The Binding Stone: The Dragon Below Book 1

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Then again, he realized, the wizard probably had enough to explain to the lords of Deneith already.

  Singe gave Vennet a level look over top of the letter. “I presume there’s a Kundarak bank in Zarash’ak.”

  The captain nodded, barely glancing up from the document. “Storm at dawn, a small one, but big enough for this. You should have said you were in the employ of another House!”

  “You would have charged me more.”

  “True enough.” Vennet looked up again. “Do you have identification proving you’re authorized to use this?”

  Singe flipped the flat case around and passed it to Vennet. There were stiff papers clipped to the inside of it. Geth watch the captain study the writing on them—and saw his eyes widen slightly once again. He handed the letter and the case back to Singe. “That’s in order, then.” He gave the wizard a glance of curiosity. “Etan Bayard. There’s a family named Bayard with large vineyard estates near Fairhaven—”

  “No relation,” said Singe briskly as he returned letter to case and tucked both away securely. “Call me Singe.”

  He gestured to Geth and Dandra, introducing them as well. If Vennet was surprised by either the shifter or the exotic kalashtar, he gave no indication of it. “You’d best see to selling those horses,” he told them. “We’re almost loaded. The Grithic is a tidal river—we’ll sail for the ocean as soon as the tide is full. There’s a woman named Kirla who runs a stable on Madder Street. Mention my name and she won’t cheat you too badly.”

  Singe kept aside a portion of coin from the sale of the horses and they made hasty visits to several shops for supplies, gear, and clean clothes to supplement what little they had ridden away with from Bull Hollow. They made it back to Lightning on Water with only a little time to spare. Vennet was pacing the deck and looking annoyed.

  “Took your time, didn’t you?” he said, looking at the small packs that each of them now carried.

  Geth growled and tossed a heavy pouch filled with trade strips at him. Vennet’s smile returned quickly enough as he weighed it in his hand, then gestured to a hatch near the bow of the ship. “Stow your gear. You can join the other passengers on deck or stay below when we take speed—it’s your choice.” His smile rose a little. “Welcome aboard.”

  He turned away, calling orders out to the ship’s crew. The gangplank that Geth, Singe, and Dandra had just climbed was pulled up; massive ropes were loosened from the pier and drawn aboard. The ship lurched, caught by the river’s current, as the three made their way forward. Geth stumbled and growled.

  Singe raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

  “No,” Geth spat, steadying himself.

  “It’s occurred to me,” commented the wizard, “that I don’t think I’ve ever seen a shifter on a ship before.”

  “I only need to get used to it.” Geth staggered slightly, arms out and legs flexing to maintain his balance. Over the rail, Yrlag began to slip away as Lightning moved out into the river, escorted by smaller boats. “What did Vennet mean by ‘taking speed?’”

  “You’ve never been on an elemental galleon before?” asked Singe.

  “I hadn’t even seen one before today!”

  Singe pressed his lips together as if he was trying to keep from smirking. “You’ll enjoy this.”

  Geth snarled at him.

  Stairs so steep they were almost a ladder led down into the forward hold. As Vennet had suggested, the ship was almost entirely full—there would be just enough open room, Geth guessed, to spread out the bedrolls they had purchased. He rolled his eyes, though, at the piles of slowly creaking crates and barrels that surrounded them. When Singe led the way back up onto the deck, Geth scrambled up hard on his heels.

  It was easy enough to spot the other passengers: they were the only ones standing talking as the crew hustled around the deck. There were half a dozen of them, most merchants by their dress and manner. One man, however, stood out from the others—quite literally. An older half-orc, he was taller than Singe and easily as broad as Geth, with coarse features, stunted tusks, and a grayish cast to his skin. He was also the best dressed of any of the passengers, wearing a fine coat of red silk drawn over a charcoal-gray tunic, and he carried himself with strength and confidence in spite of his age. He was the first to notice their approach and broke off from talking with a thin, hunched man who reminded Geth of a quill pen to greet them.

