The Binding Stone: The Dragon Below Book 1

by Don Bassingthwaite

  None of the animals had good news for them, though. No matter how swiftly they traveled toward Bonetree territory, it seemed that Dah’mir was always just ahead of them. Geth had hoped they would catch the green-eyed man before he was able to return Dandra and Singe to the Bonetree mound.

  Batul had calmed him and suggested a different course of action. They’d abandoned the river that morning at the edge of Bonetree territory for an overland approach to the mound. Again Batul’s prayers had aided them. None of the orc raiders had knowledge of the land ahead but Batul had stretched out on the land at dawn and risen with an eerie insight into the lay of the region. Throughout the day, he’d directed the raiders to streambeds, gullies, and folds in the land that had hidden them from view.

  Some among them had benefited from the druid’s wisdom in a less magical fashion. Geth glanced sideways to where Natrac marched on the other side of Orshok. Out of the entire raiding party, the half-orc was the least used to the wilderness. Hampered as well by the loss of his hand, he’d been feeling out of place. His confidence had ebbed—at least until Batul took him aside and told the half-orc some of what he’d discovered after becoming blinded in one eye. “Learn your strengths,” he’d advised. He’d tapped Natrac’s scarred wrist. “You’re probably not going to start having visions with this, but you shouldn’t feel helpless.”

  The next evening Natrac had approached Orshok with a long knife begged from one of the raiders and asked for the young druid’s help. A prayer from Orshok had tapped into nature’s power, shaping and smoothing a piece of wood into a long shape like an oversized drinking cup with the knife blade sticking out of the closed end. Geth had guessed what they were doing and offered suggestions learned from his gauntlet. By the morning, Natrac had a wicked, if crude, weapon to lock over his severed wrist and take the place of his missing hand. “Dol Dorn’s mighty fist,” he’d rumbled with delight, “that’s more like it!”

  The way that he strode along, lopping off the nodding heads of grass stalks and thistles, filled Geth with a confidence he hadn’t felt since … since he’d tracked two displacer beasts through the valley beyond Bull Hollow with Adolan. He bared his teeth and let a soft growl loose into the gathering night.

  Up ahead, though, the scouting orcs were hunkered down, refusing to move forward. Geth moved forward. “What is it?” he asked. One of the scouts grunted out an answer.

  “He says there’s a ghost in the copse ahead,” translated Natrac. “They’ve all heard it. They can’t go on until Batul’s examined it.”

  Geth looked at the small cluster of trees maybe a hundred paces ahead that had inspired such fear in the orcs. It didn’t look like there was anything unusual about it, but it stood just below the crest of a low rise from which, Batul said, they would be able to get a good look on the Bonetree encampment. Geth could already smell the smoke of fires. He glanced back—Batul was still a distance behind them—then at Orshok and Krepis. “We need to get to that rise. Do we have to wait for Batul?”

  Both looked taken aback at the question. Geth grimaced. Ever since Jhegesh Dol, he’d discovered while orcs could be great warriors and powerful druids, they also tended to be superstitious and skittish about ghosts and spirits. “Wait here then,” the shifter grumbled. “I’ll look myself.”

  He jogged past the squatting orcs and toward the copse. Halfway there, he could hear the eerie noise that had frightened the scouts, a soft and almost musical clacking. Geth clenched his fist inside his great-gauntlet and touched Adolan’s collar with his free hand. The stones were as warm as the evening air. He walked on, a little more cautiously. There was no one in the copse and no visible source for the haunting sound—at least not until he was practically under the trees themselves.

  Hung up among the branches and hidden by the leaves were dozens of dry bones, most of them human and orc, a few clearly more monstrous. As they stirred in the rising wind, they struck each other like macabre wind chimes.

  “The enemies of the Bonetree—”

  Geth stifled a yelp of surprise at the sound of a soft voice behind him and whirled around, his gauntlet leaping up protectively. Batul leaned calmly on his hunda stick, looking at him. “And the source of their name,” he finished. He nodded at Geth’s left hand, still in the act of reaching for his waist. “You have two weapons there,” the old orc commented. “Which were you going to draw?”

