The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II (30 page)

The shifter growled under his breath. Inside Dandra’s mind, Tetkashtai gave a derisive snort at his sullenness.
Pathetic. No concern for anyone but himself
.

You’re not one to talk
. Dandra pushed the presence away “This is part of what’s between you and Singe, isn’t it?” Geth stiffened. She pressed him. “You need to get past this. We need to work together. All of us.”

He glared at her. “Have you given Singe this lecture, too?”

“He’s not the one riding alone.” She paused, then added, “This isn’t just between you and Singe anymore, Geth. You’ve barely talked to any of us since Robrand revealed himself. It’s all part of what happened in Narath, isn’t it?”

He looked away—then back again. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”

His voice was thick with emotion. Dandra hesitated. “No,” she said after a moment. “I’m not going to leave you alone. When I said we need to work together, I meant it. You’re going to have face Robrand and Singe.” She reached out and laid her hand over the cold metal of his great gauntlet. “But I want you to know this: I’m not judging you. Whatever you did in Narath, you’ve proved yourself to me. The first time we met, you were coming to my rescue.”

Geth looked down at her hand, then covered it with his. The shifter’s palm and fingers were rough and calloused. He said nothing for a long moment, then lifted his hand and sat up straight, looking away from her and up into the night sky. “Robrand let you see Ekhaas today.”

Dandra knew a change of subject when she heard one—but at least Geth was still talking to her instead of falling back into silence. She turned her eyes to the sky as well. The night was bright: six of the twelve moons were full or very close to it. Their combined light cast deep shadows across the hillsides. “He did,” she told him. “We thought maybe we could persuade her to tell us what she knows about Taruuzh Kraat. If she’s the self-appointed protector of the ruins, she must know something.”

“Did she talk to you?”

“Only to tell us that she won’t speak with defilers of Dhakaan. We tried asking her about the Hall of the Revered and the Spires
of the Forge. She didn’t even react.” Dandra shrugged. “But neither Robrand nor Chuut had ever heard of them either, so at least we’re not missing some other real place. Maybe they really are just names invented by Dah’mir to describe Taruuzh Kraat for the Bonetree.”

Geth smiled slightly. “If they are, then Chain was actually right about something. They really didn’t exist.” He paused, then added. “I don’t suppose you asked Ekhaas about …?”

His hand drifted toward his ancient sword. Dandra shook her head. “Should we have?”

Geth pressed his lips together and twitched his head. “No,” he said. “I suppose—”

His voice choked off suddenly as they came around the shoulder of a hill. Dandra knew that if she had been speaking, she would have done the same thing. Both of them reined their horses in and stared at the vista that spread out before them.

Below the hill, lay a wide, shallow valley. Moonlight shone on an irregular patchwork of fencerows and fields, on the meandering ribbon of a small river—and on the dark bulk of Tzaryan Keep.

The fortress crouched on hills of the far side of the valley like an animal waiting to pounce. It was massive in both size and presence, its lower levels all but featureless, a heavy plinth for the profusion of towers and halls that formed its upper levels. The keep reflected little of the moons’ light and, unlike a human structure, showed no light at its scattered windows The only illumination that Tzaryan Rrac’s stronghold cast into the night came from two bright fires that burned at ground level, presumably on either side of a deep gate, and a third, much dimmer, at the top of one high tower.

The others fall silent as they, too, came around the bend and caught sight of the keep. They stopped as well and Dandra turned her head just in time to see Robrand lean a little closer to Singe. “Are you ready, Etan?” she heard him ask softly.

“Yes.”

Robrand’s eyes flashed in the magical light. “You play a dangerous game. I hope you play it well.” He looked over his shoulder and called out, “Signal our return!”

In the front ranks of the column, several ogres put big,
grotesquely curved horns to their lips and sounded a call like the dying groan of some massive predator. It was answered by an enthusiastic roar from the throats of the troops so loud that the ground seemed to shake. Off in the distance, a flock of startled birds rose, then settled again. The ogres’ pace quickened.

