The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II (6 page)

His voice matched the rest of him—dark, heavy, and threatening. Any doubts Dandra had about leaving Geth and Ashi behind vanished immediately. Chain was a walking challenge. She didn’t think either the shifter or the hunter could have even spoken to him without starting a fight.

There were two chairs before the table. Natrac took one and Singe gestured for Dandra to take the other. She seated herself, shifting her spear out of the way. There was a fourth chair, but it was occupied by the source—or so Dandra assumed—of the high-pitched voice she had heard before. A goblin crouched in the chair, his slight frame tensing as Dandra touched the shaft of her spear. Reddish eyes in a flat face the color of dirty parchment watched each of them closely. One of the small creature’s hands was hidden by an enormous account book. Dandra guessed that it was holding the dagger she had heard drawn. She made a show of moving her hand away from her spear and he relaxed. Slightly.

Chain sat back, his chair creaking under his weight, and looked
them over with such intensity that Dandra felt as though he was committing their appearances to memory.

As soon as Natrac had finished introducing himself and them, Chain asked, “So what do you want?”

Singe was just visible out of the corner of Dandra’s eye. She saw his face tighten. “Blunt, aren’t you?”

“People don’t hire me for my charm. You want charm, hire an elf.” The big man reached out and picked up a mug of
gaeth’ad
. “You want the best, hire me.”

Chain’s manners grated across Dandra’s nerves worse than Tetkashtai’s bitterness. “We didn’t say we wanted to hire you,” she said.

“Then you’re wasting my time.” Chain turned his head and nodded to the goblin. The little creature look back to the account book and began babbling in his harsh language as he ran thin fingers down a column of close-written text.

Natrac winced at the dismissal and shot Dandra a glare. She felt her stomach flinch—and Tetkashtai’s silent derision—at her misstep.

Natrac leaned forward.
“Poli
, Chain—my friend tends to talk before she thinks. We do want to hire you. We’re told you know the western barrens of Droaam better than anyone.”

“I know all of Droaam,” Chain said. The goblin paused as soon as his boss spoke, one finger still pressed against the account book.

“I’m sure of it,” Natrac agreed quickly. “But the west is really all that—”

“Just get to the point. Who do you want found?”

Natrac coughed. “Not who. What. We’re looking for a place.”

Chain’s eyes narrowed and he looked them over again as he drank from his mug. The goblin pursed his lips and spoke a few words. Chain nodded, his face darkening. He sat forward and slammed the mug down on the desk. “You’re treasure hunters.”

“What?” asked Dandra. “What makes you think we’re treasure hunters?”

“By the look of you, you’ve seen a lot of traveling very recently, but if you’re looking for some place in Droaam, you’re not finished yet. And you’re an unlikely mix—a well-dressed half-orc who’s
been through rough times, a kalashtar, and an Aundairian who, unless I’m wrong, has served with the Blademarks.”

Dandra saw Singe stiffen.

Chain snorted. “Don’t look surprised. You sweat Deneith discipline.” The bounty hunter leaned back and crossed his arms. “Treasure hunting and war are the only things that bring together a mix like that and as far as I know, the war is still over.”

“Fine,” said Singe. “Call us treasure hunters. Does it make a difference?”

“Rates go up. I help you, I get a cut of whatever you find.” Singe raised his head and gave Chain a hard look. “That’s mercenary.”

“You’ve worked for Deneith. You should know all about that.” Chain rubbed a rough hand across his chin. “What’s on the schedule, Preesh?”

The goblin flipped ahead in the account book, checked a column, and said in words Dandra understood, “You’re clear.”

Chain leaned across the desk. “Tell me more.”

Natrac glanced at Singe and Dandra, then looked back to Chain. “Have you ever heard of a place called the Spires of the Forge?”

Chain rapped his fingers against the tabletop. “Ten silver,” he said.

“What?”

“Ten silver,” Chain repeated. “Sovereigns, trade bits, matching weights—I don’t care. You’ve just asked me a question. You want an answer, it’s ten silver.”

“You said to tell you more,” Dandra protested.

“Tell, not ask.”

“Ten sovereigns is a steep price for a simple answer,” said Singe. “Either you’ve heard of the place or you haven’t.”

