The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Singe drew a long, shallow breath and pulled on his whiskers as he turned back around to stare at the device. “Twelve moons,” he muttered. He spun around sharply and walked to the nearest wall. Closing his eyes for a moment, he spoke a word of magic and laid a hand against the wall, then opened his eyes again and stepped back to scan the wall. His gaze seemed strangely unfocused but he clenched his teeth. “Twelve bloody moons.”

  “You can read it?” asked Dandra.

  “Yes and no,” Singe said. “No, because it’s not all words. A lot of it is research notes, just like that researcher at Wynarn. And yes—” He blinked and turned around to face Geth. “—because you might be right.”

  Geth felt his gut tighten at the angry disgust in the wizard’s voice, but no one else seemed to notice. Dandra was pushing forward. “It was meant to trap mind flayers?”

  “I think so, but it’s hard to tell.” Singe turned and traced a hand across the wall, his eyes going unfocused once more. “These are mostly notes and calculations. They talk about illithids and arrangements of crystals that would attune the binding stone to their aura. I can only follow bits of it. They look more like the notes of an artificer than of a wizard. Other passages don’t make any sense at all.” He shifted his hand to another section of text. “This describes a sphere made of carved stone beetles linked together—it sounds like a child’s puzzle.” He touched other words. “This curses workers who fled the kraat. This tries to work breakfast into the equation for binding mind flayers. This—” He winced and lifted his hand away. “This just repeats over and over ‘My name is Marg. My name is Marg. My name is Marg.’”

  “I think someone lost themselves in their work,” said Natrac. “You were right when you said you felt madness in the air, Dandra.”

  “Why would a Dhakaani have built something like this, though?” asked Ashi, still circling the ancient device. “Dah’mir had to tie Tetkashtai and the other kalashtar down to use his device on them. Wouldn’t it be easier just to kill a mind flayer directly?”

  “This might answer that,” Singe said. He had paced further along the wall, trailing his hand over the writing. He read from another passage. “Too large! The first stones were so much smaller. The matrix can be made larger but focus will be a problem. How did he do it?”

  Dandra paled. “There were other binding stones?”

  “It sounds like there were—at one time, at least. Marg says were and it sounds like he was trying to re-create them rather than come up with something completely new.” Singe looked up at the wall. “I wonder who this other ‘he’ was, though.”

  The wizard’s pacing had drawn them past the strange stone sculpture of the grieving tree and the far end of the great chamber loomed in the shadows at the edge of Geth’s vision. He squinted at it, took a few more paces, and let out a soft growl. “Maybe this was him.”

  Behind him, Singe and Dandra both turned and came forward. The soft glow of magical light spilled across the floor—then climbed over the legs of the statue that stood, tall as the sculpted tree, within the sharp point of the chamber’s end. Dandra lifted her spear high, throwing light onto the statue’s torso and head.

  The statue depicted a Dhakaani hobgoblin, or so Geth guessed from its build and from the sword—very much like his own—that it gripped, point resting against the ground. The subject had been a man and muscular even for a hobgoblin, with massively thick arms and shoulders. He wore a smith’s thick apron over a bare chest, with heavy gloves on his hands. Whether he had been fierce, benevolent, or wise, however, was impossible to tell. The statue’s face had been ruined, hacked away leaving only deep scars in the stone.

  The blade of the statue’s sword, as wide as the shifter’s own body, had also been gashed and as Geth moved closer, he saw that several characters had been crudely removed from the beginning of a longer inscription in Goblin. Writing identical to that on the walls throughout Taruuzh Kraat had been scrawled in its place.

  Near the statue’s feet, a few pitiful crumbled bones lay mixed with chips of stone, bits of metal ornament, an axe with a metal shaft, and a short black rod. One of the bones was a hobgoblin skull.

  Singe slipped past Geth and laid his hand against the inscription on the stone sword. His eyes unfocused once more as he read the Goblin characters, then he lifted his hand and looked up at the statue’s scarred face. “His name has been erased,” he said. He pointed at the remaining text, moving his hand along as he read. “The rest of the inscription says, ‘The Father of the Grieving Tree. The time will come again. Three great works stand together as allies: treasure, key, guardian, disciple, and lord.’”

