The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Orshok’s ogre guard grumbled a curse at being left with two prisoners, but that didn’t stop him from marching along at a pace that left Singe stumbling. The orc torchbearer had hastened after Robrand, plunging the tunnel into a darkness broken only by the eerie flames and embers of Hruucan’s body. Orshok managed to lean close for a moment. “Singe, what was that?” he asked, his voice desperate. “Is this some plan?”

  Stunned, Singe shook his head. If it was a plan, it wasn’t one of his! Had he just driven away their only solid ally? Twelve bloody moons, he thought, how can this get any worse?

  CHAPTER

  18

  It was difficult to tell how far or how long they traveled in the tunnel—their waddling pace made the distance seem to stretch on for leagues. Eventually, however, Ekhaas paused, blocking the passage. Beyond her, Geth could see an end to the stone walls of the tunnel. “What are you waiting for?” he growled. “Keep going!”

  The hobgoblin bared her own sharp teeth back at him. “Have patience!” She twisted around in the tight space to look at them. “You enter a part of my people’s history,” she said. “What you see, only a few chaat’oor have seen anywhere. You will be the first to see it here. Respect it.”

  She didn’t wait for a response, but just turned back and crawled forward out of the tunnel. Geth followed her, peering out cautiously, uncertain of what waited for them. The light that shone past him only made the shadows seem deeper. Even when he stepped out of the tunnel and stood up—gratefully stretching cramped limbs—the aisle of light revealed nothing more than an expanse of rocky floor. He looked for Ekhaas, a silent figure in the dark. “What’s so special about this?” he asked.

  Torchlight blossomed as Dandra crawled out of the tunnel and stood up. Geth’s voice died in his throat and he stared around in amazement. Dandra let out a gasp. Ashi, emerging a moment later, swore out loud.

  They stood on the edge of a long, tall cavern. Stone walls soared up over their heads, all of them covered with painted figures.

  Crude but instantly recognizable, herds of animals raced around the cavern, pursued by goblinoid figures. Hobgoblins and bugbears chased tribex, bison, and even mammoths, while goblins stalked smaller prey. Other scenes showed feasts, dancing, battles. Some showed rituals. Some showed monsters preying on the goblinoids: a dragon red as blood laid waste to a hobgoblin encampment with claw and fire.

  A shadow loomed in the corner of Geth’s eye. With a shout that rang through the cavern, he drew his sword and whirled around. He froze at the sight of another painting—larger-than-life hobgoblins, bugbears, and goblins, their heads thrown back in song as they worked at crafting stone implements and woven baskets.

  “What is this place?” asked Ashi in awe.

  “Taruuzh wasn’t the first to find power in this region,” said Ekhaas. Even her arrogance seemed a little humbled among the ancient paintings. “In times long before Jhazaal Dhakaan united the six kings, long before the clans even existed, caves like this were the refuge of shamans and wonder workers.” Her ears stood straight and she spread her arms before the singers on the wall. “The early duur’kala. The predecessors of the daashor.”

  “I wouldn’t have dreamed such places existed,” Dandra said.

  “Do you think we tell all of our secrets to chaat’oor? Be honored by what you have seen.” Ekhaas lowered her arms. “We shouldn’t linger. The power hasn’t left these caves.”

  They moved through the cavern in silence, the figures on the walls flickering and almost seeming to move with the torchlight. Geth felt as if the painted goblinoids were following him through the cavern, hunting him as they had hunted their ancient prey. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose and a chill took hold of him. He had to fight to keep a growl from rising up his throat. Ashi looked uncomfortable as well—her hand was on her sword, though she didn’t draw it. Dandra kept glancing over her shoulder.

  Ekhaas wore a look of smug condescension—although Geth noticed that even her eyes darted occasionally to the deeper shadows of the cave.

  “How far are we from Taruuzh Kraat?” he asked her.

  “Not far. There are four caves. The last one holds stairs that lead up to the great chamber.” The hobgoblin tried to keep her voice light, but didn’t quite succeed.

  The first cavern wasn’t the only one that was painted. A deep crack angled upward through the stone wall to open onto a cavern decorated with scenes of children and childbirth. A third cavern had bare walls but its low ceiling had been spattered with a thousand dots of white. Stars, Geth realized. Twelve larger colored dots were moons. A heavy spray of white was the Ring of Siberys. The ancient hobgoblins had duplicated the night sky in their dark caves. He shivered again.

