The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II (49 page)

“Don’t do this,” she said.

“If I don’t,” hissed Tetkashtai, “what is there for me to go back to?” She stepped into the air and slid forward. Dandra matched her, gliding backward. They moved faster and faster with each exchange of blows until the wind of their momentum shrieked around them.

“We’re stronger together!” Dandra shouted over it. “That’s why you created me!”

“Would you go back to being a psicrystal? Would you go back to being all but powerless, a prisoner unable to do anything but wait for your doom to catch up with you?” Tetkashtai twisted suddenly, sweeping low with her spear. The shaft of the weapon caught the back of Dandra’s knees and knocked her feet out from under her. Dandra fell, momentum sending her tumbling across the flat earth. She caught a glimpse of Tetkashtai leaping high and flung herself to the side just as her creator’s spear stabbed down. It pierced the ground where her head had been an instant before. Tetkashtai yanked it free and whirled to face her again.

“Would you give up Singe?” she snarled through clenched teeth. Dandra’s heart caught. Tetkashtai’s lips drew back. “No? Then why should I give up my life, my body for someone—for
something
that isn’t even really a kalashtar? That scarcely knows what being a kalashtar means? That would use one of us as a weapon against another?”

Dandra rose to a crouch, spear held low in one hand. “Virikhad and Medala?” she asked. “Tetkashtai, I’ve told you, I did what I had to! Medala would have killed Singe, Geth, Batul—everyone—and handed us to Dah’mir to become like her. Virikhad …” She took a breath, trying to calm herself, to find her focus. “I’m sorry I had to use Virikhad that way, but the situation was desperate.”

“Then you’ll understand how I feel right now!” Tetkashtai threw herself forward.

Dandra flung up her hand. Within her mind, her powers came freely.
Vayhatana
rippled through the air in a wave, caught Tetkashtai, and sent her sprawling backward. Dandra dropped
her spear and stood, gesturing as she wove a web of force to hold her other self. Tetkashtai struggled, then looked up sharply. The droning chorus of whitefire rang in Dandra’s ears. Pale flames burst around her and she gasped. Her web of
vayhatana
vanished. Tetkashtai rushed at her, fingers curled like talons. “This body
will
be mine again!”

Dandra caught her hands, twining her fingers against Tetkashtai’s. Whitefire leaped from her to Tetkashtai. Dandra met her creator’s eyes and the mad terror that burned in them. “Please,” she said one last time.

Tetkashtai’s answer was a scream.

Dandra raised her chin. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to do this.”

She seized the fire and drew it into herself. All of it.

The screaming stopped. The only thoughts in Dandra’s head were her own. The yellow-green crystal that hung around her neck was a prison no longer. She opened her eyes and glared at Dah’mir. There was shock on his face but he hadn’t moved at all—her confrontation with Tetkashtai had taken place at the speed of thought. She was aware of everyone around, paused in amazement, but all of her attention was on Dah’mir. Dandra’s lips curled in disgust and anger at the dragon. “You
dahr,”
she whispered.

“This isn’t possible,” said Dah’mir. His shock flared into rage and he roared, “This isn’t possible!” He reared back and his head almost brushed the ceiling of the great chamber. “You are mine! Submit to me!”

She should have felt the tidal rush of his presence, but she didn’t feel anything at all. It was as if something stood between her and Dah’mir, shielding her completely from his terrible power. Dandra looked into Dah’mir’s acid-green eyes and felt only rage at what he had done to her, to Tetkashtai, to Medalashana and Virikhad—at what he would do to other kalashtar if he had the chance.

If he had the chance.

For the first time since Dah’mir had torn her and Tetkashtai apart, powers that had been sundered were hers to command. With a thought, the chorus of whitefire swelled and throbbed on the
air. Dandra heard ogres shout in fear. Dah’mir’s acid-green eyes flared. His powerful body tensed and his growl was like thunder.
“You think you can destroy me?”

“I don’t need to destroy you,” Dandra said. She wrenched her eyes from Dah’mir and down to Vennet at his side. To the ancient box at Vennet’s feet.

