunt rage. There was nothing else to say. They’d reassured Chain that Marolis and Karth would let him go at Sharn, and had apologized—though Chain didn’t make it easy—that this had been necessary.

He stepped back toward the steep stairs, keeping his eyes on Chain. When he was safely out of reach, he sheathed his rapier and turned away.

“I’ll be coming for you!” Chain called after him.

The others were waiting on deck. “How’s our friend?” asked Geth.

“He says hello—oh, and that he’ll be coming for us.”

Geth snorted. “Let him.” He closed his right fist in a clash of metal. The shifter had donned his great gauntlet. The black metal gave back a dull gleam in the early afternoon sunlight. He was also wearing a coat stitched with wide bands of heavy leather, a sort of light armor that had been another of Singe’s purchases in Zarash’ak. The coat was less for protection and more for show: the color of the fabric underneath the leather bands was similar enough to Singe’s new outfit to be suggestive of livery. Geth hated it. Singe thought it made him—and Orshok, Natrac, and Ashi, all of whom had similar clothing—look more professional and intimidating.

Dandra had another opinion. “Sometimes kalashtar who share the same lineage deliberately wear clothes in matching designs and colors,” she’d said when Singe had first coaxed their companions to wear the new gear.

“And?” Singe had asked.

“It looks like they’re trying too hard,” Dandra had told him. She’d kept to her own distinctive clothing.

Karth came trotting along the deck. “We’ve hailed one of the local boats. She’s alongside, waiting to take you ashore,” he said. He offered Singe his hand. “Olladra’s fortune,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Singe, returning his grip. They’d told Karth and Marolis most of their story—they owed the crew of
Lightning on Water
that much at the very least—though they’d left out the truth of Dah’mir’s nature and of his experiments on kalashtar. Karth and Marolis would tell their own tale to the ministers of House Lyrandar. Singe, Dandra, and Geth had all agreed there were some things the great house didn’t need to know.

The others said their good-byes as well, though Karth reserved his most heartfelt farewells for Dandra and Orshok—Dandra because she had freed him and Marolis, Orshok because his prayers had helped the rest of the crew overcome Dah’mir’s power. As they made their way to where a ladder had been thrown over the ship’s rail, other members of the crew clustered around the young druid, offering their thanks. Orshok flushed at the attention and scrambled quickly over the side and down to the waiting boat to escape it. Singe was the last one down the ladder. He waved to Marolis—the half-elf had stayed at the ship’s wheel, holding the ship steady for their disembarking—then shook hands with Karth again.

“Good luck with the ministers of Lyrandar,” he said. “Be careful of Chain. I think he might try something.”

Karth grinned. “He’s on a ship that’s soon going to be leagues away from land again. What can he do? We’re not going to let anything keep us from getting to Sharn.”

Singe squeezed his hand. “Good man.” He let go and clambered down the ladder.

The boat below was nothing more than an open top fishing craft that smelled strongly of last week’s catch. Between him, the five others, and the four weathered half-orcs that were her crew, the boat was crowded. Singe crouched with Orshok and Natrac in the stern as the crew of the little boat pulled hard on the oars, taking them away from
Lightning on Water
and toward the rugged coast of Droaam. Orshok was still staring at the ship, watching her in fascination. When the fishing boat had pulled far enough away, Singe heard Marolis shout. A moment later, the great elemental ring that drove the ship churned as a gale blasted out of it. The sleek ship moved again, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed. As she headed back out to the open ocean, moving faster and faster, her hull rose up out of the water to reveal the two great
running fins normally hidden below the water line. The narrow profile of the fins allowed the ship to cut through the waves with the greatest possible speed.

Orshok’s eyes were wide. Singe slapped him on the shoulder. “Turn around, Orshok. Have a look at Vralkek.”

“In a moment,” the orc said distantly.

Natrac laughed. “Give him a chance, Singe. You only see things for the first time once.”