  “Are you cold, too?” Dandra asked. Geth glanced at her. She exhaled and her breath made a stream of mist on the air. Geth flexed his arms, trying to warm himself. He turned and looked at Ekhaas. The hobgoblin shrugged.

  “It’s a cave,” she said, her voice echoing slightly. “There are drafts.” She led the way to a steep passage that had been cut with grooves for traction—grooves that must have been old when the Dhakaani Empire was young.

  “The air is still,” said Ashi. “There’s no draft.”

  “What do you know about caves, March hunter?” Ekhaas asked without looking back. “Keep to your swamps and—”

  Her voice died away as a long sigh rippled along the passage. The chill that had clung to Geth changed with the sound, seeming to seep right through his flesh and into his sprit. He bared his teeth and his sword snapped up. “That wasn’t a draft! Ekhaas, what’s down here?”

  “Nothing!” The hobgoblin’s ears stood high and alert. For the first time, her hand hovered near her sword as well. “I’ve been through these caves a dozen times and there’s nothing—”

  The sigh came again, rising and falling. This time, though, it was more than just a sound. It was words.

  Wrath … returns. Has the time Aryd foresaw come so soon?

  Geth’s hair bristled and the nightmare passage through Jhegesh Dol that he and Natrac had survived came back to him—a passage that had been haunted by the moaning, pleading spirits of ancient orcs and hobgoblins. “That’s not nothing! Wolf and Rat, that’s a ghost!”

  The torchlight grew brighter as Dandra and Ashi edged closer to him. Both women held their weapons at the ready. “I heard words,” said Dandra. “What did it say, Ekhaas?”

  Geth answered for the hobgoblin without thinking. “It said ‘Wrath returns’ and asked if the time Aryd had foreseen had come.”

  Ekhaas froze and turned to stare back at him. Ashi and Dandra stared at him to, but in astonishment. “Geth,” Dandra asked sharply, “you understood what it said?”

  “Yes, I—” Geth blinked. “You didn’t?”

  Dandra shook her head. So did Ashi. Ekhaas’s ears twitched. “I barely understood it,” she said. “It was an archaic form of Goblin, a hold-over from the time of the Empire.”

  Geth’s eyes opened wide. His heart beat fast. “That’s not possible,” he said. “I don’t speak Goblin at all!”

  “Rond betch!” Ashi exclaimed. “Look at his sword!”

  Geth glanced down at the ancient weapon—and caught his breath. The purple byeshk of the blade was coated with frost.

  The sigh came a third time. Wrath …

  Dandra looked up at Ekhaas. “You,” she said. “Start talking. What’s going on? You said these caves were safe!”

  “They are safe!” Ekhaas said, then winced. “They should be safe.”

  “I know the name Aryd,” Ashi said. “She was the Gatekeeper seer in the story of the Battle of Moths, the one who helped Taruuzh.” She stiffened. “That voice. Is that Taruuzh?”

  Ekhaas’s mouth opened, then closed. She spread her hands. “When a daashor died, it was tradition to bury him beneath his kraat.”

  “Grandfather Rat’s naked tail!” Geth cursed in disbelief. “These caves are tombs, too?”

&nbs
p; “No!” said Ekhaas. Her ears flicked and she pointed ahead into the darkness. “Only the last chamber is. That’s where Taruuzh was laid to rest—but I’ve never seen a ghost here before! I’ve never felt anything like this!”

  “Well, you’re feeling it now,” Geth told her. “What do you think raised him? What’s this wrath he’s talking about?”

  She hesitated, then said, “I think they’re the same thing.” She pointed at the sword in Geth’s hand. “That’s Wrath.”

  “What?”

  “Until you said how you found the sword, I didn’t know, but then …” Ekhaas drew a breath and her cedar-smoke voice turned formal as she spoke a passage from a story. “And Rakari Kuun emerged from Jhegesh Dol, even in his triumph weeping for what he had seen—and what he had lost. The death of the daelkyr lord had claimed a high price and Aaram, the sword that would not accept the grasp of a coward, the lhesh shaarat that had been given to Duulan—first of the name Kuun—by Taruuzh, had passed from the world.”

