The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II (24 page)

The moment he descended the stairs, Vennet heard a muffled sobbing. An everbright lantern had been hung near the stairs. Vennet lowered the shade. The sobbing stopped, stifled, as light flooded the hold, but he knew where it had come from. He slid forward silently, cutlass ready.

Chains lay on the floor. Someone had been held prisoner—and recently. There were fresh, bright scratches on the open lock and a piece of bent wire, the kind sometimes used to bind crates, still stuck out of the keyhole. Whoever had been held prisoner had escaped. Vennet clenched his teeth. He wasn’t going to find the people he wanted here, he realized, but he might find answers.

The sobbing had come from behind some crates. Vennet slid up to them, paused, then stepped around sharply.

A length of wood swung at him. He leaped back and sliced with his cutlass. He felt it bite flesh. The wood fell to the floor.

Karth stared at him. The sailor’s face was wet with tears. He clutched at his arm and blood seeped between his fingers.

Vennet held his cutlass steady. “Where are they, Karth?”

The sailor’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Vennet cursed. He reached out and grabbed Karth’s shirt, hauling him out of his hiding place and dragging him to the center of the hold. He flung him down beside the chains. “Who was held prisoner here?” he demanded.

“A bounty hunter,” Karth choked. “A bounty hunter named Chain.”

Vennet ground his teeth together so hard they hurt—then twisted around and slammed the hilt of his cutlass across Karth’s face. The man staggered, stunned. Vennet grabbed him and hauled him close, swiftly wrapping the length of chain tight around his wrists. He strung the chain through the bolt in the floor and, just as Karth realized what was going on and started to struggle, hooked the lock through the chains and squeezed it shut. The bent wire that had picked the lock before he flicked
far away into a corner of the hold, then watched as Karth tried to wrench himself free of the chains.

“What was Chain doing a prisoner in my hold?” Vennet asked him. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know! I came down here to hide from you and he was gone!” said Karth. He was starting to sob again. Blood from his wounded arm was running down to turn the chains red. “Dandra captured him in Zarash’ak,”

“Well then, where’s Dandra?” Vennet shouted. “Where’s Geth? Where’s Singe? Where’s Ashi? Where are they?” He swung his cutlass, cutting deep into the deck only a span from Karth’s legs. “Tell me or by Khyber’s glory, I will start cutting pieces off you just like I did Natrac!”

“Vralkek!”
Karth wailed. “We let them off in Vralkek. They’re traveling to Tzaryan Keep.”

“Thank you.” Vennet wrenched his cutlass out of the deck and turned for the stairs. Karth sobbed in fear behind him—sobs that rose into a frightened shout as Vennet climbed up onto the deck.

“Captain? Captain, I told you where they are. Set me free.” Chains rattled as Karth climbed to his feet. “Captain, set me free!”

Dah’mir was waiting on the deck in his heron form. “Well?”

“Vralkek,” Vennet said. “Headed to Tzaryan Keep.” His face twisted. “Storm at dawn, they must have left the ship while we were in Shadow.”

“Tzaryan Keep,” repeated Dah’mir. “How did they—?” The heron’s expression was inscrutable, but his eyes seemed to flash in the dying light and when he spoke again, his voiced seethed. “Ashi. The tales of the Bonetree. Vennet, find Hruucan. We’ll be leaving shortly.” He flapped his wings and hopped into the middle of the largest stretch of clear deck the ship had to offer, then transformed.
Lightning on Water
groaned under the sudden weight of a dragon, but Dah’mir looked unconcerned.

Vennet found Hruucan’s body wedged among barrels and ropes, the stinking tunic half unwrapped from his charred form. He wrapped it up again, ashes sifting out with every movement. Vennet hoped that the dolgaunt wouldn’t notice when he woke again. He hurried to Dah’mir and climbed back up to the base of his neck.

“Master,” he said, “will we be able to catch them before they reach Tzaryan Keep?”

“We don’t need to chase them anymore,” said Dah’mir. “I know what they’re trying to do.”

With a leap that left
Lightning on Water
bobbing in the water like a toy, the dragon took to the air again, his herons following in his wake. They circled the drifting ship once, then broke to the northwest and began to climb into the gathering night.

For a long time after, it seemed to Vennet that he could still hear Karth screaming.

T
zaryan Rrac’s ogre troops marched Dandra across town to another inn that looked as if it had, in better times, been a place with aspirations. Singe had told her that until it had been weakened in the Last War, Breland had claimed dominion over the barrens. The inn was a fading remnant of Brelish civilization, clinging to a dream of luxury while ogres stood guard outside its door and painted plaster flaked away from the inside walls. Dandra saw no other guests—and no staff either—as the ogres hustled her through the common room and up a flight of stairs that creaked threateningly under the creatures’ weight. On the upper floor, the leader of the ogres opened a door and gestured for her to enter. She looked inside cautiously. The room was sparsely furnished, but otherwise empty.

“Where’s the General?” she asked.

“You wait here,” the ogre said. “The General will send for you.”

He pushed her through the door—it was like being nudged by a horse—then pulled it closed behind her. Dandra waited for the sound of a lock or a bolt, but there was nothing except the heavy footsteps of the ogres moving away. For a moment, she considered looking back out into the hall to see if a guard had been left behind, but there didn’t seem to be any point. She had no intention of escape.

