The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II (43 page)

By the time the prisoners, their captors, and a squad of a dozen ogres reached the ruins, the smell of fresh-turned soil was heavy on the night air. In the light of a pair of torches carried by an orc slave, Singe could see that the ruins seemed almost transformed. The ancient mounds and foundations that marked the location of Taruuzh Kraat on the surface were covered with a new layer of dirt. Here and there, large rocks and big sections of brick still joined by millennia-old mortar lay strewn like pebbles. Where Singe and the others had located the collapsed entrance to the underground complex that morning, a deep, ragged trench made a scar in the moonlight. The way to Taruuzh Kraat was open.

There was no sign of Dah’mir except for the herons that circled overhead. Tzaryan Rrac stood beside the trench, watching their approach.

Singe stumbled on a stone hidden by the torches’ flickering. His arms bound behind his back, he staggered, trying to keep his balance. He might have gone down anyway if Robrand hadn’t caught him and given him the moment of support he needed. The old man’s face betrayed nothing. Singe kept his silence.

Vennet stalked just ahead, Chain following at his heels like a frightened dog. On Singe’s right, Hruucan kept pace with them, too. Their enemies surrounded them. There’d been no chance to speak with Robrand, no chance to stage an escape.

Singe risked a glance over his shoulder, checking on Orshok and Natrac. The orc and half-orc were just behind him and Robrand, bound as he was and each with an ogre guard watching over them. Orshok looked terrified, but Natrac met his eyes with a grim determination. Singe gave him a curt nod of encouragement—false encouragement—and turned back to watch the trench drawing closer.

As frightened as he felt at his own prospects, the real fear that gnawed at him was for Dandra and Ashi. However they’d managed to find their way into the caves beneath Tzaryan Keep, their refuge in Taruuzh Kraat was going to become a trap.

He had to do something.

He drew a breath and risked raising his voice as they stopped at the mouth of the trench. “Tzaryan!” he shouted. “Where’s Dah’mir? I’m surprised he left you behind—I wouldn’t turn my back on you!”

Tzaryan’s black-eyed gaze settled on him briefly, then went to Robrand. “General, keep the prisoners quiet!”

“Aye.” Singe’s ear stung as Robrand swatted him sharply, but the wizard had to hold back a smile as the old man picked up on his trick and repeated the question. “Where
is
the dragon, my lord?”

“Gone ahead,” said Tzaryan. Singe glanced at the trench and the dark passage beyond. Dah’mir couldn’t have fit down it. He must have transformed. The wizard tried to picture the great chamber dominated by the grieving tree. If they were lucky, Dah’mir’s dragon form wouldn’t be able to fit in it either. Singe doubted that they would be so lucky.

He swallowed and thrust himself forward. Robrand leaped after him, but the old man was just a little too slow. “What did Dah’mir promise you, Tzaryan?” Singe shouted, charging toward the ogre mage. “Is it worth surrendering yourself to him? Do you think he’s just going to leave after—”

Vennet whirled around. His arm caught Singe right across the throat and swept the wizard off his feet. Singe slammed down onto his back, gasping for breath. “Are you trying something smart again, Singe?” Vennet asked. He lunged forward, punctuating his words with kicks to Singe’s belly. “Give … it … up!”

Singe curled up around Vennet’s boot and bright pain sparked in his vision, but he still saw Robrand storm up to them. “You! D’Lyrandar! Get back! This man is in my custody!”

Vennet took a swaggering step back. “Really? I thought he was
my
master’s prisoner.”

Robrand stopped, leaving Singe between him and the half-elf like a bone between two dogs. Singe twisted around and looked up at his former commander, catching his eye and mouthing a single word.
Chain
.

The old man’s mouth tightened in almost imperceptible acknowledgment and his gaze flicked back to Vennet. His voice rose in sharp command. “Tzaryan company, alert!”

All around them, the small noises of moving ogres were drowned out in a rush of creaking leather and sliding feet as Robrand’s squad snapped to readiness and turned to face him. Singe managed to sit up in time to see Vennet’s eyes narrow with unpleasant surprise. Off to one side, Hruucan whirled around, surveying the nervous ogres—including Chuut—that surrounded him. His tentacles rose and he dropped into a crouch, ready to fight.