Chain picked up his mug and took another drink. “You’re taking up my time,” he said. “A man needs to eat and Preesh doesn’t work cheap. Ten silver could clear this all up right away.”

Singe grumbled under his breath and looked to Natrac. The half-orc reached into a pouch and produced ten silver sovereigns, pushing them across the table to Chain. “There,” he said. “Now—have you heard of the Spires of the Forge?”

The big man scooped up the coins. “No.”

Dandra stared at him. “No?” she said in shock.

Chain shrugged. “Never heard of them.” He raised his heavy eyebrows. “They were what you were looking for?”

“Yes!”

“Then we’ve just saved ourselves a lot of trouble.” He drank again.

Dandra rose to her feet, fury and the close air of the
gaeth’ad
house making her head pound. “You just took our money!”

“You paid for an answer. I gave it to you,” the big man said. “Don’t blame me if it’s not the answer you wanted to hear.” He remained seated but the goblin had tensed again.

Singe put a hand on her shoulder. “Easy,” he said. “He’s right.”

She could tell from the sound of his voice that he wasn’t happy either. She glared at Chain. “What about the Hall of the Revered? Have you heard of that or is it going to cost us another ten sovereigns?”

Chain’s shoulders tightened, making his muscles bulge. “I’ll throw it in for free,” he said. “No. I’ve never heard of the Spires of the Forge
or
the Hall of the Revered.”

“Thank you,” said Natrac. The half-orc rose quickly. “We’ll be on our way, then. Maybe someone else—”

Chain moved with a speed that shocked even Dandra, surging up out of his chair to lean across the table and snap in Natrac’s face. “You try,” he said. “You just try. But here’s another free answer: if I haven’t heard of a place in Droaam, then it doesn’t exist. You ask any other bounty hunter, prospector, or scout and they’re not going to be able to help you either. You’ve already come to the best. If I can’t help you, nobody can!” Natrac flinched back. Chain flung up an arm, pointing back out of the
gaeth’ad
house. “Get out.”

“I—” Natrac started to say, but Singe grabbed the half-orc with his other arm and hauled both him and Dandra away. Dandra caught a last glimpse of Chain as the big bounty hunter slammed himself back down into his chair. Curious faces peered at them as they hastened out of the house and back into the herb market.

“Twelve bloody moons!” cursed Singe. “What a—”

“What a
dahr!”
said Dandra through clenched teeth. She looked at Natrac. “Do you think he was lying?”

He shook his head. “That was business, Dandra. He had no reason to lie.”

“What about trying other people? Do you think it was just his ego talking when he said no one else would know anything?”

“It doesn’t look like he would admit to having rivals, does it?” said Natrac. He shrugged. “There’s no harm in trying to find other sources, but Chain
was
supposed to be the best in the city right now. If he doesn’t know, maybe House Tharashk isn’t the answer.”

“We were only gambling that Tharashk would have the answers we need, Dandra,” Singe pointed out. “There’s still Natrac’s historian.”

Dandra took a deep breath, trying to cool her rage at Chain’s grating manners, and lifted her chin. “But we’re gambling on that, too, aren’t we?” she said with determination. “I’m not going to give up on Tharashk that easily. I don’t think Chain knows as much as he thinks he does.”

“We’ve got time to ask around.” Singe squinted up at the sun, still high in the sky. “We’re not supposed to meet Geth and Ashi for a long while yet.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Twelve moons, we might as well have had them with us all along!”

Dandra glanced at him. “I don’t think that would have helped.”

“No, but I would have enjoyed watching them beat down Chain. That would have been worth ten sovereigns.” He smiled wistfully.

“Do you really think we fooled them?” asked Ashi.

“Probably,” said Geth as they moved through the crowds on one of Zarash’ak’s broader streets. The sun was high; the day was hot. He, the hunter, and Orshok had lingered at Natrac’s house well after the others had gone. Geth had luxuriated in the shade of the canopy on Natrac’s rooftop, napping on a stomach full of bread and honey and grateful for the first day in weeks that there was no need to paddle a boat or hike across country. He twisted as he walked, loosening muscles that had been knotted for too long and added, “Singe likes to think he’s clever.”