  The shifter glanced down. The ancient Dhakaani blade he’d seized in Jhegesh Dol hung from his belt in a makeshift sheath; the heavy, jagged sword felt good in his grasp and he’d elected to keep it. Batul had approved the choice.

  But hanging next to the ancient weapon was the pouch that contained Dandra’s psicrystal and Tetkashtai. The pouch was tightly knotted—there was no way that he could have touched the crystal—but a chill still passed through Geth as he realized that it had been the pouch and not the sword that he had been reaching for. He pulled his hand away, his teeth bared.

  “I feel Tetkashtai in there, Batul,” he said. “Ever since I held the crystal in Jhegesh Dol, I’ve been aware of her, slowly going mad from her imprisonment. It’s like a thread of the connection between us is still there.”

  “Until you can give the crystal to Dandra,” Batul replied, “you’d do better to remember your other weapons.” He stretched out his hunda and tapped the black metal of the great gauntlet, then the purplish metal of the Dhakaani sword. “That sword is forged from a metal called byeshk. It was made for killing aberrations like the daelkyr and their creations. Use it well tonight and you may live until morning.” The druid turned from the clacking bone trees. “Let’s have a look at what we’re facing.”

  They crawled up the rise, stretching themselves out on the ground to avoid making a silhouette against the sky. When they reached the crest, Geth raised his head and looked over. The mound was close, so close he could see the grass on it bend in waves before the wind. To the right was the river and the ugly, rough shelters of the Bonetree clan’s encampment.

  All the members of the clan, however, were crowded into the stretch of ground that separated the camp from the mound. A number of tall torches stood in the center of the crowd. The rise was high enough that Geth could tell that they lit a broad, flat open space with the crowd gathered like spectators.

  The humans of the Bonetree weren’t the only ones in the crowd, though. He could see the squat, four-armed shapes of dolgrims. clustered with them, especially toward the mound. Like the humans, they were shifting and unsteady with excitement.

  “What is this?” Geth growled at Batul. The old orc shook his head.

  “They’re waiting for something. A ritual fight maybe.” Geth almost choked. “Singe or Dandra?”

  “Not likely Dandra.” Batul’s eyes narrowed. “Singe maybe. Or maybe not.” He gave Geth a hard look. “Don’t let it distract you.”

  The shifter drew a harsh breath and nodded. He turned back to the mound and picked out the dark mouth in its side that he recalled from Dandra’s memories. It faced toward the crowd, but wasn’t so close that the crowd was likely to interfere if they were fast and stealthy. In fact, whatever event the humans and dolgrims had assembled for could even serve as a distraction from their approach. He stretched out his arm and pointed. “The mound isn’t all that high. We’ll come in from the west. Orshok, Krepis, Natrac, and the raiders you’ve picked out will come with me around the side of the mound. You and the rest climb the back of the mound. My group will take any guards at the mouth of the mound. Once we’re inside, you attack from the high ground and keep everyone busy.”

  Batul nodded. “Dagga. That sounds good. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? You may need my help.”

  Geth reached down and rapped his gauntlet against the hilt of the Dhakaani sword. “Tak, but I’ve got all the help I need.” He glanced up as another black heron flew low overhead and circled down toward the river’s edge.

  The door—or rather the collection of crudely lashed together timbers that h
ad been placed over the doorway—shuddered and was pulled aside. Voices outside spoke the language of the Bonetree and then Ashi ducked through the low opening—and froze.

  “Come in,” said Singe from the other side of the darkened shelter. “I’d offer you something to eat, but the larder’s empty.” He held up his hands, trembling fingers poised and ready to throw a spell. “If you’re cold, though, I could warm things up.”

  Ashi didn’t move. Neither did he.

  After a long moment, Ashi swallowed. “Dah’mir will know if you use magic,” she said softly. “Medala will come. You can’t escape.”

  “I can try,” Singe told her. “If I die, at least it would be better than living like this.” He nodded around the hut. The walls had gaps, the tent-like ceiling had rips. The floor was dirt. The whole place smelled of mice and human sweat. “Especially if Hruucan has his way with me.”

  Ashi’s face tightened. “At least you’re not just killing yourself.”

  “I considered it. Then I thought, no, what would Ashi think?” His voice cracked.

