The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II

by Don Bassingthwaite

Tzaryan’s confusion only seemed to grow deeper. “Caves?” he asked. “There are no caves—”

  “There are caves, Tzaryan,” said Dah’mir impatiently. “I knew this area before you were a squalling infant. Chain, what direction is Dandra moving?”

  The bounty hunter’s muscular arm traced an arc toward the northeast. Toward Taruuzh Kraat. Dah’mir’s breath hissed between his teeth and his thin lips pulled into a tight smile. “How fitting. This will end where it all began. Tzaryan, gather your ogres and get them into the ruins. There’s only one exit from the caves into Taruuzh Kraat. I want to greet our fugitives when they emerge in Taruuzh’s hall. Vennet, Hruucan—bring the prisoners.”

  He thrust off from the courtyard, great talons gouging furrows in the stone, herons scattering around him, and leaped into the sky. Huge wings snapped out and caught the air. They beat twice, then stretched wide in a glide. Vennet’s heart thundered at the glory of the sight. He shoved Natrac toward Chain, and rushed to the edge of the courtyard to peer after the dragon. Tzaryan stepped up at his side—and let out a curse of amazement.

  Under the light of the risen moons, with his herons circling overhead, Dah’mir landed and began to dig like a huge, scaly dog, reopening a passage into the ancient ruins.

  Vennet whirled to sneer at Singe in triumph. “I told you once that you were too smart for your own good. Are you feeling smart now?”

  The wizard’s face was pale. Vennet laughed.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Every movement that Geth made seemed to pull on something. Ekhaas’s raw magic had healed the worst of his wounds, but there was still pain. His head still ached and Lor hadn’t been gentle in stripping and binding him—it was a miracle the ogre hadn’t damaged his gauntlet. Probably the worst, though, were the tiny tugs and sharp pricks of hair and skin trapped in crusted blood. It was as if a swarm of gnats had found its way into the dim chasm beneath Tzaryan Keep. Every hand-under-hand motion as he climbed down Ekhaas’s rope brought on a new rash of torturous pinching. His head, his arms, his neck, shoulders, and chest—he craved water, not to drink but simply to wash.

  Strangely, the pain that not so long ago had felt like it would consume him was easiest of all to bear. He’d finally faced Robrand. Narath had passed between them—not in words and not in a good way, but it had passed. Robrand’s threats of violence and torture were utterly unlike the man that he had known and deep in his gut Geth knew he was responsible for the change in his old commander. At the same time, though, he felt … open. Narath, or at least as much of it as anyone needed to know, had been laid bare. His past wasn’t something to suffer under anymore—it was something to fight against. He felt alive again.

  Geth bared his teeth. Tiger’s blood, he thought, this fight might not last long, but it’s going to be a good one.

  The floor of the chasm was under his feet. He let go of the rope and dropped the last short distance, landing in an easy crouch. The light of the torch high above gave him just enough light to see. He looked around the narrow space—if there was a door hidden down here, he couldn’t see it—then reached up to guide Dandra as she approached the end of the knotted rope. To his surprise, her arms and legs were knotted with tension as much as exertion. “Easy,” he said. “I’m here. Cousin Boar, why didn’t you just float down?”

  Dandra grimaced as she stepped away from the rope. “Tetkashtai’s fear is blocking my powers.”

  The hair on Geth’s arms and the back of his neck rose. His own brush with Tetkashtai had left him with a fearful respect for the presence’s strength. “She can do that?”

  “I don’t think she’s doing it deliberately—but she’s more terrified than I’ve ever felt her.” In the dimness, the worry on Dandra’s face was undisguised. “The confrontation with Dah’mir might have been too much. I don’t know if I can calm her down this time.”

  “Grandfather Rat.” A new chill struck Geth. “When Medala went mad, she had the strength to take back—”

  Dandra cut him off. “I’ve thought of that.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve held her back so far.”

  Ashi joined them on the floor of the chasm, her feet hitting the stone with a quiet thump. Overhead, Ekhaas pulled the hatch leading back into Tzaryan Keep closed behind herself, then leaned out over the chasm. “Geth!” she called softly. “Catch!”

  He barely had time to react before she let the torch go. It plummeted down through the darkness in a streak of guttering flame. Geth lunged forward with a curse and snatched it out of the air, scorching his fingers in the process. He looked up to glare at Ekhaas, but the hobgoblin was already on the rope and making her descent. He turned back to Ashi and Dandra.