The wizard shrugged, then turned to survey Vralkek for himself. Marolis had brought
Lightning on Water
as close in as he dared without knowing more about the port’s harbor. It had been more than close enough. Compared to Zarash’ak, Vralkek was nothing, its waterfront largely empty. It had more in common with distant Yrlag, far away where the lonely western coast of the Shadow Marches met the southern fringe of the Eldeen Reaches. Yrlag had, so Geth had been told by Adolan, once been the westernmost outpost of the Dhakaani Empire and that heritage still showed in tremendous works of ancient engineering and crumbling ruins. Singe could see some of those same elements in Vralkek, but apparently more had befallen the port since Dhakaan’s end than had befallen Yrlag. What ruins were visible were in worse condition. An old stone pier was nearly hidden beneath a tangle of rickety wood. What he had thought to be a partially submerged shoal was, he realized as they passed it and drew into the harbor proper, actually the broken and age-rounded remains of a mighty breakwall.

Orshok gasped sharply. Singe twisted around to look at him. “What is it?”

The druid’s gaze were still on
Lightning on Water
, now well distant. He pointed with his hunda stick. “Something fell overboard.” Singe squinted at the ship. “Really?”

“I saw something,” Orshok insisted. “Like someone falling over the side.”

“Mirage,” said Natrac. “Sometimes it’s hard to judge the distance between things on the ocean. You probably saw something much closer, between us and the ship. Maybe a bird, maybe a dolphin breaking the surface, maybe just a wave.”

Orshok looked doubtful. “I’m sure it was right beside the ship.”

“What would it have been?” asked Singe. “Marolis would have stopped if one of the crew had fallen—and I can’t imagine they would have.” The shadow of Vralkek’s docks fell over them and a moment later the structure cut off their last glimpse of
Lightning on Water
. “Forget about it,” Singe told Orshok. “We’re here.”

He turned around again. The half-orcs at the boat’s oars ignored the dock and pulled right up onto a beach that smelled almost as strongly of fish as their boat. Gulls swooped in, perhaps thinking that the boat’s passengers were the catch of the day

Although Karth would already have paid the fishermen, Singe gave them an extra silver sovereign each. “What’s a good inn?” he asked. “And where can I find guides to take us into the interior?”

The answer to both questions was a place called the Barrel, though Singe doled out a few crowns more as they passed through the town to confirm it. He was exceedingly careful about showing his money, though. Vralkek was that kind of town. He could feel it as soon as they climbed up from the beach and stepped into the muddy streets.

It wasn’t just an air of desperation and crime that gave Vralkek a sense of danger. Singe could feel eyes on him. Eyes appraising him as prey—financially and literally.

Dandra took a step closer to him as they walked. He felt her mind brush against his in the
kesh
. Her thoughts carried echoes of unease.
Singe …
she said.

I know
, he responded.

There was a reason Droaam was called the nation of monsters and that reason walked the streets of Vralkek. Orcs and half-orcs stood on corners, laughing coarsely. Goblins skulked in the shadows. Gnolls—rangy creatures with the bodies of lean humans and heads like hyenas—strutted along as though they carried the authority of town guards. In a smithy, a muscular minotaur pounded red-hot iron. Along a roofline, a trio of harpies cackled, flapped ragged wings, and watched the world below. A band of hobgoblins stood clustered around the door of one building as if to repel anyone who might try to enter. A series of loud thumps and a low moan drifted out as Singe and the others passed.

The hobgoblins watched them go by. Furry, wolf-like ears twitched and turned, tracking them. Singe’s hand dropped to the hilt of his rapier. He did see humans as they walked, but they
were few and generally looked either half-feral or broken and hollow. The broken ones had the marks of slaves. Singe wouldn’t have trusted the feral ones to bury a corpse.

“I don’t like this place,” he murmured so that the others besides Dandra could hear him. Geth gave him a sharp-toothed grin.

“Bothers you, does it?” the shifter asked. “Being in a place where humans are the ones who stand out?” He swaggered like the gnolls, seemingly at home among the monsters, though Singe noticed his eyes roamed the streetscape with the alertness of an animal in strange territory.

“Well, it bothers me,” said Natrac. “This is why I’ve always avoided Droaam before.”

Singe glanced at the half-orc. He walked with his knife-hand visible and stayed close to the others, but the grimness that had vanished with their return to Zarash’ak had reappeared. The persona of the blustering merchant seemed stretched over it, like a dwarf wearing a mask and calling himself an elf.

He’s protesting too much
, said Dandra through the
kesh. Remember what Bava said
.