The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III (50 page)

Sometimes it just needed another person’s excitement to tip it over the edge. A form moved against the bright mouth of the mound as they approached it and a shout rang out. Geth heard the words through Wrath, but he would have known the emotion in any language.
“They’re alive!”

They emerged from the mound to a roar that shook the moons in the sky. Hands seized the Gatekeepers as soon as they emerged and hauled them away into a crowd of jubilant orcs. News of the defeat of Dah’mir, Medala, and the Master of Silence leaped like fire through the horde and another roar rose up.

“Singe! Dandra!
Geth!”
Orshok and Natrac burst out of the crowd. Natrac looked like he’d shed half his years. Orshok flung himself at Geth and threw both arms around him.

The enthusiastic embrace sent pain lancing through Geth’s still injured side and arm, but it was no match for the exhilaration that finally surged in him. Geth howled into Orshok’s face and crushed him back.

It took some time before they made it out of the horde and Natrac led them to where the airship floated, a rope ladder dangling over her side and down to the ground. As they approached, two figures rose to meet them. Singe felt his stomach knot at the sight of one of them. Geth, one arm still over Orshok’s shoulders, bared his teeth. “Mithas, you slimy toadstool.”

The sorcerer stood firm. “I have a debt to collect.”

A growl grew out of Geth’s throat. “The only thing you’re going to collect is bruises. Why don’t you just start running for Sharn now?”

“Geth.” Ashi put a dragonmarked hand on the shifter’s arm.
She turned to face Mithas. “It’s over. Anyone who could be safe is. You kept your word. I keep mine.” She stood straight. “Take me to the lords of Deneith.”

Singe groaned. “Ashi …”

The hunter shook her head. “It’s my honor, Singe. And Deneith is my clan.” She looked around at the mound and the fading remains of the Bonetree camp and touched the sword at her side. “It’s time for me to learn more about them.”

The smile of greed that spread across Mithas’s face would have shamed a miser. He sneered at Singe and Geth, then grabbed for the rope ladder and climbed up toward the airship.

The half-elf woman who had risen with him waited until he was about halfway up and began casually shaking the ladder. Mithas yelped and cursed as he swayed back and forth, but she didn’t relent and he climbed the rest of the way at a timid pace. Natrac gave her a thin smile. “I like you more every time I see you, Benti. That’s not something I’d often say about a king’s agent.”

Singe saw Geth’s eyebrows rose high in surprise, but he doubted that it could be any greater than the surprise he felt himself.
A king’s agent?
He looked at Natrac, then at Dandra. “There’s something you didn’t tell us,” he said.

Natrac held out his hand, gesturing in introduction. “Singe, Geth, meet Benti Morren, as she chooses to be known—agent of the King’s Citadel of Breland.” His smile filled out as Singe and Geth gaped in amazement. “I wondered when she helped me escape from Biish if she was more than she seemed to be. After Dandra saved her, she was a little more open with information.”

Benti bent her head in response to their stares. “The Citadel has had its eye on Biish’s gang for some time. When word circulated that he was looking for someone with the Mark of Storm, the Citadel used the opportunity to put me in place within the gang.” Her lips curved very slightly. “I don’t think they expected this. My report should be received with interest.”

Singe felt a fury rise within him. “You were at the helm of Dah’mir’s airship. You were going to fly off with the kalashtar!”

Benti’s expression tightened in response. “No. I found out what was really happening—what I
thought
was really happening—too late to stop the raid. I was going to take the kalashtar to safety and place Vennet in custody, but when he dragged you onto the deck, I tried to intercede and—” Her voice stopped in her throat as color rushed into her cheeks.

And Vennet, Singe knew, had thrown her over the side.

Dandra took his arm. “When we told her what was really happening, she helped us. I told you that she got us the second airship.” She tilted her head up toward the vessel. “This just isn’t so much stolen as commandeered.”

Singe stared at her and then turned his gaze on Benti. His belly twisted—and the twist turned into a sharp laugh. He shook his head in disbelief. “An agent of the Citadel.” He sighed. “I imagine you’re going to have some explaining to do about the airship.”

Benti’s nose wrinkled. “Which is why I need to get her back. We should be going.” The half-elf turned and put one foot on the ladder, stilling the shivering ropes with an expert touch. She looked at Ashi. “I know you’re going back to Sharn. Anyone else?”

Moon stood forward immediately. “Me.” Benti nodded.

Singe looked at the others—and they looked at him and one another. After a moment, Natrac said, “If you’re going by way of Zarash’ak, I’ll take a ride there.”

“Not back to Sharn?” Benti asked. “Biish is gone. There will be a vacuum in Malleon’s Gate.”

Natrac thrust out his tusks. “Host and Six, no. I’ve had enough with Sharn.” His eyes gleamed. “Besides, I think Zarash’ak could use a new arena.”

“I’ll go with you to Sharn,” said Ekhaas. “It’s closer to Darguun than the Shadow Marches. The other
duur’kala
will have a new story to sing.”

Singe winced. “Is everyone going to know what we did?”

Ekhaas’s ears twitched forward. “Shouldn’t they?”

He let his breath out through his teeth and looked at Dandra. “Sharn?” he asked. “You could go back to Fan Adar.”

“I could.” She met his eyes. “Will you go back to the Blademarks?”

“I could,” he said—and smiled. “But I don’t think I will, and Sharn’s as good a place to make my resignation as any.”

Dandra raised her chin. “Settle our affairs and move on from there?”