  “Twice tak for standing with me,” he said simply.

  Ashi’s pierced lips pressed tight. “I know something of being forgiven for past deeds, Geth. Who am I judge you?” She held out her hand and Geth took it, returning her grasp hand to forearm in a warrior’s grip. Ashi smiled. “I told Singe once that you were good enemy, Geth, but you’re a better friend. Do tai rond e reis—you have fierceness and strength. I’m proud to stand with you.”

  “I think we all would have stood with you sooner if you hadn’t driven us away,” said Dandra. “Ashi, me, Natrac, Orshok—we were surprised, but we would have stayed to listen if you’d let us. I think the only one who’s really angry with you is Singe.”

  Geth bared his teeth as he released Ashi’s hand. “And Robrand.”

  Ashi spat on the ground. “I’m ashamed to share his blood. How much of his friendship was just a play until he had a chance to take his revenge on you?”

  “Forget him,” Geth growled. “How are we going to rescue Singe, Natrac, and Orshok?”

  “If you want my advice,” Ekhaas said grimly from above, “you’ll forget about your friends. If they’re not dead yet, they will be soon.” She dropped to the chasm floor, landed in a crouch, and rose to face them. “I don’t know much about Dah’mir, but I know Tzaryan Rrac. There’s a reason his dungeons are small. He doesn’t keep prisoners for long.”

  “Robrand—the General—is a friend,” said Dandra. “He’ll try to keep them alive.”

  “The same way he tried to keep Geth alive?” The hobgoblin stepped up to a large, angled rock that protruded from the rough face of the chasm. “You have no friends in Tzaryan Keep. You can’t stay here—you should flee while you can. The hills to the north open onto the Watching Wood—”

  “Blood in your mouth!” snapped Ashi. “We won’t abandon them!”

  Ekhaas’s ears just twitched. She turned back to the angled rock and thrust her fingers into what looked like nothing more than a large crack.

  With the faintest of scrapes, the entire protrusion swung forward and up on a heavy metal arm to expose a dark, cramped tunnel. “Come,” said Ekhaas, and disappeared inside. Her voice echoed out. “There’s a handle on the inside of the door. Last one in pull it closed.”

  Ashi scowled. “I don’t like her.”

  “Neither do I,” agreed Geth. “But she’s right about one thing. We can’t stay here. I’ll go first.”

  He handed the torch to Dandra, crouched down and went into the tunnel after Ekhaas. The floor had a gentle but persistent slope to it that made keeping his balance awkward. Knees pressed up, backside hanging low, his hands brushing the rock wall for balance, he felt like a waddling duck. Light flooded the tunnel and his shadow stretched out before him as Dandra followed with the torch. A moment later, he heard Ashi grunt. There was another faint scrape, then the sharp sound of a latch catching as the hidden door closed.

  Tzaryan Keep was behind them.

  By the time the prisoners, their captors, and a squad of a dozen ogres reached the ruins, the smell of fresh-turned soil was heavy on the night air. In the light of a pair of torches carried by an orc slave, Singe could see that the ruins seemed almost transformed. The ancient mounds and foundations that marked the location of Taruuzh Kraat on the surface were covered with a new layer of dirt.
Here and there, large rocks and big sections of brick still joined by millennia-old mortar lay strewn like pebbles. Where Singe and the others had located the collapsed entrance to the underground complex that morning, a deep, ragged trench made a scar in the moonlight. The way to Taruuzh Kraat was open.

  There was no sign of Dah’mir except for the herons that circled overhead. Tzaryan Rrac stood beside the trench, watching their approach.

  Singe stumbled on a stone hidden by the torches’ flickering. His arms bound behind his back, he staggered, trying to keep his balance. He might have gone down anyway if Robrand hadn’t caught him and given him the moment of support he needed. The old man’s face betrayed nothing. Singe kept his silence.

  Vennet stalked just ahead, Chain following at his heels like a frightened dog. On Singe’s right, Hruucan kept pace with them, too. Their enemies surrounded them. There’d been no chance to speak with Robrand, no chance to stage an escape.

  Singe risked a glance over his shoulder, checking on Orshok and Natrac. The orc and half-orc were just behind him and Robrand, bound as he was and each with an ogre guard watching over them. Orshok looked terrified, but Natrac met his eyes with a grim determination. Singe gave him a curt nod of encouragement—false encouragement—and turned back to watch the trench drawing closer.