Singe and the others caught up to her and Geth. Dandra glanced at the shifter and tilted her head toward the riders. He grimaced but nodded, and together they slipped into the pack. Robrand’s expression remained studiously neutral, but Singe gave Dandra a narrow look. She reached out to him with the
kesh. Geth belongs with us
, she said stubbornly,
not riding alone
.

No one forced him away
, the wizard pointed out.

Dandra felt a flash of irritation. She shaped it into a stinging barb and flung it through the
kesh. Can you see what the anger between you is doing?

Singe flinched at the force in her mental voice.
You wouldn’t understand, Dandra
.

She hissed out loud in spite of herself.
Only because neither of you have given me a chance to!
She wrenched the
kesh
away from him.

Dandra?
asked Tetkashtai, her light trembling.
Are you—?

Dandra forced herself to breathe slowly and steadily, releasing the fury that burned in her like pent-up whitefire.
I’m fine
, she said. She reached and brushed her mind through Tetkashtai’s, soothing the presence—and herself.

By the time they reached the valley floor, she felt calm and a little bit ashamed for her outburst. At least Singe looked somewhat chastened as well. She was considering apologizing to him when Natrac, riding to one side of her, stiffened. Dandra looked up to see a huddle of huts at the side of the road. She supposed they belonged to the farmers who tended the fields they had seen from the hillside, but Natrac’s face darkened in anger.

“Those are orc huts!” he said. Dandra raised an eyebrow curiously. “Orcs aren’t farmers,” he added. “They’ve never been farmers. The only way orcs would farm is if they were forced to.”

“Slaves?” Dandra looked to Robrand.

The old man shook his head. “Serfs. One of Tzaryan’s projects.
He had them clear the valley after he built his keep—it was nothing but a tangled mess before.”

Dandra sat up straight. The Bonetree story had mentioned entering a door above a tangled valley. Natrac didn’t seem to catch the implication though. He was still glaring at the huts. “Slaves,” he spat in disgust. “Filthy wretches!”

The loathing in his voice was so strong that they all looked at him in surprise. “Easy,” Singe told him. “It’s not their fault, is it?”

“Do they try to escape?” Natrac asked Robrand.

“Almost never.”

Natrac glared back at Singe. The wizard spread his hands in silent surrender, then, once Natrac had looked away again, glanced at Dandra in confusion. She shook her head and shrugged. She’d never heard Natrac sound so worked up before.

Orshok looked uncomfortable as well, though he kept it to himself until they were almost all the way across the valley and practically in the shadow of Tzaryan Keep. “Something doesn’t feel right here,” he said. “It’s as if something is disturbing the spirit of the land.”

“If the land seems disturbed here, maybe it’s because it’s actually being used,” Dandra suggested. The sense of desolation that had pervaded the landscape during the journey seemed to have lifted with their descent into the valley. Dandra couldn’t say she missed it.

“Maybe,” Orshok admitted grudgingly. He tore his gaze away from the keep. “Where are the ruins?”

“The Empire of Dhakaan didn’t build in valleys,” said Robrand. “Hobgoblin structures then were built much as they are today: mostly underground with an eye to defense. The Dhakaani who built their stronghold here chose the best location in the region. Tzaryan Rrac chose to build his keep in the same location.” He raised a hand to the hills around the keep. “The ruins are there—you’ll see them best from the keep in the morning.”

Dandra’s gut twisted with a sudden fear that the evidence they sought might have been destroyed. “Did Tzaryan build right
over
Taruuzh Kraat?”

Robrand laughed. “He knew better than that! How many times
have lazy builders tried to take advantage of old ruins only to have something come up from underneath them? Tzaryan heard those stories, too. It’s almost impossible in these hills to avoid ruins entirely, but he made sure that he built well away from the main structure. The ruins have barely been disturbed.”