Her arm snapped around and flung the torch she had gripped for so long. As it left her hand, it exploded with whitefire, psionic flames consuming the wood in an instant. She channeled all of her rage, fear, and hatred into the blast of flame and the whitefire roared with a focused heat hot enough to burn stone as it streaked toward Taruuzh’s deadly treasure. Vennet shrieked and flung up his arms—

Faster than she would have thought possible, Dah’mir lunged and twisted around, trying to shield the binding stones.

Fire spattered like water against dark scales, filling the air with a burning spray and the stink of charred flesh. Dah’mir’s howl of pain was like a living thing. It shook the air and seemed to shake the cavern itself.

But the dragon wasn’t the only one to howl. In instant, Geth had seized the confusion—with a bellow of rage, the shifter threw himself at Chuut, byeshk sword whirling, steel gauntlet punching. The ogre lieutenant fell back before him, bashing away with his mace, but Geth was fast. He rolled under the ogre’s blow and came up swinging, forcing Chuut back even further.

All around Dandra, Tzaryan’s other ogres had forgotten their discipline entirely. Two … three … half a dozen … abruptly all the ogres were fleeing from the fire and the howls, and Robrand was turning around and around, shouting at them to return to their positions. He might as well have shouted at the wind. The ogres fled for the stairs out of the great chamber and the long passage back to the surface, their big feet pounding the stone in desperate flight. Even the orc slave who had been carrying Robrand’s torches dropped the fiery brands and fled. The already dim light in the chamber flashed crazily as the torches rolled and skipped across the ground.

The screaming battle cry of the Bonetree hunters rose behind her. Dandra swung around to see Ashi—her body strangely striped in the feeble, flickering light—leap for Tzaryan Rrac, snatching
her sword from the ground as she moved. The blade made a bright arc in the air. Forced to dance away from the hunter’s attack, the arm that the ogre mage had pointed at Dandra’s back instead swung wildly. Frost sprayed from his fingertips and one of the few ogres who had stood his ground cried out and fell, ice coating his shoulders and chest. Just a pace away, Robrand stared and threw himself back. Tzaryan cursed—and Ashi struck, her sword plunging into his side. She jerked it free.

Blood spurted for a moment, then stopped as the wound in Tzaryan’s side healed over. Dandra saw Ashi’s eyes open in disbelief. Tzaryan bared black teeth in an evil grin and drew a heavy sword, returning Ashi’s attack.

“Dah’mir!” Hruucan’s voice was harsh rasp. Dandra swung about again. The fiery dolgaunt crouched by Ekhaas and Singe, tentacles whipping the air as if he was torn between loyalty to his master and his revenge on Singe. He lunged at Singe, and Dandra felt the wizard’s name rise to her lips—

—then Hruucan was past Singe and hurling himself at her, kicking off from the ground and spinning through the air. Dandra’s cry turned into a gasp. Her hand came up, the chorus of whitefire pulsed, and pale flame washed over Hruucan.

It didn’t even slow him down. If anything, it only made the fire that sprang from his burned body stronger. Hissing tentacles flailed at Dandra and she spun her spear desperately, catching them on the shaft. The wood charred and acrid smoke stung her nose and her eyes. Dandra skimmed backward on the air, but Hruucan was as fast as she was and followed close, hands and tentacles feinting and striking. Dandra blocked and slid aside, then released the whitefire and thrust out hard with
vayhatana
.

A rippling wave flung Hruucan halfway across the chamber, but he just twisted in midair, landed on his feet, and sprinted forward again.

Song so sharp it seemed to raise the dust from the floor burst around him and he stumbled to the side, clutching at his head. Ekhaas gave Dandra a fierce grin. At the hobgoblin’s side, Singe shouted, “Ashi! Back!” His fingers traced a sign in the air and an arcane word hissed on his tongue.

Ashi flung herself away, leaving Tzaryan Rrac to turn to the wizard—and the gout of orange flame that burst from his hand.
Tzaryan yelled and staggered, his sword falling from a burned arm that showed no sign of healing.

For an instant, Dandra felt a moment of triumph.

Then Ekhaas shouted and flung up an arm. Dandra whirled around.

Dah’mir’s twisted body was uncoiling. His wings rattled, his tail slapped the ground. His legs pushed. His body rose. His neck twisted and he turned his head and looked at her. The whitefire hadn’t left him unmarked. One of his luminous acid-green eyes was dim and smoky and a long black wound had been seared down his neck, across his shoulder, and along his flank. His scales had been burned away along that stripe and his flesh still smoked. It was an injury that might have killed a lesser creature, but Dah’mir was still very much alive.

