The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II (31 page)

Robrand dismounted calmly and bowed while Tzaryan was still in the air. “Lord Tzaryan,” he said. “All’s well in Vralkek. Your troops acted with excellent discipline.”

“Your
troops, General. A fine commander makes fine soldiers.” Tzaryan’s voice was entirely free of the heavy accent and carefully practiced words that marked Chuut’s conversation. He spoken naturally, at ease with their language. His black eyes remained fixed on Dandra, Singe, and the others as his booted feet settled into the dust of the yard. “I would like to know more about those who have accompanied you. A rare occurrence, I think.”

Singe dropped out of his saddle with an unseemly haste compared to Robrand. As the others quickly followed his example, the wizard bent low in a grand, sweeping bow. “Lord Tzaryan, Timin Shay of Wynarn University at your service. My assistant, Kirvakri.” Dandra pressed her hands together and bent over them respectfully. Singe gestured to Geth, Ashi, Orshok, and Natrac. “Our guards. The General encountered us in Vralkek and, when he heard that it was my intention to seek out your keep, was kind enough to offer me an escort.”

Tzaryan’s gaze drifted briefly over the others before settling back on Singe and Dandra. “Master Timin,” he said, nodding his head. Reading his black eyes was difficult. Dandra thought she caught a gleam of interest, but she couldn’t be sure. “Wynarn, did you say?”

“Queen’s College,” Singe answered. “A lecturer in history and legend, a dabbler in other areas—enough to know that we must be interrupting your skywatching on such a fine night. My apologies.” He bowed again and this time Dandra was certain she saw curiosity burn in Tzaryan’s face.

“There are many nights,” said the ogre mage. “Think nothing of it. But tell me—what brings a scholar of Wynarn to the wilds of Droaam?”

Singe had him hooked like a fish. Dandra was amazed that the wizard managed to keep a straight face as he spun out their
carefully rehearsed story of investigating the ruins of Taruuzh Kraat as a means of tracing the legends of Ashi’s clan. “Which is why we’ve come to you, Lord Tzaryan. I beg your permission to investigate the ruins in the name of scholarship. I pledge to take nothing away except knowledge.”

For a moment, it seemed that Singe’s hold on Tzaryan might slip. The ogre mage’s face hardened. The wizard’s eyebrows twitched.

“I expect that a major paper will come out of my research,” he said. “Perhaps even a book. One that could change the study of Droaam’s history significantly. Of course I would name you as my learned patron in any publication.”

When he had first tested the argument on her, Dandra had expressed doubt. Tzaryan was supposed to be intelligent. Why would someone that smart fall to such blatant flattery? Singe’s counter had been that even the most brilliant people had their weaknesses—the trick was just in figuring out what they wanted. They really weren’t asking for very much and in exchange for granting them access to the ruins, Tzaryan Rrac had the opportunity to see his name spread around one of the most prestigious centers of learning in the Five Nations. To someone who considered himself a scholar and cultivated the trappings of civilization, Singe argued, what greater incentive could they offer?

Dandra still held her breath as Tzaryan straightened slightly, his square teeth grinding in thought. After a moment, he said, “It wouldn’t be prudent for me to accept such a request without due consideration. I’ll think on it and give you an answer in the morning. Will that suit you?”

“It suits me very well, my lord,” said Singe graciously, but Dandra could hear relief in his voice.

A faint, smug smile crossed Tzaryan’s face as if he had recognized it as well. “In the meantime, I hope you’ll accept the hospitality of Tzaryan Keep for the night at least,” he said. “I’d be honored to have you as my guest.”

He spread his arms, the broad sleeves of his robes flashing. Behind him, the gates of the keep groaned and began to open, revealing a wide, dark staircase leading up into the keep’s interior. For an instant, Dandra wondered if the ogre mage commanded
the magical equivalent of
vayahatana
—until she caught the muffled grinding of some heavy, hidden mechanism. The flash of his sleeves had been a signal. She held back a smile of her own at Tzaryan’s trickery and bowed along with Singe.

Robrand moved forward again. “Lord Tzaryan, there is something else. We encountered an old friend who had been attracted to Master Timin’s inquiries.” He gestured and Chuut, accompanied by a second ogre, stepped out of the ranks of Tzaryan’s troops. Between them, they held Ekhaas, her hands bound and the gag still in her mouth. Her eyes were wild and frightened. Tzaryan sucked in a sharp breath.

“Again, hobgoblin?” he roared. “By the Shadow, what did I tell you? Chuut, your mace—”

“My lord,” Robrand said before the ogre lieutenant could draw his weapon, “could I suggest something else? Imprisonment might be a better option. Ekhaas has knowledge of the ruins. She has refused to speak with our guests before now, but I suspect she could be … persuaded to share what she knows.”

Dandra stiffened at what the old man’s suggestion implied and she glanced at Singe. He looked uneasy as well, but said nothing. Tzaryan only nodded his heavy head in approval. “An excellent suggestion, General.” He looked down at Dandra. “Or did I see disapproval on you face, Mistress Kirvakri?”

He asked the question lightly, but his eyes were sharp. Within her, Tetkashtai cringed. Dandra swallowed. Ekhaas almost certainly knew something about Taruuzh Kraat, but she didn’t want to see the hobgoblin tortured. “Perhaps we could speak to her again,” she said. “After she’s had time to consider the alternative.”

Tzaryan bent closer. “And if she remains uncooperative?”

Dandra froze, staring into his black eyes.

Singe cleared his throat and answered for her. “This is your domain, Lord Tzaryan,” he said. “We are but guests.”

