The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II

by Don Bassingthwaite

  She should have felt the tidal rush of his presence, but she didn’t feel anything at all. It was as if something stood between her and Dah’mir, shielding her completely from his terrible power. Dandra looked into Dah’mir’s acid-green eyes and felt only rage at what he had done to her, to Tetkashtai, to Medalashana and Virikhad—at what he would do to other kalashtar if he had the chance.

  If he had the chance.

  For the first time since Dah’mir had torn her and Tetkashtai apart, powers that had been sundered were hers to command. With a thought, the chorus of whitefire swelled and throbbed on the air. Dandra heard ogres shout in fear. Dah’mir’s acid-green eyes flared. His powerful body tensed and his growl was like thunder. “You think you can destroy me?”

  “I don’t need to destroy you,” Dandra said. She wrenched her eyes from Dah’mir and down to Vennet at his side. To the ancient box at Vennet’s feet.

  Her arm snapped around and flung the torch she had gripped for so long. As it left her hand, it exploded with whitefire, psionic flames consuming the wood in an instant. She channeled all of her rage, fear, and hatred into the blast of flame and the whitefire roared with a focused heat hot enough to burn stone as it streaked toward Taruuzh’s deadly treasure. Vennet shrieked and flung up his arms—

  Faster than she would have thought possible, Dah’mir lunged and twisted around, trying to shield the binding stones.

  Fire spattered like water against dark scales, filling the air with a burning spray and the stink of charred flesh. Dah’mir’s howl of pain was like a living thing. It shook the air and seemed to shake the cavern itself.

  But the dragon wasn’t the only one to howl. In instant, Geth had seized the confusion—with a bellow of rage, the shifter threw himself at Chuut, byeshk sword whirling, steel gauntlet punching. The ogre lieutenant fell back before him, bashing away with his mace, but Geth was fast. He rolled under the ogre’s blow and came up swinging, forcing Chuut back even further.

  All around Dandra, Tzaryan’s other ogres had forgotten their discipline entirely. Two … three … half a dozen … abruptly all the ogres were fleeing from the fire and the howls, and Robrand was turning around and around, shouting at them to return to their positions. He might as well have shouted at the wind. The ogres fled for the stairs out of the great chamber and the long passage back to the surface, their big feet pounding the stone in desperate flight. Even the orc slave who had been carrying Robrand’s torches dropped the fiery brands and fled. The already dim light in the chamber flashed crazily as the torches rolled and skipped across the ground.

  The screaming battle cry of the Bonetree hunters rose behind her. Dandra swung around to see Ashi—her body strangely striped in the feeble, flickering light—leap for Tzaryan Rrac, snatching her sword from the ground as she moved. The blade made a bright arc in the air. Forced to dance away from the hunter’s attack, the arm that the ogre mage had pointed at Dandra’s back instead swung wildly. Frost sprayed from his fingertips and one of the few ogres who had stood his ground cried out and fell, ice coating his shoulders and chest. Just a pace away, Robrand stared and threw himself back. Tzaryan cursed—and Ashi struck, her sword plunging into his side. She jerked it free.

  Blood spurted for a moment, then stopped as the wound in Tzaryan’s side healed over. Dandra saw Ashi’s eyes open in disbelief. Tzaryan bared black teeth in an evil grin and drew a heavy sword, returning Ashi’s attack.

  “Dah’mir!” Hruucan’s voice was harsh rasp. Dandra swung about again. The fiery dolgaunt crouched by Ekhaas and Singe, tentacles whipping the air as if he was torn between loyalty to his master and his revenge on Singe. He lunged at Singe, and Dandra felt the wizard’s name rise to her lips—

  —then Hruucan was past Singe and hurling himself at her, kicking off from the ground and spinning through the air. Dandra’s cry turned into a gasp. Her hand came up, the chorus of whitefire pulsed, and pale flame washed over Hruucan.

  It didn’t even slow him down. If anything, it only made the fire that sprang from his burned body stronger. Hissing tentacles flailed at Dandra and she spun her spear desperately, catching them on the shaft. The wood charred and acrid smoke stung her nose and her eyes. Dandra skimmed backward on the air, but Hruucan was as fast as she was and followed close, hands and tentacles feinting and striking. Dandra blocked and slid aside, then released the whitefire and thrust out hard with vayhatana.