  “Friends!” he called in a booming voice. “Join us! This is Pandon—” He gestured to the hunched man, then spread his arms wide. “—and I’m Natrac.”

  “Singe, Geth, and Dandra,” replied Singe smoothly. “A pleasure.”

  Natrac reached out to shake hands with all of them, his massive palm making even Geth’s hand look small. A ring with a gaudy red stone too large to be real glittered on one finger. “The pleasure is mine. It’s good to see new passengers come on deck for the start of Lightning’s run.” He slapped Pandon on the back. “I had to drag Pandon here out of his cabin.”

  The watery smile on Pandon’s face made it clear that he wished he was still there. Geth looked out at the banks of the Grithic. They were moving past them at a fast pace already, though he wasn’t quite certain how. Yrlag was already a smudge of smoke against the sky upstream. “This seems like a good start,” the shifter commented.

  Natrac blinked in surprise, but Singe leaned forward and murmured to him. The half-orc’s eyes went wide and he gaped, “He’s never even seen an elemental galleon before?” He looked down at Geth in disbelief. “Balinor’s stewpot, this isn’t fast! Our captain isn’t drawing on more than a whisper of his mark’s power yet.”

  He nodded toward the stern of the ship. Standing on the aft deck before the massive bluish ring, framed by the great beams that supported it, Vennet gripped the handles of a big, ornate wheel and continued to shout out orders. The breeze caught at the twin tails of his hair and his jacket, tugging with playful familiarity at both.

  There seemed to be mist streaming off the ring like the condensation of warm breath blown around an icicle in winter. As Geth stared, Singe slapped him on the back. “That ring’s an air elemental—just like the earth elemental Adolan summoned out of the Bull Hole, but bound to the ship. Vennet is controlling it through his dragonmark. It will blow us all the way to Zarash’ak!”

  Geth glanced back to the passing banks. “How fast will we go?” he asked.

  Natrac’s grin broadened. “Wait and see! It will be a while yet before the river opens up and Vennet can take speed. There aren’t many rivers capable of running an elemental galleon at all. Even on the Grithic we need to be closer to the open ocean.”

  “It sounds like you’ve made this trip before,” Dandra said.

  “Twice a year at least,” said Natrac. “From Zarash’ak to Yrlag and back.”

  The kalashtar looked alarmed. “That must cost you a lot.”

  “Hardly anything, really. It’s the price of business.”

  “And what business is that?” asked Singe.

  “Opportunity, my friend,” Natrac answered. He swept his arms wide again, gesturing to the land around them. “There are always young—and not so young—men and women in these parts who want to leave the backcountry to seek their fortunes in the wider world, but don’t have the means to do so. They agree to enter my service for a time and in return, I provide them with transportation and a livelihood in Zarash’ak.”

  “Young people from the wilds looking for adventure,” Singe said. He leaned back against the ship’s rail and gave Geth a blunt stare. “That sounds familiar. Do most of them adjust or do they just end up causing trouble?”

  Geth fought back the growl that grew in his throat. Dandra was glancing between him and Singe. Even quiet Pandon noticed something was up. Natrac, however, carried on. “Some do cause trouble,” he confessed. “Most adjust well enough, though—eventually.” He rapped the ship’s rail. “That’s the value of taking passage on an elemental galleon. I used to book passage on ordinary ships
, but you can imagine the effect of keeping ten or so strapping, half-wild savages on board a ship for two weeks or more. I saved on transportation, but the cost of damages was ruinous. On Vennet’s ship, the trip takes less than half the time and I simply increase the period of my clients’ service to cover the cost.” He clapped his hands. “Happiness all around.”

  Singe nodded. “Aren’t you worried about offending House Deneith?” he asked nonchalantly. “I’ve heard that the Blademarks Guild sometimes recruits in the Eldeen Reaches.”