“General!” Tzaryan roared. “What are you doing? Company, stand down!”

The ogres relaxed again, but Robrand faced Tzaryan without flinching. “My lord, I think the prisoner has a point.” He glanced at a nearby ogre—possibly the dumbest-looking brute Singe had ever seen—and pointed at Singe. “Watch him,” he ordered, then marched to Tzaryan. “How much can we trust a dragon?”

“Mutiny!” shouted Vennet. “This is mutiny!” He started to turn his back on Singe, hesitated for instant, then grabbed Chain and shoved him toward the wizard. “You watch him, too!” He darted after Robrand, shouting protests. The ogre Robrand had pressed into guard service just looked utterly confused by the rush of events. Singe twisted around to face Chain. The bounty hunter looked almost as confused as the ogre—and, more importantly, frightened out of his wits, his arrogance crushed.

“Not exactly the job you thought, is it?” Singe asked him.

Chain’s lips drew back from his teeth. “Don’t mock me!”

“I’m not. Just listen to me.” He nodded toward Vennet as the ragged half-elf cursed and railed at Robrand and Tzaryan. “Once Vennet and Dah’mir have Dandra, they’re not going to need you and your dragonmark anymore. Here’s my offer: help us and we’ll take you when we escape.”

“You’re trying to trick me.” Chain clenched his teeth. “I could escape on my own.”

Singe bit back the desire to point out what a good job the big man had done of that so far. “Dol Arrah witness, this is no trick,” he said instead. “You’re as dead as we are.”

His ogre guard finally seemed to realize that something
was going on. “You talks!” he said. “Tzaryan says prisoners no talks!” He strode forward and slapped at Singe with a hand as big as a ham.

When Robrand had swatted him, he’d pulled his punch. The ogre made no such effort. The blow spun Singe around and laid him back out on the ground, his ears ringing. Dazed, the wizard heard Natrac and Orshok yell out and saw them strain forward against the grasps of their own guards.

Tzaryan’s voice rose over the ruins. “General, return to your place and see to the prisoners! Your suspicions are noted, but I trust Dah’mir to honor the agreement I have with him. Vennet, leave me alone and close your mouth before I have to apologize to Dah’mir for breaking your jaw. All of you get into the ruins with the prisoners! Dah’mir is waiting!”

Singe sat up as Vennet and Robrand both came back to them. Vennet looked ready to kill something. “Chain!” he snapped. “Hruucan! Into the tunnel!”

Robrand gestured for the ogre to get Singe on his feet, then sent him back to his place in the ranks. The old man took up a position beside Singe and pushed him forward toward the dark passage to Taruuzh Kraat. The orc torchbearer ran ahead of them to light their way; Natrac and Orshok and their guards followed behind. They passed beneath Tzaryan Rrac’s gaze in silence, then the ceiling of the passage rose above them and cut out the night sky. Tzaryan began ordering the squad of ogres forward in their wake. Singe heard a whisper of frightened prayer from Orshok.

“I hope you got what you wanted,” Robrand murmured. “I half-expected you to make a break for it before we got down here.”

“Can’t,” Singe said, working his tongue around his mouth. “We need to warn Dandra.” He spat out blood. “Twelve moons, I wish Geth was here.”

Robrand’s face twisted. “You can’t mean that.”

“If he was here, he’d be the one getting hit. He doesn’t mind taking punishment,” said Singe. He snorted and smiled. “And he can give it back. If there’s going to be a fight, Geth’s a good man to have beside—”

Something inside him lurched at the words coming out of his mouth. Words of respect. Words, Singe realized, that he truly
meant. He
did
wish Geth was there and not just to take blows instead of him.

He missed having the shifter at his back. The last week with Robrand had brought back so many old memories—good and bad—that he’d ignored new ones. The battle at the Bonetree mound. The defense of Bull Hollow. And what he’d chosen to remember of the old days, of the Frostbrand before Narath, hadn’t been exactly fair to Geth. For all that both he and Robrand had ignored it, the shifter had been in the background of virtually every reminiscence they’d shared. A bad, bad thing had happened at Narath—but there had been so many good things before and since.

