The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III (29 page)

A flick of her wrist could have pulled the rag away and ended his attempt at escape, but she didn’t move. Natrac glared at her. “If you’re waiting for me to reach for it before you pull it away, you’ll be disappointed.” he said. “I’m not going to play that game.”

“You want out badly, don’t you, Natrac?” the half-elf asked. “I suppose I would too. Biish will be back to see you sooner or later.” Her eyes fell on the broken cover of the spy hole, and her lips twitched a little more. “Finding out that he missed that little secret isn’t going to improve his mood.”

Natrac took a step to the side, blocking the compartment from her view. A desperate hope made his heart beat a little faster. Benti wouldn’t have come back if she didn’t want something—and he didn’t think she would be bringing up the possibility of escape if it weren’t a prize she’d at least consider offering.

Maybe she was just dangling hope of freedom in front of him, the way she dangled the rag, but he had to take that chance. He had to get back to the upper city and warn Dandra about
what was coming. He looked up, met Benti’s gaze, and thrust his tusks forward defiantly.
“Dagga
, I want out,” he said. “Not just because of Biish though. If you’re still interested in ‘Lord Storm,’ I’ll tell you what I know—for a price.”

Her lips straightened into a humorless line. “I can guess that price. How do I know I’ll get the truth from you?”

“How do I know you’ll let me go?” He moved closer to the bars, choosing his words carefully. “Do you know what Biish is going to do for Storm? Have you found out about the second part of his plan, the part he wouldn’t discuss in front of you?”

“He’s going to kidnap kalashtar.” Benti said it with the bluntness of someone who cared about no one but herself. Natrac’s stomach turned at the thought that once he had spoken in exactly the same way.

“Do you know why?” he asked.

“Ransom. Blackmail. Maybe Storm wants the kalashtar to use their powers for him. I don’t know.”

“Storm follows a Cult of the Dragon Below,” Natrac said. “He’s working with a dragon—a true dragon—named Dah’mir. They’re going to twist the kalashtar they kidnap into servants of a daelkyr. Do you know what a daelkyr is?”

Benti’s eyes hardened. “Aye. A ghost that orc mothers use to frighten their children.” She pulled back her arm sharply. The rag slithered out between the bars of the window before Natrac could even grab for it. Benti leaned close, her teeth snapping around her words. “Do you think I’m stupid, Natrac? I don’t want to hear folk tales. I want to hear about Storm.”

Anger fell over Natrac. He thrust himself at the cell door, grabbing the bars with his good hand. “Do you think
I’m
stupid, Benti? Do you think I’d come back to Sharn without a good reason?” He shoved the stump of his wrist up so that Benti was forced to look at the scar-smooth flesh. “Storm did this. His real name is Vennet d’Lyrandar and he’s as crazy as a bat!”

“Vennet?” The harshness of Benti’s face seemed to shift, smoothing out into an expression of curious surprise. “Is he the captain of a Lyrandar ship called Lightning-something?”

Surprise wiped the anger from Natrac’s mind as well.
“Lightning on Water,”
he said. “You’ve heard of her?”

“She vanished two months ago on her way to Zilargo with …
an important passenger on board.” She looked at him sharply. “What do you know about it?”

“I know that she didn’t vanish. Vennet turned her around and sailed to Zarash’ak.” Old instincts tugged at Natrac’s mind in warning, and he took a step back from the bars. There was something different in the set of Benti’s mouth abruptly, an intensity that hadn’t been there before. Her voice was different too, uncaring selfishness replaced by a kind of devotion. “Who are you?” Natrac asked.

“Never mind that,” said Benti. “What about
Lightning on Water
and Vennet d’Lyrandar?”

The question had the weight of a command. Natrac kept his eyes on Benti, but quickly described what he and the others had learned after freeing Vennet’s crew from Dah’mir’s control in Zarash’ak. How Dah’mir had appeared on
Lightning on Water
and made some sort of deal with Vennet. How the treacherous captain had slain the ship’s passengers while Dah’mir exerted control over the crew. How the ship had been turned back to Zarash’ak so that Vennet and Dah’mir could travel into the heart of the Shadow Marches—

Benti cut him off. “Where’s
Lightning on Water
now?”