  As frightened as he felt at his own prospects, the real fear that gnawed at him was for Dandra and Ashi. However they’d managed to find their way into the caves beneath Tzaryan Keep, their refuge in Taruuzh Kraat was going to become a trap.

  He had to do something.

  He drew a breath and risked raising his voice as they stopped at the mouth of the trench. “Tzaryan!” he shouted. “Where’s Dah’mir? I’m surprised he left you behind—I wouldn’t turn my back on you!”

  Tzaryan’s black-eyed gaze settled on him briefly, then went to Robrand. “General, keep the prisoners quiet!”

  “Aye.” Singe’s ear stung as Robrand swatted him sharply, but the wizard had to hold back a smile as the old man picked up on his trick and repeated the question. “Where is the dragon, my lord?”

  “Gone ahead,” said Tzaryan. Singe glanced at the trench and the dark passage beyond. Dah’mir couldn’t have fit down it. He must have transformed. The wizard tried to picture the great chamber dominated by the grieving tree. If they were lucky, Dah’mir’s dragon form wouldn’t be able to fit in it either. Singe doubted that they would be so lucky.

  He swallowed and thrust himself forward. Robrand leaped after him, but the old man was just a little too slow. “What did Dah’mir promise you, Tzaryan?” Singe shouted, charging toward the ogre mage. “Is it worth surrendering yourself to him? Do you think he’s just going to leave after—”

  Vennet whirled around. His arm caught Singe right across the throat and swept the wizard off his feet. Singe slammed down onto his back, gasping for breath. “Are you trying something smart again, Singe?” Vennet asked. He lunged forward, punctuating his words with kicks to Singe’s belly. “Give … it … up!”

  Singe curled up around Vennet’s boot and bright pain sparked in his vision, but he still saw Robrand storm up to them. “You! D’Lyrandar! Get back! This man is in my custody!”

  Vennet took a swaggering step back. “Really? I thought he was my master’s prisoner.”

  Robrand stopped, leaving Singe between him and the half-elf like a bone between two dogs. Singe twisted around and looked up at his former commander, catching his eye and mouthing a single word. Chain.

  The old man’s mouth tightened in almost imperceptible acknowledgment and his gaze flicked back to Vennet. His voice rose in sharp command. “Tzaryan company, alert!”

  All around them, the small noises of moving ogres were drowned out in a rush of creaking leather and sliding feet as Robrand’s squad snapped to readiness and turned to face him. Singe managed to sit up in time to see Vennet’s eyes narrow with unpleasant surprise. Off to one side, Hruucan whirled around, surveying the nervous ogres—including Chuut—that surrounded him. His tentacles rose and he dropped into a crouch, ready to fight.

  “General!” Tzaryan roared. “What are you doing? Company, stand down!”

  The ogres relaxed again, but Robrand faced Tzaryan without flinching. “My lord, I think the prisoner has a point.” He glanced at a nearby ogre—possibly the dumbest-looking brute Singe had ever seen—and pointed at Singe. “Watch him,” he ordered, then marched to Tzaryan. “How much can we trust a dragon?”

  “Mutiny!” shouted Vennet. “This is mutiny!” He started to turn his back on Singe, hesitated for instant, then grabbed Chain and shoved him toward the wizard. “You watch him, too!” He darted after Robrand, shouting protests. The ogre Robrand had pressed into guard service just looked utterly confused by the rush of events. Singe twisted around to face Chain. The bounty hunter looked almost as confused as the ogre—and, more importantly, frightened out of his wits, his arrogance crushed.

  “Not exactly the job you thought, is it?” Singe asked him.

  Chain’s lips drew back from his teeth. “Don’t mock me!”

  “I’m not. Just listen to me.” He nodded toward Vennet as the ragged half-elf cursed and railed at Robrand and Tzaryan. “Once Vennet and Dah’mir have Dandra, they’re not going to need you and your dragonmark anymore. Here’s my offer: help us and we’ll take you when we escape.”

  “You’re trying to trick me.” Chain clenched his teeth. “I could escape on my own.”

  Singe bit back the desire to point out what a good job the big man had done of that so far. “Dol Arrah witness, this is no trick,” he said instead. “You’re as dead as we are.”