Dandra flung her spear away and raised both hands, reaching for the whitefire once more, trying to summon up the angry power that she had before.

“No,” spat Vennet, ducking out from behind Dah’mir’s rising bulk. “Not this time!” Eyes narrowed in a face smudged by ash.

Wind blasted at Dandra, pushing her floating body back through the air. Dandra tried to get her feet back on the ground, but she was too slow. The power of Vennet’s dragonmark thrust her right into Ashi. For a moment, she and the hunter fought against each other to keep their balance, then both fell in the buffeting wind. The chorus of whitefire vanished and Dandra caught a glimpse of Vennet baring his teeth in fierce triumph.

On the ground beside him was Taruuzh’s ancient box, utterly untouched. Dandra’s heart seemed to stop and all she could do was stare at Dah’mir as he stretched up, wounded and angry and terrible.

Until a clashing of metal on metal that she had almost forgotten ended in the thud of a fallen body and a sharp cry cut short. On the platform where the grieving tree had stood, Geth ripped his sword from the ruin of Chuut’s throat and stood tall over the ogre’s corpse. His gauntleted arm hung limp and new blood soaked his already gore-matted hair, but he raised his face and lifted Wrath.

“Dah’mir!” he shouted.

The dragon swung around. Geth bared his teeth, flung himself
across the platform and, at the very edge, leaped high, swinging Wrath as he hurtled straight for Dah’mir’s broad chest and the Khyber shard embedded there.

Dah’mir’s good eye opened wide in genuine fear—and his body abruptly seemed to fold in on itself and shrink. His hind legs shriveled, his tail vanished, and his forelegs shifted up and merged with wings that suddenly bore black feathers. When less than a moment before a dragon had stood, a heron beat wide wings and flapped high. Geth shouted and twisted around, struggling to swing his sword at this new target, but Dah’mir was already too high. As Geth slammed hard into the ground and rolled, the heron dipped its wings and circled. Dah’mir’s oil-smooth voice emerged from the bird’s beak. “Vennet, get the box! We have all we’ll need. It’s time to leave!”

Alarm rolled through Dandra even as Vennet snatched up the box and Dah’mir settled down on top of it. “No!” she shouted, thrusting herself to her feet—at the same moment as Tzaryan roared out, “You’re leaving me?” and Hruucan rasped, “Dah’mir! My revenge!”

The heron only answered one of them. “Take your revenge, Hruucan, and my revenge as well.” A green eye flashed and Dah’mir added something in a language Dandra didn’t recognize, a language that seemed to sting her ears, then he spread his wings and spoke a word of magic. Among the feathers on one wing, a red dragonshard flared and went dim. Shadows wrapped around Dah’mir and Vennet—and they vanished.

Tzaryan lunged for the spot where they had stood, still roaring curses but Hruucan … Hruucan turned slowly, as if surveying the chamber and those who remained in it. Flames crawled across his body. His fiery tentacles drifted almost lazily in the air. His voice grated and crackled like flame itself. “Revenge …” he said. His gaze settled on Singe and his mouth split in a smile.

He burst into motion, tentacles snapping forward to seize Singe. The wizard, already weak, cried out, his cry dropping quickly into a horrible moan. Ekhaas, still burdened by Natrac, shrank away, but started to open her mouth in song. Without releasing Singe, Hruucan lashed out with a kick that knocked her back, sent Natrac tumbling out of her arms, and left a scorched mark on her leather armor. “You’re next!” he promised
her. His eyeless face sought out Dandra. “Then you!”

Fear stabbed through Dandra—not for herself, but for Singe. For all of them. Hruucan seemed unstoppable. Whitefire didn’t affect the already burned dolgaunt.
Vayhatana
could throw him away, but he’d just come back. Hruucan was as fast as she was, faster than Ekhaas, and she had a terrible feeling that anyone without Singe’s ring who came into the dolgaunt’s grasp would not last as long as the wizard had. Dandra’s eyes darted around the chamber. Orshok and Natrac were still down. Ashi was struggling back to her feet. Geth, stunned by his impact with the ground, was staggering as new blood rushed down his face.