“He
is
clever,” Orshok pointed out.

Geth gave the young orc a glare but bared his teeth in a grin, too. “When you’ve known Singe for as long as I have, you get used to him. You can tell when he’s up to something. I would have known he was trying to get rid of us even you hadn’t said anything, Orshok.”

The druid looked vaguely disappointed. “You would have?”

“A clever man is most vulnerable when he’s trying to be clever. Someone wise told me that.”

“Who?” asked Orshok suspiciously.

“Robrand d’Deneith, the man who recruited me and Singe into the Frostbrand company of the Blademarks when we were your age. One of the greatest commanders to ever lead a Blademarks company.” Geth let out a little snarl of satisfaction. “He had Singe figured out. The old man could keep him in knots if he wanted to.”

Ashi’s face darkened. “So we fooled Singe by doing exactly what he wanted us to do?” She looked down at Geth. “How is that outwitting him?”

“Because we chose to do this ourselves.” He stretched his arms out in the bright sunlight. His ancient Dhakaani sword was a weight at his side, but he’d left his great gauntlet behind. There was no need for it and the day was too pleasant to worry about armor. “I like House Tharashk—they tend to be more honest than other dragonmarked houses—but I don’t want to spend all day going from tavern to tavern talking to them.”

“That was Singe’s argument, too,” said Orshok. “We’re doing what he wanted for exactly the reason he said we should.”

Geth opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. He gave Orshok another glare. This time the orc smiled. So did Ashi. Geth glowered. “Come on,” he grumbled, “Let’s see what we can see.”

They followed the crowds, less out of any random choice than out of another principle handed down by Robrand d’Deneith: where there were people, there would be something interesting. Geth’s old commander’s wisdom didn’t fail them. They wandered through a market where merchants from beyond the Shadow Marches offered the finest items from across Khorvaire. They passed a theater where criers called out the coming evening’s bill, while mummers on the other side of
the street gave a show for thrown coins. At a shrine dedicated to the Sovereign Host, they stopped and went inside so that Orshok and Ashi could marvel at a faith unfamiliar to both of them. Geth stood by the door, nodding to the priests tending the shrine, as the druid and the hunter stared at the shining images of the nine gods.

Orshok gave him a solemn look as they left the shrine. “When the daelkyr came from Xoriat to invade Eberron during the Daelkyr War, the Gatekeepers fought them. We sealed the gates to Xoriat and bound the surviving daelkyr in Khyber. What did the Sovereign Host do?”

“I don’t—” Geth ground his teeth together. “Ask Singe. He’s the clever one. Who’s hungry?”

The streets of Zarash’ak were dotted with vendors selling cheap food that people bought and carried with them, eating as they walked. Geth had seen the process when they had been in Zarash’ak before: he led Ashi and Orshok to one stall where they bought thick rounds of
ashi
bread, then on to another to buy roast vegetables or spicy grilled meat to stuff inside. The meat was snake—Orshok insisted on checking stalls until he found some that he declared fresh enough to eat. The orc tending the grill gave them a hearty grin and extra slatherings of the hot and sour sauce that spiced the meat.

The sauce numbed Geth’s mouth and brought tears to Orshok’s eyes, but Ashi just ate her meal in solemn silence as they wandered. Geth recognized this area of Zarash’ak—they were heading toward the deep water docks where ships coming up from the ocean found berths. If they wanted news of the world beyond the Shadow Marches, this would be a good place to find it. His eyes were on Ashi, however. Her body was tense, her posture guarded. Geth frowned over his food, “Is something wrong?” he asked her.

The tall woman’s face twisted. She answered with blunt honesty. “I don’t like cities.”

Geth look around them as he took another bite of food. For all that Zarash’ak was an isolated island of civilization, it was also the only city of any size in the Shadow Marches—in the whole southwest of the continent of Khorvaire, in fact—and attracted an astounding diversity of inhabitants and visitors. The crowd on
the street was made up mostly of humans, orcs, and half-orcs, but there were also elves and halflings and bandy-legged goblins. He could even spot another shifter on occasion, striding confidently among the other races. Their trio of orc, shifter, and human savage wasn’t at all out of place.