  A rippling wave flung Hruucan halfway across the chamber, but he just twisted in midair, landed on his feet, and sprinted forward again.

  Song so sharp it seemed to raise the dust from the floor burst around him and he stumbled to the side, clutching at his head. Ekhaas gave Dandra a fierce grin. At the hobgoblin’s side, Singe shouted, “Ashi! Back!” His fingers traced a sign in the air and an arcane word hissed on his tongue.

  Ashi flung herself away, leaving Tzaryan Rrac to turn to the wizard—and the gout of orange flame that burst from his hand. Tzaryan yelled and staggered, his sword falling from a burned arm that showed no sign of healing.

  For an instant, Dandra felt a moment of triumph.

  Then Ekhaas shouted and flung up an arm. Dandra whirled around.

  Dah’mir’s twisted body was uncoiling. His wings rattled, his tail slapped the ground. His legs pushed. His body rose. His neck twisted and he turned his head and looked at her. The whitefire hadn’t left him unmarked. One of his luminous acid-green eyes was dim and smoky and a long black wound had been seared down his neck, across his shoulder, and along his flank. His scales had been burned away along that stripe and his flesh still smoked. It was an injury that might have killed a lesser creature, but Dah’mir was still very much alive.

  Dandra flung her spear away and raised both hands, reaching for the whitefire once more, trying to summon up the angry power that she had before.

  “No,” spat Vennet, ducking out from behind Dah’mir’s rising bulk. “Not this time!” Eyes narrowed in a face smudged by ash.

  Wind blasted at Dandra, pushing her floating body back through the air. Dandra tried to get her feet back on the ground, but she was too slow. The power of Vennet’s dragonmark thrust her right into Ashi. For a moment, she and the hunter fought against each other to keep their balance, then both fell in the buffeting wind. The chorus of whitefire vanished and Dandra caught a glimpse of Vennet baring his teeth in fierce triumph.

  On the ground beside him was Taruuzh’s ancient box, utterly untouched. Dandra’s heart seemed to stop and all she could do was stare at Dah’mir as he stretched up, wounded and angry and terrible.

  Until a clashing of metal on metal that she had almost forgotten ended in the thud of a fallen body and a sharp cry cut short. On the platform where the grieving tree had stood, Geth ripped his sword from the ruin of Chuut’s throat and stood tall over the ogre’s corpse. His gauntleted arm hung limp and new blood soaked his already gore-matted hair, but he raised his face and lifted Wrath.

  “Dah’mir!” he shouted.

  The dragon swung around. Geth bared his teeth, flung himself across the platform and, at the very edge, leaped high, swinging Wrath as he hurtled straight for Dah’mir’s broad chest and the Khyber shard embedded there.

  Dah’mir’s good eye opened wide in genuine fear—and his body abruptly seemed to fold in on itself and shrink. His hind legs shriveled, his tail vanished, and his forelegs shifted up and merged with wings that suddenly bore black feathers. When less than a moment before a dragon had stood, a heron beat wide wings and flapped high. Geth shouted and twisted around, struggling to swing his sword at this new target, but Dah’mir was already too high. As Geth slammed hard into the ground and rolled, the heron dipped its wings and circled. Dah’mir’s oil-smooth voice emerged from the bird’s beak. “Vennet, get the box! We have all we’ll need. It’s time to leave!”

  Alarm rolled through Dandra even as Vennet snatched up the box and Dah’mir settled down on top of it. “No!” she shouted, thrusting herself to her feet—at the same moment as Tzaryan roar
ed out, “You’re leaving me?” and Hruucan rasped, “Dah’mir! My revenge!”

  The heron only answered one of them. “Take your revenge, Hruucan, and my revenge as well.” A green eye flashed and Dah’mir added something in a language Dandra didn’t recognize, a language that seemed to sting her ears, then he spread his wings and spoke a word of magic. Among the feathers on one wing, a red dragonshard flared and went dim. Shadows wrapped around Dah’mir and Vennet—and they vanished.

  Tzaryan lunged for the spot where they had stood, still roaring curses but Hruucan … Hruucan turned slowly, as if surveying the chamber and those who remained in it. Flames crawled across his body. His fiery tentacles drifted almost lazily in the air. His voice grated and crackled like flame itself. “Revenge …” he said. His gaze settled on Singe and his mouth split in a smile.

