The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Only the grass and the mound were unchanged. The place where the Bonetree had gathered had turned into a battlefield that night, but except for a few scars where nothing grew, the grass had come back to hide even that. The light was lazy and golden, the light of late afternoon.

  Where there had been hunters and dolgrims, there were orcs, bundled up into blankets and sleeping through the day.

  Geth narrowed his eyes and studied the sleeping horde. They weren’t clustered together. Groups of orcs were spread out before the mound and even behind it. The groups made lines of battle, as if an army had been put into place then sent to sleep. The orcs were ready to wake and fight.

  As they’d followed the horde’s trail over the last day, Geth and the others had come across a strange sight. A small plain about half a day’s travel back bore the scars of harvest, as if an army of reapers had passed through and cut down every stalk of long grass. Now they knew where that grass had gone: beside each orc warrior lay a stack of cut grass. It would take only moments for the warriors to pull the grass over themselves and vanish into the landscape.

  “They prepare for an ambush,” said Breff, studying the horde as well. He looked up at Geth suspiciously. “But they face outward, as if they defend the ancestor mound. Who do they expect to come to the ancestor mound?”

  Geth clenched his teeth. Over the last two days of travel, he’d managed to avoid the hunter’s questions about what they’d find at the mound. A few hints had convinced him that the orcs were going to root out the dolgrims, but the strategic positioning of the horde made that an obvious lie. Geth let out his breath and told Breff the truth. “Dah’mir,” he said. “Medala believes he will come to the mound tonight when the blue moon rises full at dusk. She says she wants to take her revenge on him.”

  The huntmaster’s face tensed, but to Geth’s surprise he looked eager rather than frightened. “If we could, we would show Dah’mir our anger as well.” He paused as if in thought, then asked, “If she intends to take revenge on Dah’mir, why try to stop her?”

  “For the orcs,” said Geth. “She’s tricked them into coming here. She used her powers to make sure they’d be here tonight. I think she’s after more than just revenge.”

  It wasn’t difficult to figure out where Medala was. There was only one tent set up before the mound, the same symbol-painted tent the kalashtar had occupied among the horde on the Sharvat Vvaraak. A full third of the horde was clustered together before the dark tunnel that pierced the side of the mound and the tent was set up in the middle of it like a commander’s quarters.

  “She’s not even trying to conceal her control any more,” Ekhaas said. “Those are the senior Gatekeepers sleeping around her tent!”

  She was right. Geth could see Batul among the sleepers outside Medala’s tent. His heart rose and he drew a sharp breath. The amulet of Vvaraak that hung around his neck—the amulet that should have hung around Batul’s neck—felt suddenly light. “When the time is right,” the old druid had said, “you will bring it back and wake me from sleep.”

  He glanced at the sun. It was settling down toward the western horizon. Dusk would come very soon, and they had to assume that the orcs would rise before then. They didn’t have much time. “Breff, I need you to get us down there.” He pointed out Batul. “I need you to take us to him.”

  Breff’s eyes narrowed in thought and he studied the orcs below, but Ekhaas looked at Geth. “You’re thinking of what Batul said,” she murmured. “Are you certain this is the right time?”

  “He’s asleep, isn’t he? He said I would bring the amulet back and wake him from sleep.”

  “He might not have meant something so literal. He might have meant you’d free him from Medala’s control.” Ekhaas nodded toward the mound. “If we go down there now, it might be too soon. You can’t depend on prophecy and visions, Geth.”

  “Medala is.” He met her amber gaze. “If we don’t go now, when are we going to go? When is the right time? If Medala’s right, Dah’mir will appear soon. This might be our only chance to even get close to Batul. Do you have a better idea?”

  Her face tightened, but she made no reply.

  Geth turned to Breff. “Can you do it?”

  “We’ll need to move like ghosts—but yes.” He slithered backward down from the rise. “Come.”

  Not all of the orcs were asleep. Each cluster of orcs had one or two sentries standing watch. Fortunately, not all of the sentries were as alert as they should have been. Breff exchanged quiet words with his hunters, then said to Geth and Ekhaas, “We can kill two of them without a sound. That will give us the opening—”

  “No,” Geth said harshly. “We kill no orcs.”

  Breff’s lips peeled back to bare his teeth. “It is the safest way and the quickest.”

  “No.”

  The huntmaster let out a hiss of frustration. “As you wish. Follow us then. Step where we step.”

  He led them along the rise until it sank into the ground and they could pass around it without presenting a silhouette to the sky. A particularly lush growth of grass hid a shallow streambed. Breff melted into it, vanishing among the tall stalks. The youngest hunter—they had learned her name was Ahron—went after him, gesturing for Geth to follow her. Another hunter, Medi, took charge of Ekhaas, and the final two hunters, Tag and Bado, assumed position at the rear of their silent procession.

  The streambed twisted frequently, and their progress along it seemed to Geth to be painfully slow. They crawled through an unending green maze, each movement made with deliberate care. He could see nothing over the tall grass. Once he tried to part it and peer up to check their position relative to the mound—following the rise had taken them farther from it than he would have liked—but Ahron moved with the speed of a serpent to strike his hand down. He gave her a glare. She gave it right back.