“Lost somewhere between Vralkek and Sharn. The last time we saw Vennet, he said that he and Dah’mir had destroyed her.” Natrac studied her, then added, “Do you believe me now? That’s only a part of the story. I’d tell you more except—”

“Except you don’t have time.” Benti’s mouth settled into a thin line once more. “I don’t know if I believe you about this daelkyr, but dusk is falling. Biish will be moving against the kalashtar soon.”

Natrac pushed forward. “You’ll let me go?”

She held a hand. “Not so fast.” She looked into his eyes. “What are you going to do?”

He didn’t hesitate in his answer. “Go to Overlook. My friends and I came to Sharn to warn the kalashtar elders about Dah’mir and Vennet. They need to know about Biish’s attack. Maybe they can foil it.”

“Boldrei smile on them if they can,” Benti said. “You understand that I have to stand with Biish? If the kalashtar fall into his hands, I can’t help them.”

“You’re not just a lieutenant with ambitions on taking over her
chib
’s role, are you?” asked Natrac.

She didn’t answer the question. “You didn’t have my help in this,” she said. “If Biish catches you, I’ll kill you myself before you can open your mouth.” She reached for the door and pulled back the bolt.

Natrac didn’t force the issue. Some things, he knew from long experience, were better left alone. Instead, he said, “Drop the hook and rag. Biish will think I got the bolt open on my own.”

“That wouldn’t have worked.” Benti reached up above the window—and drew a second bolt Natrac hadn’t known was there. Natrac cursed as the door swung open.

“Has Biish changed anything else around here or can I still get out down the back stairs?” he demanded.

“The door’s barred on the inside but not guarded right now. Biish has everyone preparing for the raid.” Benti stepped out of his way and pointed to his knife-hand lying on the table in the outer chamber. “Take that and go. Whatever happens now, you should consider leaving Sharn again.”

Natrac didn’t think he’d ever be happy to strap the knife over his stump, but he grinned to himself as he pulled it on and tightened the straps. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I have no intention of staying.” He glanced up at Benti.

But the half-elf was already gone, vanished like a shadow in darkness. Natrac clenched his teeth, tugged the last strap tight, and followed her example. She’d spoken the truth about the lack of guards: the back hallways of Biish’s headquarters were all but empty. Natrac made his way along familiar corridors with ease, ducking back around a corner only once as the big bugbear Dabrak shambled between rooms. A moment later, the rough sound of a blade being sharpened on a spinning grindstone filled the air. Natrac darted down the hall and up to the back door. He got the bar off the door and was through it in an instant, closing it softly behind him.

He would have liked to savor his escape, but the danger wasn’t past yet. The nearest lift to the upper city was several
blocks away. He tugged his cowl back up over his head to hide his face—with his sleeve torn away, there was little he could do to hide his knife-hand except hold it close to his body—and started for it, just one desperate ragged figure among the many on the streets of the Malleon’s Gate.

About halfway to the lift, however, he turned a corner and saw something that made him leap back faster than a Thrane kneeling to pray. Teeth clenched hard enough to ache, he peered cautiously back around the corner and into the street he had almost entered.

Biish and Vennet stood on the far side of it, talking to a pair of small goblin pups. Natrac couldn’t hear what the young goblins were saying, but they gestured vigorously and pointed down another street as if giving the men directions. One of the gestures the pups made caught Natrac’s attention in particular: the child drew the ragged collar of his shirt up across the lower part of his face, hiding everything below his eyes as if wearing a mask. Biish growled something at the pups, then spoke to Vennet. “They went this way.”

The half-elf rubbed his hands together in glee. “Right into the spider’s web! Come along! Come along!”

He strode off in the direction the pups had indicated, leaving Biish to catch up to him. The moment they were away down the street and safely out of sight, Natrac stepped out of hiding and went up to the pups before they could scurry away. “You boys following people for Biish?”

