The Binding Stone: The Dragon Below Book 1

by Don Bassingthwaite

  The building that she faced now might once have been much like what she remembered. It had the shape of something grand, but it had been a long time since it could have been considered luxurious. Much of the roof had fallen in and the dormers with it, leaving the house looking like a crushed skull. The wood of the house had gone gray with age. If it stood alone on its own platform, it was because its neighbors seemed to lean away, as if shunning the decaying structure.

  The blue doors were still there, as tall and striking as in her memory, but the color on them was faded and old, a stain on the wood. One door hung askew. Dandra could say nothing, struck dumb by her memory’s betrayal. “This isn’t what we saw,” she managed finally.

  “Dandra, is it possible that Dah’mir’s domination of you and the kalashtar began before he met them?” asked Singe after a moment. “Some kind of illusion spun into your minds …”

  Dandra nodded slowly. “It’s possible, I suppose. This is the house, though. I’m sure of it.”

  “If this isn’t the right place, we don’t have anything to worry about,” said Geth. “If it is the right place, they’ll be expecting us. Be ready.” The shifter studied the broken house carefully, then loosened his sword in its scabbard. “We should make getting Natrac back and out of here our goal, but I don’t think dealing with Ashi and Vennet would be a bad thing either.”

  “I agree.” Dandra shifted her grip on her spear and took a step into the air, skimming the ground and ready for combat.

  They moved forward, stepping cautiously over the gap that had opened between the building’s platform and the planks of the street. The murky water that lapped the shadows beneath Zarash’ak was visible far down below. Dandra glided up to the faded doors. She was about to put a hand to them when Geth pointed at the step beneath her feet. “No dust,” he said. “It’s been swept clean.”

  “Wind or rain?” suggested Singe.

  The shifter shook his head. “Probably not.”

  Dandra pushed open the door. She recalled a beautiful foyer with stairs rising up to the second floor and the distant sound of trickling water. What actually lay beyond the door was a rickety, broken room with huge gaps in the walls. Stairs—every second step seemingly broken—rose to a second floor that sagged so badly she wasn’t sure she would have risked crossing it. The sound of water was the splashing of the river, echoing up from somewhere below.

  A trail of blood led deeper into the house. Dandra gestured silently to the trail and started across the floor.

  “No, Dandra!” snapped Geth. “There was no blood outside—”

  His warning was too slow. A chunk of hurled wood cracked against the side of Dandra’s head and sent her stumbling to the ground. Gasping in pain and with Tetkashtai screeching in alarm, she twisted around. She caught a glimpse of movement as Singe shouted and darted to her side—only to be met by Ashi’s screaming battle cry as she leaped down through a broad hole in the ceiling. A kick caught Singe’s shoulder, spinning him around and driving him to the floor—

  —which cracked and broke under the impact of Ashi’s landing. The tall woman’s battle cry turned into a yelp of alarm as the crumbling floorboards gave way beneath her and Singe. Stunned by Ashi’s blow, Dandra froze as both the hunter and the wizard plunged down into the darkness below.

  CHAPTER

  10

  “Rat!” Geth sprang to the splintered edge of the hole as two solid impacts below shook through the frame of the old house. Debris rained down around him. He held his gauntlet over his head and peered down. Singe and Ashi lay, tangled together and stunned, on the floor of a lower level about fifteen feet down and apparently much more solid than the one above.

  There were shouts of alarm coming up from below as well. Ashi and Vennet weren’t alone! Geth glanced up at Dandra.

  “Looks like this is the right house!” he spat. He spun around and slithered backward past the edge of the hole, lowering himself swiftly down. When his fingers clenched wood and he hung from outstretched arms, he grunted and kicked out.

  Old wood screeched in protest but held firm as he swung and released, arcing through the air to hit the ground in a roll. He came up in a crouch and spun around as Ashi wrenched herself away from Singe. Geth leaped forward to stand over the wizard, his gauntlet up, his sword clearing its scabbard in one fluid movement. He had only a moment to take in the great chamber around him. Once it might have been a private water landing of some kind: there was a huge square opening in the center of the buckled floor with broad stairs running down and the sound of lapping water drifting up. Another long flight of stairs rose to the upper levels of the ruined house. Holes broken in the high ceiling let day’s light stab into the shadows.