  The hunter took a step forward. “Singe …” she said. His hands tensed. A spell rose on his tongue. She froze again. Singe could feel his chest heaving.

  He lowered his hands and swallowed the magic. “Twelve moons,” he croaked. “Why did you have to come? If it had been Breff, I could have blasted him and half of this damn camp at the same time!”

  Ashi said nothing. Singe sighed. “I’m sorry. They’re your clan.”

  “We’re Dah’mir’s clan,” Ashi whispered bitterly. She reached behind her back. “It’s time, Singe. Hruucan is waiting.” She held out his rapier. The edge had been honed bright. Singe gave her a crooked smile as he took the weapon.

  “Thank you. Not that it will do much good. I drove this through Hruucan’s arm in Bull Hollow and he barely even bled.”

  “Use magic,” Ashi advised him. “Use magic or strike for a killing blow. A dolgaunt will shrug off anything less.” She hesitated for a moment, then looked down at the dirt floor. “Singe, I’m sorry I didn’t help you escape when I had the chance.”

  The Aundairian started. “Ashi?”

  She looked up at him. “I think you were right. I think I changed while I was away from the Bonetree.” She drew a deep breath. “It won’t be an honest death, but if Hruucan lets you live, I’ll kill you.”

  Singe winced. “I know you mean that in the best possible way, but it really doesn’t sound reassuring. But thank you. I hope it won’t come to that.” He sighed and slid the rapier into his scabbard, then looked down at himself.

  Two weeks’ travel from Zarash’ak had left him and his clothes filthy. If he was going to end up dead or crippled shortly anyway, he thought, he might as well risk a little magic. He spoke a simple spell, straightened his clothes and ran his fingers through his hair. Dirt sifted down onto the ground and a pleasant smell of spices surrounded him. “Better?” he asked Ashi.

  The big hunter nodded. Singe stood straight and steeled himself. “Let’s go meet Hruucan.” He marched to the doorway and ducked through.

  The Bonetree encampment was abandoned. From somewhere up ahead, he could hear the murmur of an excited crowd. With Ashi following him close, he strode toward it. They were almost out of the camp when a roar rose on the air, a weird muttering echo forming part of it. His bold step faltered. Ashi caught him and urged him on.

  “That will be Hruucan entering the ring,” she said grimly.

  “And the echo?”

  “Dolgrims. Dah’mir has brought the children of Khyber out of the mound to watch the duel.”

  Singe blinked. “The mound is empty?”

  “Maybe,” answered Ashi. “There’s no way to know for certain.”

  The wizard looked at her. “Were you serious about rescuing me if you had the chance?”

  She nodded.

  Singe’s guts twisted. “Then if you get the chance while I’m fighting, go into the mound and rescue Dandra,” he said. “Get her out of here. Kill her if you have to. Just make sure that she’s beyond Dah’mir’s reach!”

  Ashi’s pierced lips hung open. “Into the ancestor mound?” she asked. “No one goes into the ancestor mound.”

  “Dandra’s done it,” Singe hissed. “Twice. Forget about me, but help Dandra.” He searched her eyes. They were wide and frightened. “Please, Ashi!” he begged her. “Dah’mir has nothing in store for Dandra but torture. She needs your help.”

  Ashi swallowed. “I—”

  But suddenly they were on the edge of the crowd and approaching a broad aisle that opened through the mass of the Bonetree clan. Breff and another hunter were waiting. They grabbed Singe and shoved him forward. Singe looked back for Ashi.

  The crowd was already closing in eager anticipation. The tall hunter vanished behind him. Singe’s teeth clenched. Was she going to help or wasn’t she?

  Either way he was on his own. “All right then,” he growled to himself. “Let’s put on a show.” He shrugged his arms, pulled himself away from Breff and the other hunter, and fixed them with a cold glare.

  “Touch me again and I’ll remember it.” The two hunters pulled up short. Singe turned and marched down the remainder of the rapidly closing aisle.

  The “ring” was more like an oval, perhaps twenty paces at its widest point and twice as long. Dolgrims and the Bonetree clan stood all around it, a simple rope holding them back. Big torches burned atop six tall poles spaced around the ring, casting their flickering, ruddy glow down onto the dusty ground below and making the night beyond seem even darker.