  His ogre guard finally seemed to realize that something was going on. “You talks!” he said. “Tzaryan says prisoners no talks!” He strode forward and slapped at Singe with a hand as big as a ham.

  When Robrand had swatted him, he’d pulled his punch. The ogre made no such effort. The blow spun Singe around and laid him back out on the ground, his ears ringing. Dazed, the wizard heard Natrac and Orshok yell out and saw them strain forward against the grasps of their own guards.

  Tzaryan’s voice rose over the ruins. “General, return to your place and see to the prisoners! Your suspicions are noted, but I trust Dah’mir to honor the agreement I have with him. Vennet, leave me alone and close your mouth before I have to apologize to Dah’mir for breaking your jaw. All of you get into the ruins with the prisoners! Dah’mir is waiting!”

  Singe sat up as Vennet and Robrand both came back to them. Vennet looked ready to kill something. “Chain!” he snapped. “Hruucan! Into the tunnel!”

  Robrand gestured for the ogre to get Singe on his feet, then sent him back to his place in the ranks. The old man took up a position beside Singe and pushed him forward toward the dark passage to Taruuzh Kraat. The orc torchbearer ran ahead of them to light their way; Natrac and Orshok and their guards followed behind. They passed beneath Tzaryan Rrac’s gaze in silence, then the ceiling of the passage rose above them and cut out the night sky. Tzaryan began ordering the squad of ogres forward in their wake. Singe heard a whisper of frightened prayer from Orshok.

  “I hope you got what you wanted,” Robrand murmured. “I half-expected you to make a break for it before we got down here.”

  “Can’t,” Singe said, working his tongue around his mouth. “We need to warn Dandra.” He spat out blood. “Twelve moons, I wish Geth was here.”

  Robrand’s face twisted. “You can’t mean that.”

  “If he was here, he’d be the one getting hit. He doesn’t mind taking punishment,” said Singe. He snorted and smiled. “And he can give it back. If there’s going to be a fight, Geth’s a good man to have beside—”

  Something inside him lurched at the words coming out of his mouth. Words of respect. Words, Singe realized, that he truly meant. He did wish Geth was there and not just to take blows instead of him.

  He missed having the shifter at his back. The last week with Robrand had brought back so many old memories
—good and bad—that he’d ignored new ones. The battle at the Bonetree mound. The defense of Bull Hollow. And what he’d chosen to remember of the old days, of the Frostbrand before Narath, hadn’t been exactly fair to Geth. For all that both he and Robrand had ignored it, the shifter had been in the background of virtually every reminiscence they’d shared. A bad, bad thing had happened at Narath—but there had been so many good things before and since.

  Maybe Geth didn’t walk to talk about Narath, but abruptly Singe wasn’t so certain that—had he been in Geth’s place—he would want to talk either. And it wasn’t as if Geth felt nothing for his fallen comrades and the people of Narath. The look on his face when Singe had confronted him Bull Hollow, when he tried to talk to him in Bava’s studio, when he’d exposed his dark secret to Dandra and the others … Geth had been afraid. Geth had been ashamed.

  Singe felt a pit open in his gut that was as black and cold as the tunnel around them. “Lords of the Host, Robrand, I’ve made a mistake. We’ve a mistake. Geth—”

  The old man hissed. “Don’t tell me you’re defending him, Etan! He ran away! Tonight, just like in Narath. He ran and left you to hang!”

  “He didn’t know Dah’mir was here any more than you did,” Singe said. His jaw tightened. “And I don’t know that he so much ran away as ran from us.” He looked at Robrand. “Neither of us have been exactly—”

  Robrand punched him across the face, sending him staggering across the tunnel and into Orshok. The ogre holding the druid grabbed him as well, but all Singe could do was stare at his old commander in shock. Robrand’s face was flushed red with anger and he was breathing hard. “Don’t you defend him!” he said. “Don’t you dare defend him. He’s a coward. You know it as well as I do. Whatever Geth gets, he brought down on himself!”

  Singe couldn’t even find the words to respond. Ahead of them, Vennet, Chain, and Hruucan turned to stare. Behind, ogres stumbled to a confused stop. Robrand glared at all of them. “What are you stopping for?” he said, his voice echoing down the long passage. “Tzaryan company, eyes forward! Double march!” He strode forward, away from Singe and past Vennet. Even the half-elf looked startled, but he was swept along and carried away by the moving ogres before he could say anything.