  He burst into motion, tentacles snapping forward to seize Singe. The wizard, already weak, cried out, his cry dropping quickly into a horrible moan. Ekhaas, still burdened by Natrac, shrank away, but started to open her mouth in song. Without releasing Singe, Hruucan lashed out with a kick that knocked her back, sent Natrac tumbling out of her arms, and left a scorched mark on her leather armor. “You’re next!” he promised her. His eyeless face sought out Dandra. “Then you!”

  Fear stabbed through Dandra—not for herself, but for Singe. For all of them. Hruucan seemed unstoppable. Whitefire didn’t affect the already burned dolgaunt. Vayhatana could throw him away, but he’d just come back. Hruucan was as fast as she was, faster than Ekhaas, and she had a terrible feeling that anyone without Singe’s ring who came into the dolgaunt’s grasp would not last as long as the wizard had. Dandra’s eyes darted around the chamber. Orshok and Natrac were still down. Ashi was struggling back to her feet. Geth, stunned by his impact with the ground, was staggering as new blood rushed down his face.

  Even Tzaryan looked frightened by Hruucan’s intensity. The ogre mage met her gaze and thrust a hand at the ogre frozen by his misaimed spell. “If I hadn’t wasted that on him, I might have been able to do something!”

  A desperate idea formed in Dandra’s mind. Light of il-Yannah, she thought, let me be right about this! Stepping into the air, she flung up a hand, spun out a web of vayhatana—and wrapped it around Singe’s sagging body.

  Hruucan must have recognized the touch of her power. His tentacles loosened instantly, leaving only wisps of flame to be devoured by Singe’s ring, and leaped away with a frustrated shriek. He spun to face Dandra, but she already had what she wanted.

  With all of her will, she wrenched on the invisible streams of vayhatana, pulling at Singe as hard as she had thrust at Hruucan earlier. Singe’s body jerked into a blur of motion that ripped a startled cry out of him. Quick as thought, Dandra skimmed backward as fast as she could, flinging herself back into the passage that had been their refuge and dragging Singe—still hurtling through the air—with her.

  Out in the chamber, Hruucan screamed. “He’s mine!”

  “Come get him!” Dandra shouted back. She caught a glimpse of the dolgaunt surging after her—then the floor fell away under her heels and in the instant that she tried to adjust to the uneven surface of the stairs, Singe’s body hammered into hers.

  The impact knocked her over and they both went crashing down the stairs. Dandra reached out with her mind, grabbing at the walls as they rushed past—and at Singe as he tumbled with her. Stones bashed her arms and legs, bruising her to the bone. Singe yelled out once, then grunted and gasped, his limbs flailing. Solid ground hit Dandra hard in the chest. Singed slammed down beside and across her. The heel of a boot was like a fist in her back. For a second, it seemed that she couldn’t breath, but she forced her arms to move, to push against the ground, to flip her over as fire flared above, the only light in the darkness.

  Hruucan was on the stairs and rushing down at her like an explosion, his face a mask of hatred. Dandra grabbed for Singe and held on tight as she pushed hard against the base of the stairs with all of her fading mental strength.

  The stone was unyielding. The rough floor scrapped at Dandra’s legs as she and Singe shot backward—and into the chamber that held Taruuzh’s tomb.

  The howls of the ghost, stirred back to rage by Dah’mir’s presence above, rose to a pitch. Frigid wind seized them instantly, dragging another gasp from Singe. His eyes snapped open in shock and he sucked in a choking breath. “Dandra! What—?”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish and Dandra didn’t have a chance to reply. Caught up in his pursuit, Hruucan came plunging through the door and across the chamber. Dandra felt the heat of him flash across her face.

  Taruuzh’s howls broke—then reformed. Words emerged from the wind, harsh and unearthly. Dandra hadn’t been able to understand what the ghost had said before and she still couldn’t, but his voice held such anger that it seemed to freeze her spirit. She clung to Singe and he clung to her, both of them watching as the ghost recognized his true enemy.

  Hruucan’s voice rose in a scream as icy winds sucked the heat from his flames. It seemed to Dandra that he tried to fight back—one unliving thing struggling against another—but there was nothing for him to attack and nothing for him to burn. The fire of his tentacles swirled and streamed away. The light of his flames vanished, but a cold glow filled the air like moonlight on a winter night.