  The others fell silent, but Geth couldn’t hold back a groan. “The Grieving Tree again. Grandfather Rat, another bloody riddle?”

  “The spell lets me read a language,” Singe snapped back irritably. “That doesn’t mean I understand everything. The inscription might mean something in Goblin.”

  “What does the other writing say?” Natrac asked.

  Singe looked up at again. “‘Keep your secrets, old master. Marg has surpassed you! I have created a new—’” He frowned. “It ends suddenly.”

  Ashi knelt beside the fragmentary remains at the statue’s feet. “There’s not much left of him,” she said, “but I think Marg died in the moment of his triumph.” She pointed at the skull and Geth saw that part of it was fractured. “I think he fell.”

  “An apprentice trying to outdo his master?” asked Orshok.

  “I think you’re right.” Singe turned and walked away from the defaced statue to join them again. “Our nameless master created the first binding stones, but didn’t share the secret. Marg went mad creating another stone, then died before he could do more than taunt a dead man.” The wizard cursed. “But he still left a record of his research and thousands of years later, Dah’mir came along.”

  “But there’s so much writing,” said Dandra. “How long would it take to sort it out?”

  Singe shrugged. “How much time does a dragon have? Decades? He spent two hundred years with the Bonetree clan before he tested his device on Tetkashtai, Medalashana, and Virikhad.”

  “Why leave Taruuzh Kraat then? Why did he create the Bonetree clan? Why not build a tribe of followers here?” Dandra pressed the tips of her fingers into her forehead in frustration. “We know where Dah’mir got the binding stone now, but we’re no closer to understanding why he tried using it to turn kalashtar into servants of the Dragon Below.”

  Orshok took a breath and stepped forward. “No,” he said. “We are. It’s the sword and dagger again. Batul taught me that it was Gatekeeper magic and Dhakaani weapons that drove back the daelkyr and their servants and won the Daelkyr War.” He touched the symbol of the Gatekeepers that he wore around his throat. “But Gatekeeper magic and Dhakaani weapons are meant to stop aberrations and the creatures of Xoriat.”

  Dandra’s fingers slid down her face and she stared at the orc in amazement. Singe narrowed his eyes. “You don’t use the same defense against a sword as you use against a dagger,” he said.

  Orshok nodded.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” growled Geth.

  “All of the ancient defenses against the great powers of the Dragon Below are focused against the madness of Xoriat,” said Dandra slowly, as if she was working out the answer herself. She looked up sharply. “By subverting kalashtar to the service of Khyber, Dah’mir gives the daelkyr servants with the psionic abilities of mind flayers but without their vulnerabilities.”

  “And the ability to move about easily,” Singe added. “Mind flayers are monsters, but kalashtar can pass unsuspected almost anywhere.”

  “Wait,” Geth said. He pointed back at the Dhakaani device. “The binding stone was built to capture mind flayers, but it captured kalashtar as well.”

  “But it took a dragon at least two hundred years to figure out how to do that,” replied Orshok. He looked frightened. His hands were clenched so tight around the shaft of his hunda s
tick that his knuckles were white. “We need to tell someone about this.”

  “Batul,” said Geth. “The Gatekeepers need to know.”

  Singe nodded slowly. “I think you’re right.”

  “What about Ekhaas?” asked Dandra. “Do you think she knows anything more about the history of Taruuzh Kraat? She might be able to tell us something that could help.”

  “We’ll talk to her back at Tzaryan Keep.” Singe led the way across the great chamber, past the pale stone of the grieving tree, and toward the stairs back up to the corridor. “We’ll set out for Vralkek first thing in the morning—Robrand will help us. He might even know where we can find passage back to Zarash’ak and the Shadow Marches.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Geth saw Dandra stiffen. Singe must have seen it as well because he muttered, “I’m sorry, Dandra. I don’t think we have a choice.”

  “We’ll be heading back toward Dah’mir,” Dandra said.

  Singe stared ahead grimly. “Maybe he’s moved on by now.”

