The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III (49 page)

A song that broke with a choking cough from Dah’mir, the fall of an enormous body, and an abrupt cry from Ekhaas.

Ekhaas’s song ended. The katalarash sang alone.

“No,” breathed Dandra. She spun around. “No! Ekhaas!”

“Geth! Now!”

It was the signal he’d been waiting for. Geth let out all of the fear and fury he’d held back and forced it into a roar as he leaped at Dah’mir.

Dah’mir swung around to meet him with massive teeth exposed—and a part of Geth wondered just what he thought he was doing. Even if the power poured into him by the Master of Silence had been leeched away, Dah’mir was still a
dragon
.

Too late for doubts. The day he thought before charging into something would probably be the day he died. Geth threw himself right at the dragon’s muzzle and swung Wrath hard.

It was a bad blow. The byeshk blade tore a line along the spined frill below Dah’mir’s chin, cutting skin without doing real damage. That didn’t matter. Dah’mir bellowed and his head jerked up in reaction to the injury. Geth dived in underneath the dragon’s body, aiming for his real target: the Khyber dragonshard embedded in Dah’mir’s chest. A lucky blow had shattered the shard there once before and forced Dah’mir to flee.

Geth gritted his teeth, wrapped both hands around Wrath’s hilt, and swung.

But Dah’mir hadn’t forgotten his vulnerability either. With an angry hiss, the dragon reared up away from the attacker under his chest. Geth’s swing swept through air. Dah’mir’s claw, sweeping in from the side, didn’t.

The massive talons found his gauntlet before they found his body. They raked across the magewrought steel with a terrible scraping sound, but caught only the fabric of Geth’s clothing. The blow was still powerful enough to lift him up and hurl him back. He hit the wall of the cavern just beside the stones and glittering mortar of the ancient Gatekeeper seal. Pain broke
through his shifting—dull across his back, sharp in his gauntleted arm, very sharp in his side. Every breath stabbed him.

He blinked back the bright haze of agony. Across the cavern, Dandra was closing on Medala. In the other direction, Ekhaas still sang, matching the song of the katalarash though she kept one eye on Dah’mir. Unfortunately, it seemed that Geth had all of the dragon’s attention. Dah’mir crouched back down. “Why am I cursed with you?” he howled at Geth.

The shifter spat—blood hit the stone of the cavern floor—and thrust himself upright with a snarl. “We get the enemies we deserve.” He lifted his voice. “I could use some help!”

From the far side of the cavern, arcane words hissed on the air. Fire burst over Dah’mir’s back in a spray of orange flame. The dragon roared and twisted around. Past him, Geth saw Singe, wisps of magic still rising from his fingers. The wizard’s face seemed strangely distorted, not least by cold anger. “Keeper take you, Dah’mir!” he shouted.

The dragon’s head whipped between the two of them as if deciding who to vent his rage at first—then the decision was taken away from him. Up on the ledge where the Gatekeepers had taken shelter, a white-haired figure leaning heavily on a hunda stick rose. The hand that Batul held out trembled, but his voice was strong. “Nature rejects you, servant of madness! Your time is at an end.” His hand rose higher and he spoke a word that swirled in the air.

The swirl grew into a sudden howl of wind. It lifted small rocks and dust from the cavern floor and whirled them around Dah’mir, battering and tearing at him. The dragon fell back, eyes clenched shut against the storm, his massive head shaking like a dog’s. Singe loosed his spell, and another bolt of flame forced Dah’mir further around.

Up on the ledge, Batul turned and looked down at Geth. “Your sword!” he shouted. “Strike now!”

Geth looked down at Wrath. The purple-black byeshk of the Dhakaani weapon had begun to glow with a twilight radiance, like an ember fanned by the wind of Batul’s magic. Dhakaani weapons and Gatekeeper magic had together won the ancient Daelkyr War, the old druid had told him. And Ekhaas had once said that Wrath had been forged to be wielded by the heroes
of Dhakaan fighting alongside Gatekeepers.

He remembered the same radiance glowing in the blade when he’d driven it into Dah’mir before. Clenching his teeth against the pain of his injuries, Geth pushed himself away from the wall and sprinted for the dragon.

Dah’mir heard him coming. His acid-green eyes opened against the wrath of Batul’s spell and he snapped at Geth, neck stretching out. Geth dropped and slid under the clashing jaws. Batul’s spell tore at him as well, scouring shifting-toughened skin, but he ignored it as he ignored the pain in his side. Dah’mir tried to rear up the way he had before—

He was too slow. Geth rolled to his feet and, in one smooth motion that had all of his strength and weight behind it, swung Wrath against the shard in the dragon’s chest.

The glowing sword bit through scales and cut deep into flesh. Dark, hot blood burst out, sizzling on Wrath and spraying across Geth’s face. The Dhakaani blade hit the dragonshard—and shattered it.

It seemed to Geth that a final spark of black lightning escaped from the shattered shard and darted away past the great seal, like some last remnant of the Master of Silence’s power returning to him. Dah’mir let out a choking cough. His forelegs curled toward Geth as if to scrape him away. The shifter leaned against Wrath and rocked the sword back and forth, forcing the forked tip deeper into the dragon’s flesh. On one of Dah’mir’s forelegs, a red Eberron shard embedded in the scales flared as if burning from the inside out—just as Wrath cut into something deep in Dah’mir’s body.

The flare in the burning red dragonshard turned dark as ash. Wrath leaped in Geth’s grasp, momentarily caught by the pulsing of a powerful muscle. Geth tightened his grip and wrenched the sword free in another shower of blood and fragments of blue-black crystal.