The final approach to Tzaryan Keep, the last section of the road from Vralkek, took them back and forth across the face of a steep bluff. The road was distinctly narrower—the ogre troops were forced to redistribute themselves so that fewer marched abreast than had before—and seemed carved from the bluff itself.

“The bed is Dhakaani,” Robrand explained. “Only the stones are new. When Tzaryan came to the valley, he found the switchbacks still in such good condition that his workers only needed to clear the road and lay a new surface.”

“I’m glad it’s the horse climbing and not me,” said Ashi. For the first time, she actually seemed to be pleased to be riding instead of walking.

“We should be glad no one is trying to stop us from climbing,” Dandra said.

Each turn of the trail was vulnerable to attack from the section above. It struck her as very odd that a location named for a smithy should be so difficult to reach. The slow climb would have made commerce inconvenient at best. Maybe the smithy had once produced weapons for an army and been given the defenses due to a military center. Even so, shipping weapons away from Taruuzh Kraat—or raw materials to it—wouldn’t have been easy.

They lost sight of Tzaryan Keep as they climbed. The last turn of the winding road, however, was guarded by a high wall pierced through with a simple archway—as soon as they stepped through the arch, the great keep rose up before them like a mountain that had been hidden behind a handkerchief. Even though she’d seen its daunting glory from across the valley, the sudden exposure forced Dandra to look at it again, craning her neck back in awe. It had seemed massive from a distance. Up close it was if an enormous stone block had been thrust up from the earth and a palace built on top. Dandra counted no fewer than four long and broad halls, two towers of medium height, and one exceptionally tall tower with a rounded dome on top, all joined and surrounded by a high wall. The tallest tower was the one where a dim light had
burned earlier though it wasn’t visible now. The slightly angled base of the keep was dark gray stone; the upper levels were dark wood with tiled roofs.

The fires she had seen from across the valley did indeed burn on either side of a gate, but they burned in huge copper bowls. The gate was as massive as the rest of Tzaryan Keep, tall, broad, and set deep in the thick stone walls. Two ogre guards, polearms at the ready, stood before it and were utterly dwarfed. One of them called out in the heavy, deep language of ogres—some formal ritual of recognition—and Robrand responded, his human voice high and squeaking by comparison. The guards snapped to attention, stamping the butts of their weapons into the ground.

Robrand’s face, as he led them across the marshalling yard before the gate, resumed the neutral mask of the General. “Welcome to Tzaryan Keep, Master Timin.”

“Thank you, General,” Singe answered with the same cool detachment. “Your company has been most welcome during our journey.” He looked around and Dandra wondered if she was the only one who noticed the nervous twitching of his left hand. “Do we need to alert Tzaryan Rrac to our presence?”

“I’m certain he already knows.”

“The General is correct,” called a voice as deep as stones. “In fact, I have watched your approach for some time.” The voice came from somewhere above them, rolling and echoing down the walls of the keep. Dandra’s head jerked up again.

There was a large figure descending through the darkness overhead, dropping slowly with an ease that Dandra couldn’t have matched. Tzaryan Rrac stood upright, arms crossed, as if floating down through the air was second nature to him. The ogre mage stood no taller than his ogre troops—now filing up from the twisted road and falling into rank in the marshalling yard—but he seemed even more powerfully built, his shoulders and arms broad and thick with muscle. His skin shone a pale blue-green in the firelight, contrasting with the rich crimson robes that he wore. Dark hair was pulled back and tied in a knot, exposing short ivory horns that sprang from his forehead. His square teeth and the heavy nails on his hands were black. So were his eyes—not black in the manner of humans, but rather reversed, black where humans had white, with a pale pinprick at the iris.
They were striking and eerie at the same time.

For a moment, his gaze met hers and Dandra felt almost as if Tzaryan’s weird eyes saw right through her. She clenched her jaw and sat up straight and bold, but his gaze had already moved on to sweep over the others.