  The return trip up the long corridor was much faster. They didn’t bother creeping along or trying to remain quiet. They didn’t pause to look down side passages or into rooms. There was no point. Taruuzh Kraat was empty. They moved along the corridor quickly—Geth even caught Dandra with her feet off the ground, skimming the air as she did when she fought. No one said much. Geth suspected that they were all too caught up in what they had just uncovered.

  The stream of sunlight that fell through the hole to the surface was a welcome sight. Singe paused beside it. “Geth,” he said, pointing. “You first. You’re the best climber and you’re strong enough to help pull the rest of us out.”

  Geth growled under his breath, but there was no conviction to it. After hours in the ancient dimness of the ruins, open air and warm light would be a welcome change. Orshok and Ashi linked hands to help boost him up and into the hole. Geth kicked and wriggled, bracing himself with his elbows, then catching the stones of the broken wall with his feet and pushing. Below him, Ashi and Orshok coughed on the dirt he dislodged. He gritted his teeth and clawed his way up the sides of the hole until his head and shoulders popped out the other end of the hole. It was well on into the afternoon—the sun was low and bright in his eyes.

  He was still blinking against the glare when something twisted in the dust around the hole. Geth looked down just in time to see the loop of a snare before it whisked closed and a heavy cord cinched tight around his chest.

  “Don’t try anything,” rasped a deep voice. “I was hoping Singe might be the first out of the hole, but I don’t think even the toughest shifter could shrug off a crossbow bolt in the eye.”

  Geth twisted his head around. Just out of his reach, Chain d’Tharashk crouched down with a loaded crossbow aimed straight at his head.

  CHAPTER

  13

  His first instinct was to tuck in his feet, raise his arms, and let himself drop back down the hole. He didn’t get far—the cord around his chest held him fast, the sudden weight jerking the snare even tighter and leaving him kicking desperately to hold himself up. Choking curses rose up from below. “Rond betch!” shouted Ashi. “Geth, what are you doing?”

  Chain twitched the crossbow, the colors of his dragonmark flashing in the sunlight, as Geth managed to restore his purchase. “Go on,” he said. “Tell them. And by the way, the cord is spiked in place, so pulling yourself up won’t do any good either.”

  Geth bared his teeth at the bounty hunter, shock and anger fighting inside him, but he bent his head to shout back down the hole. “It’s Chain! Chain’s here!”

  The cursing below ceased abruptly. Geth thought he caught a drift of murmured alarm, then Chain raised his voice. “No tricks!” he called. “I know Dandra can teleport, but if anything surprises me, a crossbow bolt is going to be last thing Geth ever sees.”

  “What are you doing here?” Geth growled. “You should be wandering Sharn!” His eyes narrowed. Chain’s leather shirt was stained with salt as if it had been soaked in seawater. Orshok’s insistence that he had seen someone fall from Lightning on Water just before the elemental galleon took her full speed came back to him. “Cousin Boar. You got free and swam to Vralkek?”

  “A fishing boat picked me up, but dagga, I went overboard. By the time I got to shore, you’d already fallen in with Tzaryan’s ogres, but that gave me time to stock up. After that, all I had to do was stay back and follow until I had a chance to get the bunch of you alone. I told you—I’m the best.” Chain held up his hand. The line of a deep scratch was just fading on it. “You thought I fell on the docks at Zarash’ak and scratched myself on a piece of wire. Not quite. A good bounty hunter never carries drugs or poisons if he doesn’t have at least some resistance to them, he always has a back up stash of coin, and he’s never without at least a makeshift lockpick. You never know when a piece of wire will come in handy.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Keep my mother out of this.” He raised his voice again. “How are you doing down there, Singe?”

  Singe’s voice came drifting up past Geth’s legs. “What do you want, Chain?”

  “What Vennet paid me for,” Chain shouted back. “I want Dandra.”

  “You can’t have her.”

  Chain’s crossbow drifted slightly. Geth heard the snap and creak of the bow at the same moment that pain shot through his unarmored left hand. He howled in agony and jerked his hand up, throwing himself off balance. He struggled to stay upright as he stared at the crossbow bolt that transfixed his palm. Someone below was shouting his name. Chain calmly dropped another bolt into his crossbow and recocked the weapon. When Geth’s roar had died down, the big man raised his voice again. “This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to keep putting holes in Geth until Dandra comes out. When she does—and when she’s secure—I’ll push this sorry shifter back down the hole.”