The ogre mage straightened and turned a smile on him. “I can see that you are a man who has learned lessons outside the library.” Tzaryan’s smile grew into a grin that left Dandra with no doubt that under his fine robes and well-spoken manners, he was as much a monster as any in Droaam. “Put any questions you choose to her tomorrow and we’ll see what lessons Ekhaas has learned.” He gestured sharply to Chuut and the ogre wrestled the
hobgoblin on through the gate. Tzaryan nodded again to Singe. “Until the morning, Master Timin. General, I’ll take your report on the training in Vralkek in the morning as well.”

“Lord,” said Robrand with another bow, but the ogre mage was already rising back into the air, moving faster than he had descended. Dandra watched his form, crimson robes flapping in the moonlight, arc through the darkness toward to the tall tower with the dome top.

Tetkashtai whimpered in her mind.
Dandra—

Her light was stretched thin with fear and fretting. Dandra felt a hollow echo of it in her own stomach.
I know
, she said.
I think we need to watch our backs around Tzaryan Rrac
.

No, more than that!

Hush
, Dandra ordered her. It took an effort but she forced herself to rise above Tetkashtai’s fear. She wrapped the presence in calming thoughts, stifling her objections.

Singe waited until Robrand has dismissed the ogre troops before drawing him close. “Robrand—” he hissed.

The old man held up a finger, silencing him. “Careful,” he said. “Tzaryan hears more than you think. Flight isn’t his only gift.” He gave Singe a cold, hard look. “Would you rather she was already dead? At least you have a chance to save her now. I told you, you’re playing a dangerous game. Did you think you were the only one making the rules?”

Vennet watched Tzaryan Rrac soar through one of the open archways below the dome of his observatory, the wind of his passage rippling in his crimson robes, and decided that he wanted to learn to fly as well. To ride on Dah’mir’s back or in a Lyrandar airship were fine things, but to fly on his own power with the voices of the wind in his ears—

Tzaryan was staring at him. Vennet stared back at the ogre mage, meeting his back-eyed gaze fearlessly. “Teach me that,” he said hungrily. Across his back, his dragonmark itched as it hadn’t since he’d been a youth. In the days since the daelkyr’s voice had burned him clean, the mark had felt as though it was growing again, increasing in size and power, a gift from the lord of Khyber. He spoke to the wind and he’d never heard of
any member of House Lyrandar manifesting such a power. What else was he capable of?

“Vennet, be silent,” said Dah’mir in reprimand. The heron stood atop a table piled with books and charts. He cocked his head and his eyes flashed. “Tzaryan?”

“It appears my general found them in Vralkek and escorted them here to keep an eye on them,” the warlord said. “They want access to the ruins. Just as you said they would.”

“You’ll grant it to them?”

“There’s not much to see unless they’re willing to dig.”

“They’ll dig. If they don’t, I’ve overestimated them.”

The ogre mage smiled, showing black teeth. “The human you named Singe tried to bribe me by offering to name me as his patron in a book.”

“Promises are as poor a currency as lies,” said Dah’mir. “Real knowledge is gold to those who value it.” He tapped a book with his beak. “Open this one and I’ll continue my payment for your services, Tzaryan. There is a secret written on the moons of Eberron if you know when and where to look.”

“Dah’mir!” called Hruucan from the scorched corner where he had squatted for much of the last few days. Vennet turned to look at him. His voice was a weary rasp and the tentacles that lashed the air were dim. “I feel him! He’s close. I want him!”

“In good time, Hruucan!”

“I hunger now.”

Dah’mir clicked his beak in frustration, then looked at Tzaryan. “Could you spare another slave?”

The warlord smiled again. “Knowledge is gold and you’ve paid me well. Is one slave enough?”

“More than enough.” The heron ruffled black feathers. “My enemies have proved clever. I’m sure they’ll find what they came here to learn quickly enough—and after they do, they’ll fall knowing the truth of how pathetic they are.” His voice sank into a snarl deep into his scrawny chest. “We’ll be your guests for another day, Tzaryan, no more.”

Tzaryan bent his head. “Your presence in my home is an honor, Dah’mir.”

Vennet turned away as the two lords resumed their discussion of moons and stars and secret knowledge and looked out of the
observatory onto the night. Far below on the valley floor, a shadow moved against the pale stripe of the road. A lone rider was approaching Tzaryan Keep on a horse with muffled hooves. A breeze brushed against Vennet and murmured in his ear.
Now who do you think that is?

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered in reply. In his head, he was flying as Tzaryan had flown.

T
zaryan Rrac’s reply was waiting when Singe descended from his bed chamber to the dining hall below the next morning. An orc woman wearing the blue star of Tzaryan Keep hurried to meet him as soon as he appeared on the stairs. Without speaking or meeting his gaze, she extended a silver tray on which rested a folded note, then darted away as soon as he had taken the note from her.

Dandra was already up and sitting at one corner of a long, empty table. Her face was drawn and her eyes were dark. “Is something wrong?” he asked her.

“I didn’t sleep well.” She rubbed a hand across her face. “Tetkashtai doesn’t like Tzaryan Keep. She was fretting all night. It kept me awake.”

Singe unfolded the note and scanned it. He smiled in triumph. “I think I know something that will make you feel better,” he said, then read aloud “Master Timin, your request is granted. You’ll find the ruins to the northeast of Tzaryan Keep. You may explore them as you wish, so long as you and your party return to join me for dinner and share your discoveries. I will see you this evening—I regret that my stargazing has left me with a nocturnal schedule. Speak to the General if there’s anything you require. With respect, Tzaryan.” He looked up to find Dandra smiling as well, weariness washed away.