  Ashi drew her own sword and took a fast pace back—and then took another as Dandra fell through the hole above to land with an unnatural grace and lightness. Her spear glittered in her hand. Alarmed shouts turned to frightened cries, but one voice rode above them all.

  “Hold your ground!” roared Vennet in a voice used to calling across the deck of a ship at sea. “Follow the plan, Fause! Temmen, be careful not to hurt the woman!”

  The Lyrandar captain, his cutlass drawn, charged around the hole in the floor. A lean man wielding a thick quarterstaff followed close behind. From the hole’s far side rose the unified chanting of half a dozen men and women dressed in dark, shapeless robes, a wild-haired man with a look of madness on his face leading them. “Powers of Khyber, great Dragon Below, hear our prayer and lay low our enemies!”

  “Grandfather Rat’s naked tail!” cursed Geth. Had he really thought an easy rescue might be possible?

  Natrac slumped against the wall behind the chanting cultists. His already-fouled clothes were drenched with blood; his right hand had been brutally amputated at the wrist, the wound fire-seared to seal it. The half-orc’s skin looked waxy, but he was still breathing. He needed a healer. Geth had an unpleasant certainty that if they got out of the chamber alive, they would all need a visit to a healer.

  He shifted and leaped at Ashi. He could feel the magic called down by the cultists fall over him like a shadow, trying to drag at his arms and fill him with self-doubt. The sensation of invincibility that flooded his veins flung the dark prayers back, though, and as Ashi’s sword flashed in the dim light, he caught her blow on his gauntlet and replied with a thrust of his own heavy Karrnathi sword. Ashi twisted aside, then arched her back to avoid a punch from the gauntlet as well. Her teeth clenched and she smiled, eyes shining as bright as her blade.

  “You fight well, shifter!” she said. Her sword flicked high, then dove low. Geth anticipated the feint and caught the sword on his own, turning it aside. He and Ashi sprang apart, and she added, “I can see why Ner claimed you at the Gatekeeper circle!”

  Geth settled into a defensive posture, sword and gauntlet both up. From the corner of his eye, he could see Dandra skimming toward Vennet and Temmen. Her spear darted out like a shining crystalline serpent, a fast and lethal strike.

  Temmen knocked the blow away with one end of his staff, then struck back with the other end, forcing Dandra to parry wildly with the butt of her spear. Vennet slipped easily around both combatants, a wicked grin on his face. “Not a spearman as such,” he called out, “but on short notice, I think an expert in the quarterstaff will do!”

  Geth managed to block a flurry of hard blows from Ashi that left his arm stinging. “Singe!” Geth yelled. The wizard was on his feet, but fumbling as he drew his rapier. The fall had knocked the wind out of him. “Singe, we could use a spell!”

  “Then stop leading us into places made of wood!” wheezed the wizard. He hauled himself upright and jumped clear of both Ashi and Vennet. He moved his hand in an arcane gesture and spoke a word of magic. Three of the cultists pitched over, their eyes closed in unnatural sleep. The chant of the others faltered and Geth felt the baleful shadow of their prayer fade.

  “Storm at dawn!” cursed Vennet in frustration. The half-elf wasn’t, however, looki
ng at the fallen cultist, Geth realized. As he whirled in combat with Ashi, he saw Vennet dodge back and forth for a moment, then heard him curse again. “One will do!” he spat. “Ashi, move!”

  “No!” the hunter snarled. The same battle lust that Geth had glimpsed in Ner’s eyes at the Bull Hole flared in Ashi’s. “I claim his death!”

  “Neither of you can have it!” gasped Geth. He spun around Ashi and slammed his gauntleted elbow back in a hard blow that sent her reeling away.

  And left a clear path between him and Vennet. The Lyrandar captain’s eyes narrowed.

  There was no parrying or blocking the gust of wind that blasted out from him. It hit Geth like a moving wall and shoved him back. He caught half a glimpse of mold-slick stairs running down to dark and murky water before the wind battered him right over the edge of the hole in the chamber’s center.