The larger—by the height of the hair that stood up on his small skull—of the two pups looked him up and down. “What’s it to you,
chib?”

Natrac bent over to put himself closer to their level. “I’ll swap secrets with you, roo. Tell me who you’re following for Biish, and I’ll you how to make some coin off that half-elf
shekot
he’s with.”

“You tell me first.”

“His name is Vennet d’Lyrandar, and he was the captain of ship called
Lightning on Water
. His ship was carrying treasure, but he stole the treasure and let the ship sink off Zilargo. You go down to the wharves at Cliffside, find someone important from House Lyrandar, and tell them that you’ve seen him
here. They’ll give you a reward.”

The pup squinted at him, obviously trying to decide how much of the story to believe. Natrac kept his expression open and as close to honest as he could manage. The part about treasure was a complete lie, of course, but rumors that Vennet was alive and in Sharn might actually get the pups a reward if they went to Lyrandar. Natrac suspected, though, that they were more likely to take the rumor of a rich stranger in Malleon’s Gate to some criminal in exchange for a cut of the potential robbery. Either way, Vennet was in for a serious inconvenience. Natrac could almost see the visions of gold conjured by the magic word “treasure” shining in the pup’s eyes, and after a moment the goblin nodded.

“Biish hired our gang to follow four
chib
from the upper city who came down on the Sunder Lane lift,” he said. “A kalashtar woman, a kalashtar man, a human man with blond whiskers, and a human woman with a scarf on her face.” He repeated his gesture of drawing his collar over his face.

“Lords of the Host.” Natrac straightened up sharply and darted down the street after Biish and Vennet, ignoring the proprieties of concluding the deal with pups. He could just see the hobgoblin and the half-elf ahead of him, but he hadn’t gone more than a few paces before he realized where they were headed—and where, if they were following Dandra, Singe, and Ashi, his friends were going too.

The street was Two Boot Way, where the goblin bartender he’d spoken to had seen Vennet. And at the end of Two Boot Way squatted the former arena—his arena—that had been the excuse for the beginnings of his troubles with Biish. And what had Vennet bought from Biish besides a raid on Fan Adar?

A hiding place. And surely an empty arena would make a hiding place even a dragon could feel comfortable in. Natrac slowed his pace, even though the tightness in his belly urged him to go faster. He had Vennet and Biish in sight and they weren’t turning off Two Boot Way.

“Lords of the Host,” Natrac murmured again. What were Dandra and the others doing in Malleon’s Gate? How had
they
found out where Dah’mir was and who was the kalashtar man that the goblin pup had described? He took a deep breath. The
man didn’t matter. The others must have found some new ally. If they were down here and on Dah’mir’s trail, they probably knew what they were doing. He doubted if they knew Vennet and Biish were following them, though. They likely wouldn’t even know who Biish was.

More importantly, if they were in Malleon’s Gate, they couldn’t have any idea of what was about to happen in Overlook. Natrac swallowed.

Up ahead, Biish and Vennet stopped and talked to another goblin pup, then turned down a narrow alley. Natrac’s stride stumbled for a moment, but he kept walking. He knew that alley, and the last time he’d been in Sharn it hadn’t led anywhere but into empty space—but it could get someone very close to the private terrace at the back of the arena. However Singe and Dandra had found Dah’mir, somehow they knew about the terrace entrance.

The situation didn’t feel right at all.

He could see the gates of the arena now, the astounding mural that Bava had created for him. It was the first time he’d laid eyes on it since he’d fled the city for Zarash’ak, and he felt a momentary pleasure in seeing that it had survived the years. Biish might have closed the arena in petty revenge, but the mural still kept it alive.

It hurt him more than he expected to see three of the four gates boarded over, but at least the four pair of doors had been opened. He had his way into the arena—following the route down the alley and through the terrace that the others appeared to have taken would have consumed too much time. He had to get inside and see what was happening.