  Natrac chuckled. “They never come this far and I’d be nothing to them even if they did. To be safe though, I never hire my people out as mercenaries. Porters in Zarash’ak, guides in the Marches, gladiators in Sharn if they have a knack for it—but mercenaries? No.” He tapped a finger against the side of his nose and winked at Singe. “Not that I’ve ever turned anyone away if they’re a tough fighter. There’s always more that want to go than I can take in a trip. Just before we boarded, one of my clients broke another’s jaw so she could take his place on the ship! If you need to hire a porter with a strong fist while you’re in Zarash’ak, ask me.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Singe with a smile. His eyes scanned the deck. “Where are these fine porters anyway?”

  “As much as I like to see other passengers come on deck to enjoy the view, my clients stay below deck in the aft hold except when necessary.” He folded his hands across his stomach. “Part of my arrangement with Vennet. My clients can be a little … rough around the edges.”

  “That’s often the way with backcountry types, isn’t it?” agreed Singe. He turned around to look out over the river, deliberately putting his back to Geth. The shifter’s hands curled into fists. Dandra frowned, however, and put a hand on his arm.

  “Don’t,” she urged him.

  Geth shrugged her off and stalked over to the far side of the deck.

  Beyond the Grithic’s northern bank—now a long bowshot away, even from Lightning on Water’s position in the center of the river—the land rose into the rolling, barren hills they had descended only that morning. Beyond the hills lay the great forests of the Eldeen. Fourteen years ago, he hadn’t been able to put those forests behind him quickly enough.

  Seven years later, he’d promised himself he’d never leave them again. How many of Natrac’s clients below deck, Geth wondered, were wishing for some last glimpse of their own homeland? How many would eventually find their way back to Yrlag?

  He stared at the hills as the river gradually widened and the smell of the land faded away, replaced by the growing salt-tang of the sea. The harsh croaking of gulls echoed across the water. It reminded Geth of Breek’s familiar squawk—lost along with Adolan. He closed his eyes, shutting out the last sight of the distant Eldeen.

  A sudden shout from Vennet drew his attention back to the ship. “All hands, prepare to take speed!”

  Geth raised his head as, around the ship, the crew called back to the captain. A murmur of anticipation rose from the other passengers.

  It was drowned out by another cry. “All clear, captain!”

  “Taking speed!” Vennet cried out. “Taking speed!”

  From where he stood, Geth saw the captain take a firm grip on the wheel. The half-elf’s eyes narrowed in concentration.

  A low, haunting whistle seemed to pass through the air. Geth’s eyes darted up, following the sound to the great blue ring mounted behind the ship. Its translucent surface was quivering, like a pot of water coming to a boil. The wisps of mist it had given off before grew denser and became streams thick as smoke. The whistle screeched higher and louder, making Geth’s ears twitch unbearably. The hair on his arms and on the back of his neck rose. The growl that he had suppressed before broke out of his throat and his lips pulled back from his teeth. The whistle faded away. The ship seemed to hold its breath.

  In the next moment, the blue of the ring vanished like snow thrown on a fire, puffing away into a hoop of roiling mists as a howling gale blasted out behind the ship. Lightning on Water gave a tremendous leap and surged forward in a powerful burst of speed. Caught off-guard, Geth lurched and staggered. The wind of their passage took his breath away. He clenched his teeth and blinked against it as his fingers dug into the wood of the rail. The ship seemed to rise up underneath him. A few of the crew were snickering and pointing at him. He didn’t care—he just held on.

  “Geth!” called Dandra. “Geth!”

  A hand tapped his shoulder. Geth glanced back at the kalashtar. Singe stood behind her.

  “Relax!” she said. “It’s not that bad.”

  “What is this?” Geth gasped. “What’s going on?”

  The ship shuddered and rose again. The roar of water rushing against the hull shifted in pitch. Geth’s hands clamped around the rail even harder. Singe peered over the ship’s side, then pointed down. Geth leaned over cautiously to follow his gesture.

  Lightning on Water was moving so fast that her hull had lifted almost entirely clear of the water. Previously hidden below the waterline, a long wooden fin arced gracefully down from the ship’s side to slice through the water like a paddle held sideways.

  “There’s another on the other side,” said Singe. “As I understand it, because they’re thinner than the hull, the ship can go even faster.”