  He slammed into the stairs hard and started rolling and sliding on the slimy surface. Instinct opened his hand, releasing his sword before some random jarring bounce could send it plunging into his own body. The bone-jarring, teeth-rattling impacts of his body and limbs on the stairs came too fast to count, but as abruptly as the wild ride had started, it was over—with a tremendous splash, he hit water.

  It was brown-green, cloudy, and warm. Geth felt unnamable lumps and ropy strands touch him as he sank and it was all that he could do to overcome the instinct to inhale. He spread his limbs and kicked hard back toward the surface. As soon he broke the surface, he gasped for air—then gagged and choked as something slimy rippled off his face and slithered into his mouth. He spat convulsively. The water stank, foul with all the detritus of the marshes and Zarash’ak combined.

  The enormous pillars and piles that supported the platforms of the City of Stilts spread out around him like a drowned forest at twilight. The bottom of the stairs were in front of him, though, a long broken smear on them marking his tumbling fall.

  He kicked for them, threw an arm over a sludge-coated step, and hauled himself out of the water as a new wave of chanting rolled down from the cultists above.

  The sound of it sent a chill through Geth.

  “Grandmother Wolf!” he breathed, staggering to his feet. A sudden bubbling noise snapped his attention back to the water. Its foul surface was boiling as something rose from deep below.

  The head that emerged from the water as big across as a large shield and armored, too—the vile slickness of the water shimmered on a mottled carapace like that of some enormous crayfish. Four powerful legs and a thick tale propelled the creature to the surface, while massive arms clacked jagged pincers as long as Geth’s own legs. Tentacles hanging below the enormous creature’s head writhed, questing toward him.

  Geth scrambled up the stairs, scooting backward to avoid turning his back on the monstrous beast. His feet and hands slipped on the muck that coated the wood, but he kept going as the creature reared back and hauled its bulk out of the water onto the lowest step. Geth grabbed the step nearest him and held on desperately as the stairs pitched under its weight. A high snarl of fear ripped free of his throat.

  Dandra whirled around in time to see Geth plunge down the stairs and out of sight. A moment later, she heard a splash as he hit the water below. Temmen tried to take advantage of her distraction and pressed her hard. She beat back his staff, desperately trying to get away. Over the crack of wood against wood, she heard Singe speak the words of a spell—words that became an abrupt gasp of pain. She slid to Temmen’s side and twisted to look over her shoulder.

  Singe was on his knees, clutching at the knife that sprouted from his arm. Ashi lowered the hand that had thrown the knife and took a step toward him. Vennet turned to Dandra, a look of triumph on his face. Temmen moved back in, his staff already falling.

  We’re doomed! wailed Tetkashtai. Dah’mir will take us back—

  “We’re not doomed!” hissed Dandra through clenched teeth. She swept her spear up to block Temmen’s blow, then spun the weapon, slid her right hand down on the shaft and wrenched back hard with her left, snapping the butt of the spear up and into the man’s groin. He skipped back before it could hit him, but it gave her the opening she needed. “And Vennet,” she spat as she pulled Tetkashtai close and reached into herself, “is not Dah’mir.”

  The air rippled around her as she slid her body through the crevices of space. When she had used the power to escape the Bonetree hunters, she had stepped across hundreds of yards at once, pushing herself as far as she possibly could. The long step moved her much shorter distances as well, though.

  She was beside Singe before Ashi had moved more than a pace. The wizard cried out in surprise, but Dandra dropped a hand on his shoulder. Her spear snapped up, swinging between the hunter, Vennet, and Temmen, all of them startled.

  “Stay back!” she ordered. She glanced down as Singe pulled the knife free and clamped a hand around the wound. “Singe—”

  “I’ve taken worse,” he hissed, then flinched as the cultists’ chant rose to a pitch.

  Dandra’s breath caught in her throat as something big thrashed down in the water, bubbling and splashing and making a hard clacking noise that sent shudders up Dandra’s spine. The stairs leading through the hole in the floor flexed and moaned under some massive weight and a high-pitched snarl rose on the air.