  Geth shuddered as another ghostly sigh brushed over them. Ekhaas looked at him again. “Aaram is the Goblin word for righteous anger or wrath,” she said. “What you brought out of Jhegesh Dol wasn’t just any lhesh shaarat. It was a weapon forged by Taruuzh himself.” She raised her hands toward the ceiling of the cavern and Taruuzh Kraat somewhere above. “You’ve brought Wrath home.”

  “And woken up Taruuzh,” growled Geth. “Rat!”

  Ekhaas’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t know that would happen!”

  “It did!”

  “Enough!” snapped Dandra. She pushed forward, stepping between them. “Light of il-Yannah, we can’t just argue about this. We need to do something. Unless you can cast that spell of floating flames again, Ekhaas, we at least need to get up into Taruuzh Kraat before this burns out. I don’t want to be down here in the dark!”

  She gestured with the torch and Geth saw that it was burning much less brightly than it had before. A soft growl crept out of his throat. He looked to Ekhaas. “Can you?”

  “If I need to,” the hobgoblin said. “But that torch will last longer than the spell would.”

  “Rat,” Geth said again. He drew himself up straight. “I guess we don’t have much of a choice, do we?” He flicked his sword—Wrath—toward the top of the passage. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

  Every step that they advanced up the steep slope seemed to bring a drop in the temperature. By the time they reached the top, Geth’s sword wasn’t the only thing coated in frost. The cold silvered Dandra’s dark hair and brought a flush to Ashi’s face. Ekhaas was shivering as she paused beside a gap in the rock. “Through there,” she said. “You can see the tomb. The stairs up to Taruuzh Kraat are beyond it.”

  Geth squeezed past her to peer through the gap. The wintry air stirred at his approach and Taruuzh’s ghostly voice tugged at him once more. Wrath—my beautiful blade. The words turned wistful and some of the longing in them gripped Geth as well. They call me daashor, but I was first a smith. I made wonders, but your pure perfection brought the most pride of all to my heart. Geth clenched his teeth and tried to ignore the voice.

  The final cavern was small, no larger than a big room. Even if the eerie cold hadn’t stopped them, they wouldn’t have missed the tomb of Taruuzh. It dominated the chamber, a massive stone monument that would have rivaled some of the grand tombs Geth remembered from Sharn or Metrol. It stood upright, its tall sides carved with goblins and hobgoblins laboring at forges and over anvils—dozens of smiths at work, all depicted in flawless detail, an echo of the paintings in the deep caves. The stone figure of a hobgoblin stood out from the front of the tomb. Dressed in a smith’s apron with thick gauntlets and holding a heavy sword, it was a smaller version of the great statue in the hall of Taruuzh Kraat except that this carving hadn’t been defaced. Taruuzh’s effigy stared into the ages with an expression that was stern but alert.

  Frost, however, had touched the statue as well, softening its features and rendering the effigy as tired and lonely as the haunting voice. A coincidence? Geth couldn’t imagine that it was.

  Dandra pressed close, looking over his shoulder. “I don’t see anything,” she said.

  “Not all ghosts are something you can see,” Ashi said from behind her. Geth didn’t look back at either of them, but just studied the chamber. Nothing moved. There were no more sighs, though the cold air seemed heavy, like a slow wind before a blizzard.

  “At least Taruuzh doesn’t seem like an unfriendly sort,” he said after a long moment. Across the cavern, he could see an archway carved out of the rock, the foot of a worn stone staircase visible within its shadows. “There’s where we’re going,” he said, pointing. “Do you think the ghost would follow us up the stairs, Ekhaas?”

  “The power that drew the early duur’kala here belongs to the caves, not to Taruuzh Kraat,” said the hobgoblin.

  “And we didn’t encounter the ghost when we were in Taruuzh Kraat before,” Dandra pointed out.

  “Good,” said Geth. “Then let’s hope Taruuzh is as pleased to see his old sword as he sounded. “He took a long breath, released it—and stepped out into the chamber.

  Nothing happened. Geth raised his voice experimentally. “Taruuzh?” He stepped a little further into the cavern and called again. “Taruuzh!” His heart beating like thunder, he raised the sword over his head. “We have your sword, your beautiful blade. We have Wrath!”