  The crowd fell silent as Singe stepped into the light. At the far end of the ring, the end closest to the mound, stood Hruucan, tentacles twitching hungrily. Behind him, Dah’mir and Medala sat like monarchs in great chairs raised up on a low platform. Dah’mir stood up. “Begin!” he shouted.

  The roar that burst from the crowd was deafening, a buffeting wave of sound. Hruucan launched himself down the length of the ring, sprinting with a speed the wizard wouldn’t have thought possible. Singe thrust out his arms and spoke the first of the spells he had carefully studied over the course of the afternoon. The words of the magic vanished in the roar of the crowd, but that didn’t matter.

  Light shimmered blue around him, then faded away. Singe could feel the protection of the magic clinging to him, though, an invisible skin of force that would help keep the buds and tendrils of Hruucan’s skin from digging into his flesh quite so easily.

  Then Hruucan was on him. From a dozen feet away, the dolgaunt leaped at him, curled fists leading, tentacles whipping around. Singe ripped his rapier free and threw himself to the side. Hruucan landed in a crouch and twisted back to his feet, turning smoothly to face Singe. His horrid, eyeless face was expressionless, but there was emotion in his every movement—he glided into a ready stance with a contemptuous grace.

  Singe took a slow step back, putting a little distance between them, keeping his rapier up. Hruucan didn’t move. Even his tentacles were still, poised like serpents. Singe risked another step.

  Hruucan darted forward. His hands, open flat, thrust out in a flurry of short, sharp strikes that seemed to twine together with the attacks of his tentacles. Singe flung up his rapier, trying to put the blade in the way of that rain of blows. He stumbled backward as he parried, his feet raising little clouds of dust from the ground.

  Then the dolgaunt pulled back, leaving him staggering—and wondering if he’d actually stopped Hruucan’s attack or if the foul creature had only been toying with him.

  The noise of the crowd was slowly dying back, overwhelming roars giving way to rippling shouts. Singe drew a hissing breath and moved to the side, circling around Hruucan. The dolgaunt moved to match him, always staying low and ready to strike. His tentacles swayed and stirred to either side of him as if each was trying independently to lure Singe into an attack. He didn’t fall for it.

  His free hand darted forward and he snapped a seething word of magic. Flames flared from h
is spread fingertips, splashing across the ring—but abruptly it was as if Hruucan was simply no longer there. To the soaring cheers of the crowd, the dolgaunt whirled aside, flowing away from the fiery magic in a tight spin of arms and tentacles. Singe turned to follow him but Hruucan was faster. His spinning form almost seemed to unravel, tentacles stretching out to slap at Singe. The wizard dodged away from one, but the other caught him with a hard slap across his face.

  As he stumbled and reeled from the force of blow, the other tentacle snaked back and lashed around his legs, ripping his feet out from under him. Singe slammed down hard onto his back. He sucked in breath desperately and scrambled to regain his feet.

  Hruucan met him with a pair of punches so fast and hard they lifted him up and threw him back. Singe hit the ground a second time, his chest aching, his lungs sucking hard for air.

  The night shook with the roars of the Bonetree clan and Dah’mir’s dolgrims. Singe rolled over onto his side and looked up to see Hruucan sinking back into his ready stance. The wizard cleared his throat, spat blood onto the dry ground, and climbed back to his feet. Forcing himself to stand straight, he lifted his rapier and offered the dolgaunt a taunting salute.

  Hruucan’s tentacles lashed the air angrily and he threw himself forward.

  Ashi clenched her teeth and hissed as Hruucan unleashed another flurry of blows against Singe. Unlike his first furious attack, though, it was clear that the dolgaunt was no longer playing with his opponent. His strikes were real and hard. A hand, fingers curled like claws, slipped past Singe’s guard to tear at him.

  Whatever magic the wizard had cast on himself seemed to offer him some scant protection though: Hruucan’s blow skittered across Singe’s torso without even tearing his shirt. Singe slapped away his arm and thrust hard with his rapier into the dolgaunt’s side.

  But not hard enough. Hruucan lurched away and stood upright easily without a mark on him. A tentacle darted at Singe, slamming at his side in return. Singe lurched as well, but he didn’t stand upright so easily.