  Finally, Breff paused. Geth saw him raise his head briefly, then duck down again. He glanced back at Geth and made two gestures, first flattening his hand out and pressing it down, then putting his fingers over his mouth. Geth understood. Stay low. Keep quiet. He nodded.

  What he saw as they left the shelter of the streambed almost made him gasp in spite of Breff’s warning. They were among the Gatekeepers. Geth’s shadow as he stood up stretched across three of the slumbering druids.

  His shadow … He twisted his head around and checked the sun. It had slipped well down in the sky. They’d taken too much time. His belly knotted. Maybe he should have listened to Breff’s suggestion. Maybe they should have taken the quicker approach. He glanced at Breff. The huntmaster’s face remained neutral. He pointed across the field of orcs to Batul, then turned away and began picking his way toward him.

  Passing among the sleeping orcs seemed even more slow than creeping along the streambed. Being able to see around him, being aware of just how little time they might have left dug into his gut. The horde could wake at any moment. He focused on Batul, trying to block out the blanket swaddled forms around him, the soft snorts and grunts that rose from them, the familiar faces. The proximity of Medala’s tent. Maybe, he thought, they should forget about Batul. Maybe they should seize this chance to strike at Medala directly. It seemed like the same idea was in the Bonetree hunters’ heads. He saw both Breff and Ahron throw frequent glances at the tent. He turned his head for a moment to see if the other hunters were doing the same—

  The distraction almost cost him his balance as his foot came down on something unsteady and unyielding. A stone. Maybe a bone from the previous battle. He froze immediately, his breath caught in his throat, every muscle straining to keep him upright.

  He didn’t fall. He didn’t make a noise. The moment passed. Ahron gave him a scowl, but Geth ignored her. He looked down at the orcs on either side of him—still asleep—then swept his eyes across the other Gatekeepers nearby.

  From a face he knew well, another pair of eyes hazy with waking looked back at him. Orshok and Geth stared at each other.

  Ahron sa
w. She snatched a slim knife from the sheath at her side and raised it to throw.

  CHAPTER

  20

  Geth reacted without thinking, swinging around and slapping at the weapon. His open hand struck Ahron’s moving wrist. The knife flashed—and leaped from her grip as she stumbled back from the force of the blow.

  Her foot came down on an orc’s hand. Her falling knife sank into the leg of another. Both orcs woke with incoherent yelps of pain even as Orshok rolled to his feet, shouting an alarm. In less than instant, druids all around them were awake and grabbing for their weapons. Sentries turned and yelled, spreading the alarm.

  Breff whirled on Geth, his face wild with rage. “Rond betch! Fool!” He kicked the nearest Gatekeeper in the belly before she could rise. “Get to the old druid on your own!” He ripped his sword free and raised it high. “Sheids sutis! Su Drumas!”

  He charged through the still-confused orcs, heading for Medala’s tent. Ahron paused just long enough to pull out a long fighting knife, and then she was after him. Medi, Tag, and Bado pushed past Geth as well, none of them gently. Some the druids went after the hunters, but Orshok’s attention was entirely on Geth. The druids immediately around the shifter had pulled back in confusion. Orshok moved in to take their place, his hunda stick raised across his body.

  “What are you doing here, Geth?” he demanded. His eyes were cold, his voice harsh with the disappointment of a trust betrayed, though at least it was his voice and not Medala’s. “Kobus and the others weren’t enough for you? You’ve allied with the Bonetree clan now?”

  Geth brought his gauntlet up. Instinct brought his left hand to the hilt of Wrath but he held it back. A sick sort of feeling ground into the pit of his stomach. “You don’t know what’s happening here, Orshok. Just stay back. I need to see Batul.” He took a sliding step in the direction he had last seen the old Gatekeeper.

  “You’re not seeing anyone!” Orshok lunged at him, hunda stick spinning. The weapon’s two ends—angled crook and sharp point—blurred. Geth lifted his gauntlet, blocking high, then low, then twisting aside as Orshok tried to hook his ankle with the crook of the stick. His left fist jabbed out and connected with Orshok’s chin. The orc staggered away, then lifted his head, thrust out his jaw, and charged back for more.

  Before he could swing again, Ekhaas stepped up beside Geth. Flinging her arms wide, she opened her mouth as if singing a single sustained note. For an instant, it seemed to Geth that although her body and throat strained with the song, there was nothing to hear.

  Then a riot of sound burst out among the Gatekeepers before them. Geth clapped his hands to his ears, but the orcs staggered as if they had been struck. Orshok stumbled heavily and slipped to his knees, his eyes wide with shock. Other Gatekeepers were down as well. It didn’t look like any of them had been seriously hurt, though. Geth clenched his teeth and turned quickly, searching for Batul.

  The old druid was closer than he had expected. He stood on the edge of a cluster of Gatekeepers. His face was stone. The sick feeling in Geth’s belly grew stronger. “No …” he whispered.

