The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II (50 page)

Even Tzaryan looked frightened by Hruucan’s intensity. The ogre mage met her gaze and thrust a hand at the ogre frozen by his misaimed spell. “If I hadn’t wasted that on him, I might have been able to do something!”

A desperate idea formed in Dandra’s mind. Light of il-Yannah, she thought, let me be right about this! Stepping into the air, she flung up a hand, spun out a web of
vayhatana
—and wrapped it around Singe’s sagging body.

Hruucan must have recognized the touch of her power. His tentacles loosened instantly, leaving only wisps of flame to be devoured by Singe’s ring, and leaped away with a frustrated shriek. He spun to face Dandra, but she already had what she wanted.

With all of her will, she wrenched on the invisible streams of
vayhatana
, pulling at Singe as hard as she had thrust at Hruucan earlier. Singe’s body jerked into a blur of motion that ripped a startled cry out of him. Quick as thought, Dandra skimmed backward as fast as she could, flinging herself back into the passage that had been their refuge and dragging Singe—still hurtling through the air—with her.

Out in the chamber, Hruucan screamed. “He’s mine!”

“Come get him!” Dandra shouted back. She caught a glimpse of the dolgaunt surging after her—then the floor fell away under her heels and in the instant that she tried to adjust to the uneven surface of the stairs, Singe’s body hammered into hers.

The impact knocked her over and they both went crashing down the stairs. Dandra reached out with her mind, grabbing at the walls as they rushed past—and at Singe as he tumbled with her. Stones bashed her arms and legs, bruising her to the bone.
Singe yelled out once, then grunted and gasped, his limbs flailing. Solid ground hit Dandra hard in the chest. Singed slammed down beside and across her. The heel of a boot was like a fist in her back. For a second, it seemed that she couldn’t breath, but she forced her arms to move, to push against the ground, to flip her over as fire flared above, the only light in the darkness.

Hruucan was on the stairs and rushing down at her like an explosion, his face a mask of hatred. Dandra grabbed for Singe and held on tight as she pushed hard against the base of the stairs with all of her fading mental strength.

The stone was unyielding. The rough floor scrapped at Dandra’s legs as she and Singe shot backward—and into the chamber that held Taruuzh’s tomb.

The howls of the ghost, stirred back to rage by Dah’mir’s presence above, rose to a pitch. Frigid wind seized them instantly, dragging another gasp from Singe. His eyes snapped open in shock and he sucked in a choking breath. “Dandra! What—?”

He didn’t have a chance to finish and Dandra didn’t have a chance to reply. Caught up in his pursuit, Hruucan came plunging through the door and across the chamber. Dandra felt the heat of him flash across her face.

Taruuzh’s howls broke—then reformed. Words emerged from the wind, harsh and unearthly. Dandra hadn’t been able to understand what the ghost had said before and she still couldn’t, but his voice held such anger that it seemed to freeze her spirit. She clung to Singe and he clung to her, both of them watching as the ghost recognized his true enemy.

Hruucan’s voice rose in a scream as icy winds sucked the heat from his flames. It seemed to Dandra that he tried to fight back—one unliving thing struggling against another—but there was nothing for him to attack and nothing for him to burn. The fire of his tentacles swirled and streamed away. The light of his flames vanished, but a cold glow filled the air like moonlight on a winter night.

Hruucan staggered and turned like someone lost in a storm. The fluid motion of his limbs turned stiff and ungainly, until Dandra couldn’t be certain whether he was still moving himself or if he was just a burned corpse held upright by the wind. Taruuzh’s
rage didn’t stop, though. The rushing air scoured at Hruucan’s charred flesh and a black blizzard of ash filled the chamber. Dandra choked and covered her mouth and eyes, pressing Singe’s face against her body to shield him. Big pieces of something brittle and light fluttered across her like a storm of moths.

Then the howling wind was calm. The chamber was silent. The air that touched her was sharp in its chill, but not biting. Dandra opened her eyes and lifted her head. In her arms, Singe did the same.