Dah’mir staggered once, and toppled over just below the ledge where Batul and the other Gatekeepers stood. Ekhaas cried out and leaped for safety. Geth just watched as Dah’mir’s head bounced on the stones of the cavern floor, his dead eyes staring through the Gatekeeper seal and into the throne room of the master who had abandoned him.

“No! Ekhaas! Keep singing!
Keep singing!”

Dandra’s shout dragged Geth around, and for a moment, he just stared at the katalarash as she leaped to join them on the cavern floor. Her hands were stained with blood and Medala’s corpse lay impaled where she had—

Then his mind grasped what his ears were already telling him.

Ekhaas’s countersong had stopped. The katalarash sang alone. His gut leaped. He raised his sword and forced his gauntleted arm up in spite of the pain within it. Not that they would do him much good. There were sixteen katalarash up there. Sixteen heirs to the madness and power of Medala and Virikhad. “Ekhaas!” he called over his shoulder.

It was too late. The song of the katalarash was falling apart. They raised their heads, individuals once more, and looked around. One by one, their eyes found Medala’s body and Dandra’s spear transfixing her. Geth thought he could guess what they were thinking. The woman who had controlled them was gone. The dragon who had kidnapped them was gone. The daelkyr who had brought about their creation was, if not gone, then at least forced back into his prison.

The katalarash were free to do whatever they wanted.

The old woman who had been the second katalarash to awaken—to be reborn—lifted her head from Medala’s corpse and her gaze settled on Ekhaas.

“It’s quiet,” she said.

Her body crumpled to the floor

All of the other katalarash crumpled with her. For a long moment, Geth didn’t dare to breathe and no one dared to move. Finally, Dandra rose from the ground and slid cautiously forward, reaching out to touch the old woman.

“Dead,” she said in amazement.

“No,” said a voice from above. Geth turned toward it. The young kalashtar man who had appeared with Singe and Dandra was on his feet, unsteady but supported by Ashi. Their right and left hands were bound together, the amulet of Vvaraak dangling from them. Ashi’s face was pale. The young man’s eyes looked like he had seen something terrible. His mouth twitched. “Free.”

  
T
hen Dah’mir was actually right?” Geth asked. “Something was wrong and they did wake too quickly?”

Dandra shook her head, her black hair shimmering in the pale light of one of the Gatekeepers’ reed torches. “I don’t know. Maybe there was something in Medala and Virikhad’s control that brought the kalashtar minds back before they had the strength to hold onto them. Maybe Ekhaas’s countersong eased their madness to the point that when the song ended, they were able to let themselves die. Maybe Dah’mir simply didn’t understand how the bracers would interact with Taruuzh’s binding stones.”

“Dah’mir knew what he was doing,” Singe said grimly. “We should be thankful Medala and Virikhad tried to take control. The bracers worked.” His jaw tightened. “I felt them work.”

Dandra’s hand reached over and took Singe’s hand as they walked. She didn’t say anything and neither did the wizard.

Geth looked away from them and up the tunnel ahead. Beyond the darkness, there was a patch of brightness—the mouth of the mound and the gray light that came before dawn. He felt an urge to race ahead and throw himself out into clean air beneath open skies.

They’d stayed in the seal cavern no longer than they had to, but they’d still been there longer than he would have liked. Batul had reclaimed the amulet of Vvaraak and the weary Gatekeepers had done what they’d entered the mound to do:
reinforce the magic that bound the Master of Silence. No one had asked if Singe’s trick with the binding stone had destroyed the daelkyr. Geth was certain that if the Master of Silence was dead, they’d know.

The binding stones that had been in the bracers worn by the kidnapped kalashtar had been crushed and mixed into new mortar for the seal, just as the ancient druids had crushed Taruuzh’s stones after the long ago Battle of Moths. Singe had stripped the kalashtar’s psicrystals out of the bracers. Moon carried them now in a pouch that he bore with silent solemnity. There had been some debate over what to do with the remains of the kalashtar and of the Gatekeepers who had fallen under Medala’s attack. No one wanted to leave them in a place tainted by Xoriat, but no one had the strength to carry them back to the surface.

Dandra had tapped into the last reserves of her psionic power and called up the droning chorus of whitefire. The bodies of the victims and heroes of Dah’mir’s schemes burned in flames so tightly controlled that it hurt to look at the them, but that spread no heat beyond their confines. Ekhaas had stood over them and sung a dirge that soared louder than even the killing song had.

Medala’s body and Dah’mir’s had received no such respect. They left them where they had fallen, though each of the Gatekeepers had solemnly taken a trophy from Dah’mir’s body—a sliver of the Khyber shard that had been in the dragon’s chest and that Wrath had shattered. After a moment, Singe had knelt and taken two of the slivers as well, passing one to Dandra. She’d accepted it in silence. Ekhaas had taken a sliver too, then Ashi and even Moon.

Geth had been the last to take one of the blue-black fragments. He’d squatted down by Dah’mir’s head and looked into the staring, acid-green eyes, but he hadn’t even been able to think of anything to say. He just felt … empty.

The walk back up through the tunnels from the seal cavern had been eerily silent. There was no sign of the dolgrims. Not a claw in the shadows, not a mutter in the darkness. Partway up, words had finally come to Geth, and he’d begun talking to fill the silence. Singe had joined in and soon they were all
talking, describing in hushed tones what had happened on the Shadow Marches, in Sharn, through the days since they’d seen one another last. It was a strangely familiar feeling, one Geth remembered from long-ago mercenary days—walking away from a battle, voices low, working through the bloody chaos of what had just happened. Sometimes victory took time to sink in.