  The air tensed and rippled with another quiet sigh, but nothing else. Geth lowered Wrath and looked back to the others. “Hurry,” he said. None of them needed urging. As they spilled out from the steep passage and hastened after him, Geth turned and strode for the archway and the stairs beyond.

  Between one stride and the next, the tension in the air broke. The temperature changed in an instant, so quick it was like plunging into icy water, so sharp it took his breath away. He stopped short, choking on air that stung his lungs. Behind him, Dandra stumbled and cried out. The light from her torch grew suddenly dim. Geth spun around. Ashi had Dandra and was holding her up, but both women were staring at Taruuzh’s tomb. So was Ekhaas as she pressed back against one stone wall. Geth stared, too.

  The frost on the stone had spread and grown thick. In the wavering light of the failing torch. features that had been soft were now hard. Hard and angry.

  Xoriat! Taruuzh’s voice rose in a sudden howl. I smell Xoriat! I know you, servants of the daelkyr! Wrath wakes me! I know you and I know what you seek! You may hold Wrath, but you shall not have the stones! They are saved up against the day that Aryd foresaw!

  Cold unlike anything he had ever felt, more intense than the fiercest winter gale in northern Karrnath blasted Geth. It scoured his skin and bit into his very soul. He tried to turn to face Taruuzh’s tomb. “We’re not servants of Xoriat!” he shouted back at it. “We fight the daelkyr—we fight the servant of the Master of Silence, just like you did!”

  It didn’t do any good. The air moved, churning into wind, whipping through the chamber and making the cold seem even more intense. Ashi flung a hand toward him, her other arm wrapped around Dandra. “Geth!”

  He reached deep into himself and shifted, feeling the rush of his own ancient heritage flow through him, driving back some of the cold. He pushed forward against the wind and grabbed Ashi’s hand. The hunter’s fingers were like icicles.

  “The stairs!” he yelled at her. “We have to try and get to the stairs!”

  She nodded and pulled herself and Dandra toward him. Dandra looked the worst of all of them. She was breathing in shallow gasps, there were thick ice crystals on her eyelashes and the soft yellow-green glow of the psicrystal around her neck was brighter than the torch she cradled.

  Geth’s breath hissed between frozen teeth. If Dandra failed, Tetkashtai might have her chance to break through and seize her body. He wrapped his arms around both women as best he could, trying to will his body to generate warmth, and pushed them toward the stairs up to Taruuzh Kraat. How far up the s
tairs might Taruuzh’s reach extended? He swallowed icy saliva and looked around for Ekhaas.

  The hobgoblin was still huddled against the wall of the cavern, though as he watched she pushed herself away and stood upright, her eyes fixed on the tomb. “Ekhaas!” he called to her. “This way!”

  She shook her head and drew herself up. “Ekhaas!” Ashi screamed, adding her appeal to Geth’s.

  Ekhaas didn’t move except to draw a breath, open her mouth—and sing.

  If the song with which she had healed him had seemed raw and energetic, the power behind her voice now was primal. Whatever magic had allowed him to understand Taruuzh’s sighs and wails let him comprehend the words Ekhaas sang as well. It was no spell that poured forth from her throat, but a martial anthem, a song of honor and glory. The power wasn’t in the words, but in Ekhaas’s voice. Her song touched him, setting his blood pounding and giving him strength. He could feel Ashi stand a little straighter, a little stronger, as well. Dandra, too.

  More importantly, the song seemed to settle Taruuzh. The phantom wind in the chamber slowed. The sharp edge of the cold grew dull. Even Taruuzh’s wailing eased, then ceased, as if the unseen ghost was listening, caught up in the music.

  Ekhaas’s gaze darted from the tomb to Geth and she stabbed a hand toward the stairs in an urgent gesture. The shifter blinked and tore himself away from the power of the hobgoblin’s song. “The stairs!” he said. “Quickly!”

  The women nodded and stumbled forward. Geth glanced over his shoulder. Ekhaas was following at a slow and stately pace, timing her footfalls to her song. She gestured again for him to go. Geth swallowed and ran after Ashi and Dandra.

  The cold faded even more the moment he was through the archway. Dandra and Ashi were already on the stairs and climbing fast. Geth heard Dandra gasp with relief. “Il-Yannah, it feels like summer!”