Maybe Geth didn’t walk to talk about Narath, but abruptly Singe wasn’t so certain that—had he been in Geth’s place—he would want to talk either. And it wasn’t as if Geth felt nothing for his fallen comrades and the people of Narath. The look on his face when Singe had confronted him Bull Hollow, when he tried to talk to him in Bava’s studio, when he’d exposed his dark secret to Dandra and the others … Geth had been afraid. Geth had been ashamed.

Singe felt a pit open in his gut that was as black and cold as the tunnel around them. “Lords of the Host, Robrand, I’ve made a mistake. We’ve a mistake. Geth—”

The old man hissed. “Don’t tell me you’re defending him, Etan! He ran away! Tonight, just like in Narath. He ran and left you to hang!”

“He didn’t know Dah’mir was here any more than you did,” Singe said. His jaw tightened. “And I don’t know that he so much ran away as ran from us.” He looked at Robrand. “Neither of us have been exactly—”

Robrand punched him across the face, sending him staggering across the tunnel and into Orshok. The ogre holding the druid grabbed him as well, but all Singe could do was stare at his old commander in shock. Robrand’s face was flushed red with anger and he was breathing hard. “Don’t you defend him!” he said. “Don’t you
dare
defend him. He’s a coward. You know it as well as I do. Whatever Geth gets, he brought down on himself!”

Singe couldn’t even find the words to respond. Ahead of them, Vennet, Chain, and Hruucan turned to stare. Behind,
ogres stumbled to a confused stop. Robrand glared at all of them. “What are you stopping for?” he said, his voice echoing down the long passage. “Tzaryan company, eyes forward! Double march!” He strode forward, away from Singe and past Vennet. Even the half-elf looked startled, but he was swept along and carried away by the moving ogres before he could say anything.

Orshok’s ogre guard grumbled a curse at being left with two prisoners, but that didn’t stop him from marching along at a pace that left Singe stumbling. The orc torchbearer had hastened after Robrand, plunging the tunnel into a darkness broken only by the eerie flames and embers of Hruucan’s body. Orshok managed to lean close for a moment. “Singe, what was that?” he asked, his voice desperate. “Is this some plan?”

Stunned, Singe shook his head. If it was a plan, it wasn’t one of his! Had he just driven away their only solid ally? Twelve bloody moons, he thought, how can this get any worse?

I
t was difficult to tell how far or how long they traveled in the tunnel—their waddling pace made the distance seem to stretch on for leagues. Eventually, however, Ekhaas paused, blocking the passage. Beyond her, Geth could see an end to the stone walls of the tunnel. “What are you waiting for?” he growled. “Keep going!”

The hobgoblin bared her own sharp teeth back at him. “Have patience!” She twisted around in the tight space to look at them. “You enter a part of my people’s history,” she said. “What you see, only a few
chaat’oor
have seen anywhere. You will be the first to see it here. Respect it.”

She didn’t wait for a response, but just turned back and crawled forward out of the tunnel. Geth followed her, peering out cautiously, uncertain of what waited for them. The light that shone past him only made the shadows seem deeper. Even when he stepped out of the tunnel and stood up—gratefully stretching cramped limbs—the aisle of light revealed nothing more than an expanse of rocky floor. He looked for Ekhaas, a silent figure in the dark. “What’s so special about this?” he asked.

Torchlight blossomed as Dandra crawled out of the tunnel and stood up. Geth’s voice died in his throat and he stared around in amazement. Dandra let out a gasp. Ashi, emerging a moment later, swore out loud.

They stood on the edge of a long, tall cavern. Stone walls soared up over their heads, all of them covered with painted figures.

Crude but instantly recognizable, herds of animals raced
around the cavern, pursued by goblinoid figures. Hobgoblins and bugbears chased tribex, bison, and even mammoths, while goblins stalked smaller prey. Other scenes showed feasts, dancing, battles. Some showed rituals. Some showed monsters preying on the goblinoids: a dragon red as blood laid waste to a hobgoblin encampment with claw and fire.