The room’s single window faced west and the light of the setting sun painted the walls red. Dandra went over to the window
and looked out over Vralkek. The Barrel was nowhere in sight. She tried reaching out to Singe with the
kesh
, but the wizard was too far away. She sighed, wrinkling her nose, and looked beyond the town. Far to the west, back in the Shadow Marches, Dah’mir and Vennet would have reached the Bonetree mound.

Dandra leaned against the window frame and wondered what the dragon’s next move would be. He’d look for them, she was certain of it, but they’d broken their trail. Dah’mir wasn’t going to have an easy time finding them again.

But he will find us
, whispered Tetkashtai. The presence’s light was dim in Dandra’s mind.
He’ll use magic. He’ll hire another Tharashk bounty hunter. He’ll—

Dandra’s lips pressed tight in frustration. Tetkashtai’s frantic terror had ebbed into a hopeless depression that was almost as frustrating and just as infectious. At times, Dandra found herself fighting to keep from falling into the same pessimism.
Khorvaire is a big place
, she reminded Tetkashtai.
As far as Dah’mir knows, we could be anywhere. Maybe he will find us eventually—but it will take him time and by then we’ll have uncovered his secrets
.

We
might
have uncovered his secrets
, the presence pointed out.
We don’t even know if we’ll find anything—if we find these Spires of the Forge at all. And even if we do find all the answers you’re looking for, what are you going to do with them?

Dandra lifted her chin.
Whatever I have to
.

Tetkashtai’s light flickered with a little of her old fire.
You’re a fool
, she said with disdain.

Maybe I am, but at least I’m doing something. Would you rather end up like Medala or Virikhad?
Dandra spun out a memory of her last, fleeting mental contact with Tetkashtai’s one-time friends: Medala harsh and raging, Virikhad desperate and consuming, both of them driven utterly mad at Dah’mir’s hands.

Tetkashtai countered with another memory. In her mind’s eye, Dandra saw the flash of silver-white light that had destroyed Medala’s body as the two kalashtar, forced together by Dandra’s hand, struggled for control of it.
No
, said Tetkashtai dryly,
I’d rather not. You will do whatever you have to, won’t you?

Shame and anger flushed Dandra’s face. Tetkashtai gave her a mental sneer—and rage flared in Dandra. She reached up to the cord that held the psicrystal around her neck and tore it off, flinging the crystal across the room.

Tetkashtai vanished from her mind. Dandra closed her eyes and drew a breath between her teeth, grateful for a moment’s respite from the presence’s taunting, terrified influence. Tetkashtai’s absence left her feeling hollow, like a part of her was missing, but she also felt in control of herself for the first time.

The feeling didn’t last long. She’d barely had time to sit down on the edge of the room’s bed when there was a pounding on the door. The ogre leader shoved it open. “The General will see you,”

She nodded and stood again, then hesitated. “Just a moment,” she told him. She darted across the room and retrieved her crystal. As she settled the cord around her neck once more, Tetkashtai blossomed inside her, shaking and frail.
Dandra …
she whined in fear.

Dandra thrust her away.
Keep your thoughts to yourself for a while, Tetkashtai
. She turned back to the ogre. “I’m ready. Take me to the General.”

The ogre seemed vaguely in awe of the confidence in her voice. He ushered her back out into the hall and along to a grand door at its end where two more ogres wearing the blue star of Tzaryan Keep stood guard. They stood to attention at their leader’s approach. He seemed to take no notice of them, though, instead reaching easily over Dandra’s head and tapping at the doors with a delicacy that made the wood shake. “General,” he called.

A harsh voice answered. “Send her in, Chuut.”

The ogre opened the door. Dandra stepped inside.

The General had claimed the largest room in the inn for his use. It was as sparsely furnished as Dandra’s own, though at one time it must have been grand. Two worn chairs sat beside a large fireplace. One was empty. The other was occupied by a man who stood as she entered. He wore simple clothing: high boots, sturdy brown trousers, a light coat over a good shirt. There was a plain sword at his belt and he wore no ornamentation except for a blue star badge pinned to his coat.

He also, however, wore scarves wrapped around his head and over his face. All that Dandra could see of the man himself were dark, old eyes that peered between the shrouding scarves—and
those eyes were narrowed in suspicion, wrinkles deep around them. “The kalashtar,” he said.

Dandra’s belly felt light and fluttering, but she forced herself to remain calm. Pressing her hands together, she bent over them in greeting. “You’re observant, General.”

“I don’t like kalashtar,” said the man. “They get inside your head. I told Chuut to bring me the
other
woman.” He let out a long, slow breath. “Well, you’re here now.”

He sat down again, a little awkwardly. Dandra saw that his right leg and arm were stiff. When he gestured for her to take the other seat, she noticed as well that his right hand—hidden, like his left, in a fine black glove—was clenched into a claw. She forced her eyes away from it as she sat down, but couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the man that he should take up service under a Droaamish warlord.

When she looked up, she met his eyes again. They were hard, daring her to say something about his concealed infirmities. Dandra sat still and held her tongue. After a moment, the General’s gaze dimmed. He eased back in his chair.

“You have me at a disadvantage, kalashtar,” he said. “You know more about me than I know about you. That should be corrected. What’s your name and what do you and Master Timin want at Tzaryan Keep?”

Singe had suggested that Dandra choose a false name just as he had. She hadn’t thought that she’d need one, but now she was glad that he had insisted. “My name is Kirvakri,” she told the General. “Timin and I are traveling to Tzaryan Keep to ask Tzaryan Rrac’s permission to study the Dhakaani ruins in his territory.”