Ashes lay in the crevices of the chamber and in the lee of their bodies like drifts of dark snow. The moonlight glow of the air caught on a slowly settling haze of fine dust. Hruucan had been torn apart.

In front of Taruuzh’s tomb, a hobgoblin stood watching them, his body gray and translucent like old ice. His mouth moved and sighing words of Goblin stirred the ash. Dandra still couldn’t understand them, though there no longer seemed to be anger in them. It didn’t appear that the ghost cared whether she understood or not. His voice sighed once more, then he seemed to drift apart like warm breath on cold air.

The light faltered and faded with him. In the darkness, Singe found his voice. “Twelve moons,” he croaked. “Are we still alive?”

Dandra kissed him.

T
hey left the chamber of Taruuzh’s tomb and climbed back up the stairs by the glow of a light conjured by Singe, each of them leaning on the other for support. As Singe’s light finally flashed on the roof and walls of the upper passage, Ashi’s voice echoed down to them.
“Rond betch!
You’re alive! What happened to Hruucan?”

“Taruuzh got in another battle against the servants of Xoriat,” said Dandra.

She mounted the last few steps then gratefully reached for Ashi’s hand as the hunter extended her arm. She couldn’t hold back a gasp of surprise, though, at the sight of Ashi’s skin. What she had glimpsed as shadowy stripes in the chaos of combat were actually bold and colorful lines that patterned her arms and her face.

“Il-Yannah, Ashi! That’s a dragonmark!”

“It’s a Siberys dragonmark,” Singe said, accepting the support of Ashi’s other arm. “The Siberys mark of Sentinel. I don’t think there’s going to be any question of whether you’re part of House Deneith now, Ashi.”

Ashi looked at Dandra. “It just happened,” she said. “When Dah’mir called you to him, I tried to stop you but I couldn’t quite reach you. I wanted to protect you more than anything else—and suddenly it was like something woke up inside me. It felt like I burned my fingers where I touched you, but instead …”

Dandra remembered the brush of the hunter’s touch on her
back. She drew a long breath. “You did protect me, Ashi. Whatever power is in that dragonmark, it was enough to break Dah’mir’s hold on me.”

“And Tetkashtai’s hold on your powers?”

The breath Dandra had drawn hissed out. “Not exactly,” she said slowly.

Singe blinked. “Don’t tell me it reversed what Dah’mir did to you?” He stiffened. “No—if it had, you’d be Tetkashtai.”

Dandra raised her chin. “I’m not,” she said, then touched the dead crystal around her neck. “Not much anyway. I started out as part of Tetkashtai—now she’s part of me. I absorbed her.”

“She’s dead?”

“Only the worst of her.”

“Twelve bloody moons.”

They emerged into the great chamber of Taruuzh Kraat and Dandra stared at the scene revealed as Singe’s magical light joined guttering torchlight. Tzaryan Rrac, his chest and arm still burned, and Robrand d’Deneith, his face pale and his eyes hard, had their backs against the platform where the grieving tree had stood, held at bay by Geth. Wrath’s blade reflected only a dull purple gleam. Natrac, looking drained and weak, leaned against the platform as well, while on top of it, Ekhaas crouched over Orshok. As Dandra watched, she pressed a hand to the young orc’s chest and lifted her head in song. Once again, Dandra felt the raw energy of the
duur’kala’s
magic tug at her. Orshok spasmed and he cried out, but Ekhaas looked satisfied.

“He’ll survive,” she said.

Singe choked and cursed again. “Geth, what are you doing?”

“Holding prisoners,” the shifter growled. Singe let go of Ashi’s arm and staggered over to him.

“You’re not holding anybody,” he said. “First—that’s Robrand.” The wizard pulled Geth’s sword arm down, then pointed at Tzaryan. “Second—he’s an ogre mage. He can fly. Your sword’s not stopping him.”

Geth looked confused, then bared his teeth. “What’s he still doing here then?”