  Hruucan staggered and turned like someone lost in a storm. The fluid motion of his limbs turned stiff and ungainly, until Dandra couldn’t be certain whether he was still moving himself or if he was just a burned corpse held upright by the wind. Taruuzh’s rage didn’t stop, though. The rushing air scoured at Hruucan’s charred flesh and a black blizzard of ash filled the chamber. Dandra choked and covered her mouth and eyes, pressing Singe’s face against her body to shield him. Big pieces of something brittle and light fluttered across her like a storm of moths.

  Then the howling wind was calm. The chamber was silent. The air that touched her was sharp in its chill, but not biting. Dandra opened her eyes and lifted her head. In her arms, Singe did the same.

  Ashes lay in the crevices of the chamber and in the lee of their bodies like drifts of dark snow. The moonlight glow of the air caught on a slowly settling haze of fine dust. Hruucan had been torn apart.

  In front of Taruuzh’s tomb, a hobgoblin stood watching them, his body gray and translucent like old ice. His mouth moved and sighing words of Goblin stirred the ash. Dandra still couldn’t understand them, though there no longer seemed to be anger in them. It didn’t appear that the ghost cared whether she understood or not. His voice sighed once more, then he seemed to drift apart like warm breath on cold air.

  The light faltered and faded with him. In the darkness, Singe found his voice. “Twelve moons,” he croaked. “Are we still alive?”

  Dandra kissed him.

  CHAPTER

  21

  They left the chamber of Taruuzh’s tomb and climbed back up the stairs by the glow of a light conjured by Singe, each of them leaning on the other for support. As Singe’s light finally flashed on the roof and walls of the upper passage, Ashi’s voice echoed down to them. “Rond betch! You’re alive! What happened to Hruucan?”

  “Taruuzh got in another battle against the servants of Xoriat,” said Dandra.

  She mounted the last few steps then gratefully reached for Ashi’s hand as the hunter extended her arm. She couldn’t hold back a gasp of surprise, though, at the sight of Ashi’s skin. What she had glimpsed as shadowy stripes in the chaos of combat were actually bold and colorful lines that patterned her arms and her face.

  “Il-Yannah, Ashi! That’s a dragonmark!”

  “It’s a Siberys dragonmark,” Singe said, accepting the support of Ashi’s other arm. “The Siberys mark of Sentinel. I don’t think there’s going to be any question of whether you’re part of House Deneith now, Ashi.”

  Ashi looked at Dandra. “It just happened,” she said. “When Dah’mir called you to him, I tried to stop you but I couldn’t quite reach yo
u. I wanted to protect you more than anything else—and suddenly it was like something woke up inside me. It felt like I burned my fingers where I touched you, but instead …”

  Dandra remembered the brush of the hunter’s touch on her back. She drew a long breath. “You did protect me, Ashi. Whatever power is in that dragonmark, it was enough to break Dah’mir’s hold on me.”

  “And Tetkashtai’s hold on your powers?”

  The breath Dandra had drawn hissed out. “Not exactly,” she said slowly.

  Singe blinked. “Don’t tell me it reversed what Dah’mir did to you?” He stiffened. “No—if it had, you’d be Tetkashtai.”

  Dandra raised her chin. “I’m not,” she said, then touched the dead crystal around her neck. “Not much anyway. I started out as part of Tetkashtai—now she’s part of me. I absorbed her.”

  “She’s dead?”

  “Only the worst of her.”

  “Twelve bloody moons.”

  They emerged into the great chamber of Taruuzh Kraat and Dandra stared at the scene revealed as Singe’s magical light joined guttering torchlight. Tzaryan Rrac, his chest and arm still burned, and Robrand d’Deneith, his face pale and his eyes hard, had their backs against the platform where the grieving tree had stood, held at bay by Geth. Wrath’s blade reflected only a dull purple gleam. Natrac, looking drained and weak, leaned against the platform as well, while on top of it, Ekhaas crouched over Orshok. As Dandra watched, she pressed a hand to the young orc’s chest and lifted her head in song. Once again, Dandra felt the raw energy of the duur’kala’s magic tug at her. Orshok spasmed and he cried out, but Ekhaas looked satisfied.

  “He’ll survive,” she said.

  Singe choked and cursed again. “Geth, what are you doing?”

  “Holding prisoners,” the shifter growled. Singe let go of Ashi’s arm and staggered over to him.