  “Geth!” Dandra moved toward the hole.

  Singe grabbed her hand. “That was a summoning spell, Dandra! Get out of here!”

  “Not a chance!” she said.

  Ashi slid forward slightly. Dandra’s spear darted toward the hunter, but the instant she moved, Vennet and Temmen slid closer as well—and a figure dropped down through the gaping hole in the ceiling that Ashi and Singe had created. It fell right onto Temmen’s back, slamming him to the floor.

  As everyone—Dandra, Singe, Ashi, Vennet, and the cultists—stared, an orc rolled away from the dazed man, darted to the head of the stairs and began chanting as well.

  “Storm at dawn!” choked Vennet. Ashi spun around and leaped for the orc.

  Dandra reacted without thinking. Power throbbed on the air as she drew whitefire up from within herself and gave it a tightly focused form. Pale flame flashed around Ashi and the hunter seemed to crumple in mid-stride, stunned by the intense heat.

  The orc’s eyes widened, but he didn’t stop his chanting.

  “No!” Vennet howled. He swung between Dandra and the orc as if trying to decide who to attack—then lunged toward Dandra. “Dah’mir will have you!”

  Geth scrambled to one side and shoved himself a little higher up the bouncing, slippery stairs as one of the creature’s enormous pincers closed on the step where he had been perched—and snipped right through the wood.

  “Tiger, Wolf, and Rat!” the shifter yelped. He kicked ineffectually at the pincer. The creature’s head turned to him, its tentacles making a horrid slithering whisper as they writhed together. It drew its pincer back and opened it, ready for another strike. Geth tried to haul himself higher, but his bare hand slipped in the slime on the stairs and he had to fight just to stay where he was. “Singe!” he shouted. “Dandra! Anybody!”

  The chanting that rolled down from above was a gruff counterpoint to the cultists’ chorus. It tugged on Geth, both foreign and strangely familiar. In the water below, ripples seemed to contract, then burst open wide.

  The scaly snout of a large crocodile broke the surface. The reptile snapped at the broad, crayfish-like tail of the creature on the stairs, hauling it back toward the water. The creature’s head reared back and it let out a screech like steel on slate.

  “Quickly, shifter!”

  Geth twisted around. An orc stood at the head of the steps, stretching a long staff with a tight crook in the end down to him.

  “Climb up!” he urged. “One crocodile can’t hold a chuul!”

  The stairs gave another ominous groan and bounced as the creature below twisted to flail at the crocodile while still clinging to its precarious perch. Geth glanced over his shoulder i
n time to see a pincer close around the crocodile and bite deep into its scaly hide. Geth grabbed for the staff and climbed up the slick steps. The orc hauled back, lending his strength to the effort, the muscles of his hairy arms straining under the short sleeves of a pale, swamp-stained shirt.

  Recognition stirred in Geth’s memory. “You!” he gasped at the orc as he staggered to the top of the steps. “We saw you outside on the street!”

  “I was only supposed to watch this place, but I couldn’t just watch anymore!” the orc said tightly. His voice had the defensiveness of someone who wasn’t completely certain he was doing the right thing. Geth realized with a start that in spite of his size and bold actions, the orc’s gray-green face was still smooth with youth.

  The stairs shook again, the chuul screeched once more, and there was a frantic hissing from the crocodile that ended with the muffled snap of the chuul’s pincer closing. The creature let the crocodile’s body fall and turned back toward him, scrambling up the stairs with gore-smeared pincers extended and the tentacles under its head lashing in a frenzy. Geth yelped in shock.

  “Geth!” shouted Singe. Geth spun around to see the wizard staggering to his feet. One of his arms was a bloody mess, but he was gritting his teeth against the pain and extending his hands in a gesture of magic. Geth gasped and grabbed the orc, yanking him aside.

  As the chuul’s head lurched up above the level of the floor, Singe called out a rushing word of magic and a bolt of intense flame roared from his fingers to wash over it. The chuul let out another horrible screech and crashed backward down the stairs, enormous pincers flailing, shell burning and melting. The monster hit the water with a splash and the hiss of extinguished flames.