“I didn’t become a warlord of Droaam by not knowing when to talk instead of fight,” said Tzaryan. He drew himself up straight and his black eyes glittered. “Dah’mir abandoned me. I can’t
forgive that. You’re no friends to me, but it seems to me that the greatest revenge I can inflict on him is to let you go.”

“Let
us
go?” asked Geth. He started to raise his sword, but Singe pushed it down again.

“Agreed,” he said. He stepped aside and gestured for the ogre mage to leave. Tzaryan bent his head.

“I’ll leave horses and your gear by the gates of my keep. Take them and ride. I don’t want to see you again.” He looked at Ekhaas and added, “You would be wise to go, too. My ogres are going to have orders to kill you on sight.”

Ekhaas’s ears stood up straight and her hand twitched toward her sword, but Tzaryan turned his back on her and strode toward the stairs out of the great chamber. After a few paces, though, he paused and glanced over his shoulder, frowning. “General, aren’t you coming with me?”

Dandra saw surprise pass over Robrand’s face. “My lord? I failed you.”

“My ogres failed me, General,” said Tzaryan. “They ran. You’re still here.”

Robrand stiffened and stood tall. “My feelings for Etan led me to conceal what I knew of his purpose here, my lord.”

Tzaryan’s eyes narrowed. “You said that you had given them no information or aid to dishonor our contract. Is that the truth?”

Robrand nodded tightly.

Tzaryan’s wide mouth curved into a somber frown. “Knowledge is gold to those who value it,” he said, “and I value what the lords of Deneith would cast aside. But your old command is gone, Robrand. I expect your full loyalty. Say your farewells.”

Robrand gave him another curt nod and turned to Singe. To Dandra it seemed that the hard, cold man she had first met in Vralkek had returned—the warm friend who had shared stories with them on the road was gone once more. Singe seemed to see that change, too. For a moment, he looked lost. “Robrand,” he said, “you don’t have to stay. Come with us. I understand why you didn’t think you could do anything—”

The old man’s lined face tightened. “If you understood, Etan, you wouldn’t speak of it. I have a contract to honor. And you—” His eyes darted past Singe to rest briefly on Geth. “—you have friends.”

Singe’s lips pressed together for a moment, then he stood respect and bent his head. “It was a pleasure to serve with you, commander,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You are the most honorable man I’ve ever known.”

An image of Geth, bound and bloodied in Tzaryan’s dungeon, rose in Dandra’s memory and anger made her catch her breath. Geth, though, glanced over his shoulder and shook his head sharply. Don’t say anything, he mouthed silently. Dandra reached out and touched his mind with
kesh. Why not?
she demanded.

Because Singe doesn’t need to know right now
, Geth told her.
He’s already saying good-bye to a hero
.

Dandra watched Robrand return Singe’s nod—and turn away, falling in at Tzaryan’s side and climbing out of the great chamber without saying anything more. Pain filled Singe’s eyes as he watched his old commander go. Dandra’s anger faded. She stepped forward and put her hand on Singe’s shoulder. “We should leave, too,” she said.

The night was cool when they stepped out of Taruuzh Kraat. Dandra, Geth, and Ekhaas stared in amazement at the open trench that the entrance to ancient ruins had become. “Dah’mir,” Singe said wearily.

“Khaavolaar,”
said Ekhaas.

Singe looked out into the night. Dah’mir’s herons were gone, perhaps after their vanished master. Tzaryan and Robrand were already distant figures, well on their way back to the looming bulk of Tzaryan Keep. The old man and the ogre mage had made much better time through the long passage than their wounded group had. He looked back at the others and counted the toll that their confrontation had taken. He felt weak, his very spirit lashed by Hruucan’s draining touch. Dandra was battered and bruised and looked utterly exhausted. Geth was as bloody as a surgeon and held his gauntlet arm gingerly. Natrac looked pale and drained. Thanks to Ekhaas’s magic, Orshok was conscious again, but the druid would need more healing before he could walk—Ekhaas and Ashi carried him between them. Only the hunter and the hobgoblin had escaped injury.