  Geth gritted his teeth and shifted. The feeling of invulnerability that surged through him eased some of his pain. The flow of blood from his hand slowed. He glared at the bounty hunter, then felt a cold fear push up his spine. Chain sat against a heap of rocks that Geth couldn’t recall seeing before. The hole leading down into the ruins wasn’t particularly wide. It wouldn’t take much to block it. “Don’t trust him, Singe!” he said quickly. “It’s a trap.”

  “Twelve moons!” the wizard called back. “You don’t say?”

  Chain grinned at Geth. “You lot got on top of me in Zarash’ak,” he said. “You’re good. But when I say I’m the best, I mean it. You’re not getting out of this.”

  “Chain!” shouted Dandra. “This isn’t just a simple contract. You don’t know who you’re really working for.”

  Chain’s crossbow drifted lazily. Geth stiffened and tried to get his gauntleted arm up, but the bolt through his left hand made it difficult to support himself. He clenched his teeth and put his weight on the injured hand. The gauntlet was a poor shield against a crossbow at close range, but it was all he had.

  “And you don’t know who you’re dealing with!” Chain spat.

  “I’m dealing with an idiot,” said a strong, hard voice.

  Chain and Geth both looked up at the same time. About ten away, Robrand d’Deneith was striding through the brittle grass of the ruins. “You must be Chain d’Tharashk.”

  Chain’s eyes narrowed as they fell on the blue star of Tzaryan Keep pinned to the old man’s coat. “This is a legitimate bounty,” he said. “Leave us be.”

  “You’re House Tharashk,” answered Robrand. “You should know better than anyone what happens to trespassers in Tzaryan Rrac’s territory.”

  “Tzaryan recognizes bounties.”

  “Not when they’re his guests.”

  Chain stiffened. His crossbow steadied, pointed at Geth’s head once more. “Stay where you are or he dies.”

  Robrand paused. Geth looked up at him. For the first time since Robrand had revealed himself on the road from Vralkek, their eyes met—and Robrand’s gaze
was cold.

  Geth’s arm sank slowly. His gut clenched. Nine years of running and hiding and it came down to this. Stuck in a hole with his life in Robrand’s hands.

  He didn’t look away.

  Robrand did.

  The old man glanced back to Chain and started walking again. “You’re within sight of the keep walls,” he said. “Did you think you could get away with this? I have a company of ogres on their way. Surrender now.”

  It was a blatant lie, an outrageous bluff. If Robrand had been sitting at a table playing cross, Geth knew, half the other players would have raised the stakes immediately. He’d done it himself before he’d learned not to gamble with the old man. Chain didn’t have that advantage. Geth saw his eyes flick briefly toward the looming bulk of Tzaryan Keep, then back to Robrand.

  “You’re lying. If Tzaryan’s troops were coming, they’d be on top of us already.”

  “And if you kill Geth, you’ve got nothing left to bargain with,” Robrand said smoothly.

  “You’re right,” said Chain. He swung the crossbow toward Robrand.

  Geth’s old commander lunged forward even as Chain squeezed the trigger. The air seemed to spit light over Robrand’s chest, then the bolt was simply rolling in the dust. Before Chain could reload or even grab for the sword at his side, Robrand had his sword out and at the bounty hunter’s throat. Chain fell back and his leg lashed out in a brutal kick, but Robrand leaped up over it with a master’s ease—and stomped down on Chain’s outstretched hip as he tried to whirl to his feet. The big man writhed in pain and thrust himself back the other way.

  Right into Geth’s reach. The shifter roared and swung his right arm in a powerful backhand blow. He caught just a glimpse of Chain’s eyes—open wide and white—before his gauntlet cracked hard against his face. Chain flipped over, rolled, and lay still, eyes closed, face bleeding from the impact of the studs and ridges on the gauntlet. Geth spat at him.

  “Respect, Blademark!” snapped Robrand.