  “That’s good,” gulped Geth. “Because we need to go faster.” He looked at Dandra. “Now I know,” he said, “how you feel on a horse.” He forced his hands open and slid down to sit on the deck with his back against the rail and the racing water out of sight.

  The first two days of the voyage were among the most physically miserable of Geth’s life. Most of his time—day and night—was spent on deck. Even with the rushing wind of their passage, the fresh air was far more comforting than the disturbing creaks and eternal shifting below. It also alleviated the worst of his seasickness. Water and plain bread were the only things that could pass his lips without sending him rushing to hang over the ship’s rail.

  Some time on the third day, it seemed as if his body made a bargain with the sea. The shifter found that he was actually hungry and cautious sampling showed that a little food would stay settled in his stomach. The sea wind felt good on his face and in his hair and there was thrill to the rise and fall of the ship as it surged over the waves. The crew had grown used to his presence on deck; they seemed genuinely pleased when they discovered that he had started to enjoy the journey.

  The only thing he couldn’t get used to was the sensation of being below deck while the ship was moving. He’d never been afraid of tight spaces before, but onboard Lightning on Water, it was disquieting. Fortunately, the weather was warm in spite of the wind. If he’d survived two nights on deck while puking his guts over the side of the ship, he told himself, he could survive a couple more.

  As the sun set over water and darkness fell, he found himself alone in the bow of the ship. The crew had gone to their hammocks and blankets. The other passengers, Singe and Dandra among them, had made a habit of remaining in the captain’s cabin after dinner. It seemed that sharing Vennet’s table wasn’t exactly the exclusive invitation Singe might have thought it was. Geth stared out at the broad horizon—at the moons and stars above and the shining Ring of Siberys in the south—and finally allowed himself to mourn Adolan. The druid’s loss was an empty ache inside him. Geth reached up and brushed his fingers over the collar of black stones, feeling the deep grooves of the ancient symbols that had been carved into them.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Vennet’s voice came from right behind him, so close that it made the shifter jump. He twisted around, his teeth bared out of instinct. Vennet raised a hand. “Easy,” he said. “Sorry to startle you. If you’d prefer to be left alone …”

  Geth hesitated, then relaxed. He’d been alone with his thoughts long enough, and he’d seen little of Vennet through the voyage. By day the captain manned the wheel, controlling both the ship and the elemental. A junior officer, also a bearer of th
e Mark of Storm that gave House Lyrandar its distinctive powers, took over by night. Geth patted the rail beside himself. “Stay,” he said. “Plenty of room.”

  “I’d thank you for such a gracious invitation, but she is my ship.” Vennet leaned against the rail, his back to the sea. In one hand he held a bottle. He offered it to Geth.

  The shifter accepted it and took a cautious swig. The liquor inside was strong and harsh. He passed the bottle back to Vennet. “I would have expected something a little better of the captain,” he wheezed.

  “It’s crew rations,” the half-elf admitted. “But it’s how you can tell a working windwright from a pampered drizzle-whistler in House Lyrandar.” He raised the bottle to the starry sky. “We sailors develop a fondness for the rot.” Vennet took a drink, then ran his gaze over Geth. “You’re looking better than you have been.”

  Geth grunted. “It would be hard not to.”

  Vennet chuckled and put the bottle back in Geth’s hand. “We missed you at the table tonight. I thought maybe you’d come now that you’d found your sea legs.”

  The shifter made a sour expression as he took another pull at the bottle. “I like it better on deck,” he said. “Why? Have I missed anything?”

  “Not much,” confessed Vennet with a shrug. “The run from Yrlag to Zarash’ak is generally pretty much the same every time, although this voyage isn’t going particularly well for Natrac. Some of his ‘clients’ have been getting out of hand, and he’s finally realized that Singe works for House Deneith.” He grinned. “He’s been groveling like a goblin all night. Singe is drinking it up.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Geth growled.

  He drank again, then returned the bottle. Vennet looked at him over its end as he drank as well. When he lowered the bottle, he commented, “There’s no love lost between you two, is there?” “We served together,” Geth said curtly.