Singe looked at her and felt his heart burn. “Twelve bloody moons, I love you,” he said. He turned to Geth. “What about you?”

The shifter shook his head. “Sharn’s not for me.”

“Back to Bull Hollow?” asked Dandra.

He shook his head again. Orshok spoke up. “You’d be welcome to stay with the Fat Tusk tribe. You’re a hero again, Geth.”

Geth’s face twisted. “Grandfather Rat, enough of that! I know where I’m going.” He stepped back and nodded to all of them. “Safe journey,” he said and turned away.

Dandra drew breath to call something after him, but Singe caught her before she could. “Let him go,” he said.

  
T
he harsh light of morning reflected off the snow. There were no shadows; light just made more light—icy blue in the dimples of footsteps, white where it flashed on the ice crystals drifting in the air. Geth could recall a spot, high up on the walls that loomed above, where it had once been possible to stand on such a morning and look out for leagues across clear sky, perfect snow, and frozen forest.

Once, the shifter thought, but not now. He reached up, pulled the furry cap from his head, and bared his teeth. His breath streamed away into the Karrnathi winter.

There was a memorial taking place within the walls of Narath, marking ten years to the day that the town had burned and its people had died. Geth didn’t want to be at the memorial. He’d slipped into the town late last night and slipped out again early. The room he’d found had been in an inn he didn’t know, but he didn’t know most of the buildings in the town—almost all of them had been built within the last ten years. The innkeeper was no one he knew either. Like its buildings, much of Narath’s population had been there less than ten years, arriving as the town grew back into itself.

It was hard to avoid signs of the massacre, though. The town and its people might seem new, but the people of Karrnath had old memories. Shrines in the town held heaped skulls and walls of stacked bones. Every old building showed charred timbers. Every new building had a bit of burned wood fixed like
a talisman above the door. In many places, the scorch marks of a raging fire still stained the town’s walls. And there were monuments. Statues. Pillars. Markers. Stone. Rough wood. Dedicated to victims. Dedicated to heroes.

Geth had expected a plaque fixed to the wall. He hadn’t expected a whole bronze statue. Raised up on a plinth, a muscular man stood in a pose of heroic defense, his thick hair curling like a lion’s mane, his eyes fixed defiantly into the distance. In one hand, he held a heavy sword. With the other, he gripped the severed head of an Aundairian raider.

Had the sculptor known or was it just an ironic coincidence?

Wreaths of flowers had been laid in memorial at the base of the plinth in some earlier ceremony, laid carefully around the dedication plaque to leave it clear.

Coron Balich. Defender of Narath, true son of Karrnath. Betrayed by a coward. Died a hero, Olarune 4, 989 YK. May his sacrifice inspire generations.

Geth dropped to his knees in the snow and closed his eyes. In his memory, Coron leaped forward to meet the charging raiders and was brutally hamstrung. In his memory, one of the raiders grabbed a handful of Coron’s black curls, jerked his head back, and raised a heavy knife. In his memory, Geth charged without thinking.

The knife had fallen before Geth could reach Coron, but at least his killer had died. So had four other raiders—but not the one who swung a heavy club. Geth had woken to an aching head, snow red with blood and a sky black with smoke. The raiders were gone. Narath had fallen and screams came from the burning town.

Snow crunched under approaching feet. The approaching footfalls stopped for a long moment, then crunched forward again to stop at Geth’s side.

“I thought you might come here,” said Singe.

Geth glance up. The wizard was bundled in a Karrnathi-style coat topped off with a thick cloak. A dark hat with a wide brim was pulled well down, hiding his face and much of his blond hair, while his chin and the whiskers on it were hidden by a heavy scarf. Neither hat nor scarf could hide the black patch
that covered his left eye, though. Geth let out a slow breath and stood up.

“Did you know about the statue?” he asked.

“I haven’t seen it before, but I’d heard about it, yes,” Singe said. “It was only erected a few years ago. It got some tempers up in the Blademarks. The lords of Deneith thought that erecting a memorial in front of a dung gate—” His hand rose and flicked toward a rusty, filth encrusted grate set into the wall a short distance away “—wasn’t dignified, even if it was just for a rank and file mercenary. The elders of Narath insisted that the memorial stand where Coron fell. Eventually the crown of Karrnath became involved, and the elders won.”

He looked over the statue. “Coron has become quite the local hero. I don’t know what he would have thought of it himself, considering he wasn’t the only one who died defending the gate. Robrand and I found both him and Bikk that day.”

“Bikk wasn’t Karrnathi,” said Geth.

The wizard glanced at him and added. “The struggle messed up the snow. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if what Robrand and I really understood what we saw.”

“You saw right,” Geth told him bluntly. “There were three men defending the gate. Coron and Bikk died. I ran away.” Singe tilted his head and narrowed his eye.

“Ekhaas,” he said, “told Dandra that Wrath wouldn’t bear the touch of a coward.”

Geth growled. “Ekhaas told me that I didn’t understand honor.”

Singe’s eyebrows rose. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” He turned away from Coron’s statue.

Singe caught his arm. “Geth, what happened here? You’re the only one who knows the whole story. I spent years hating you because I blamed you for a massacre.”

Geth shook off the wizard’s hand. “So did I,” he said.

Singe sighed. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” he asked.

Geth didn’t answer him.

Singe shook his head. “All right then.” He reached into a pocket, brought out a silver flask, and twisted the top off it.
“To our friends,” he said, raising it. He drank and held the flask out.