  Batul spoke no condemnation, gave no sign of his anger. He just thrust forward his hunda stick, calling out a thick word of command that rang out over the chaos spreading through the camp. Geth felt the power of nature stir in response.

  “Batul!” he shouted. “Don’t!” He dragged Wrath from his scabbard as a smell like fresh-turned earth washed over him—before turning wet and fetid as swamp muck. Under his feet, the ground seemed to slip, then to slump.

  And abruptly he was sinking up to his hips in thick, clinging mud. It pulled at him and Ekhaas both, and even several Gatekeepers darted back to avoid falling in with them. Geth tried to surge toward Batul and the nearest solid ground, but movement only made the mud’s grasp stronger. Other voices called on nature’s power, and the mud seemed to stir and bulge of its own accord.

  The figures that burst up from the mud were roughly human in shape but squat, powerful, and formed from the muck itself. Elementals—small ones, but still deadly. The mud didn’t slow them at all. Ekhaas cursed, drawing her sword and swinging at one. The blade sliced it in half, but the elemental drew new substance from the mud and reformed. When she tried to swing again, it flung a blob of goo at her. The mud spattered across her face, making her choke.

  Another of the elementals vanished under the surface of the mud. An instant later, Geth felt something grab his leg in a strong embrace and wrench at. With a yell, he flipped Wrath around and stabbed down.

  It was like sinking the Dhakaani blade into clay, except that clay didn’t groan. The mud exploded up, spattering his face and the nearest Gatekeepers, but the grip on Geth’s leg vanished. He turned, grabbed for the amulet around his neck, and held it up for Batul to see. “Look, Batul! This is yours! Take it. It’s time. Wake up!”

  Batul’s eyes opened wide. “A thief and a traitor!” he spat. “This is how you repay the respect we gave you?”

  Geth’s throat knotted. Maybe this wasn’t the right time. Maybe he had been wrong. Batul’s hunda stick thrust forward again—

  Whatever spell he intended to call down was never spoken. The shriek of rage that shattered the air silenced the entire horde. Geth, Ekhaas, Batul, and every Gatekeeper gathered around them turned. Even the elementals grew still.

  Between legs and past bodies, Geth could just see Medala’s painted tent. There were bodies on the ground. The Bonetree hunters had cut a bloody path through the orcs. Their swords and knives dripped and their clothes were stained with crimson. Breff had just cut down a druid who had dared step in his way. The orc’s body still twitched, cleaved from breast to belly. The huntmaster hadn’t moved quickly enough, though. The flap of the tent had been torn back. Medala stood in the gap, gaunt as a fever. Power surrounded her. Not a power that Geth could see, but one that he could feel in the back of his mind.

  A crystalline ringing, a clashing cascade of sword blades, a broken rhythm. Words that were not words rose from the hollow of his belly, fighting to escape his unwilling throat. Aahyi-ksiksiksi-kladakla-yahaahyi—

  Breff howled and leaped for Medala. Tag, Medi, and Bado moved to Medala’s side like wolves flanking their prey. Ahron went low, her long knife flashing.

  The kalashtar’s face twisted. The song that plucked at Geth’s mind seemed to pulse—Breff and his adult hunters convulsed and stumbled. Medi and Bado fell, their mouths opening and closing uselessly. Tag dropped to his knees, body wracked with the effort of drawing breath. Geth knew what they were feeling. Medala had done this to him once. It had been as if he’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe, and it had taken all he had just to suck air into his lungs.

  But Breff’s eyes were fixed on Medala. He thrust himself at her in single-minded determination. One step. Two steps … He pitched forward onto his face. The tip of his sword hit the ground at her feet.

  Ahron froze for an instant and stared—then threw herself at Medala with screaming ferocity. Medala’s harsh gaze flicked to her. Silver-white light flashed.

  Blood burst through Ahron’s skin, so much blood that it hung like mist in the air. Her scream rose to a thin shriek, then vanished entirely, and she collapsed as if her bones had lost the strength to support her. The bloody bundle that had been a girl didn’t move again.

  Without saying a word, Medala stepped over Breff’s unconscious form and Ahron’s ragged remains. The other hunters toppled to the ground, succumbing to her power, and she swept past them. Gatekeepers moved back out of her way like courtiers before a queen as she advanced.

  She stopped beside Orshok, opposite Batul, and looked down at the shifter and the hobgoblin. “Too late,” she said. She looked up at Batul. “Kill the traitors, then prepare for the battle. He’ll be here soon.”

  The song in Geth’s head shimmered with her words. Batul bent his head. “Your counsel is good, Medala.”

  “Batul!” Geth groaned.

  Medala laughed, a brittle sound that almost matched
the song of her power. “They’re mine, Geth. They believe what I tell them and do what they think is right. If you hadn’t resisted me, you could still be a hero among them, ready to bring down a dragon instead of dying like a pig in a mudhole.”

  He glared at her and bared his teeth. “Better mud than mad!”

  She laughed again. “Soon you’ll be dead, Geth, and I’ll be more powerful than you can imagine. Dah’mir has no idea what he created.”

  Batul barked a command in Orc. Geth heard it through Wrath. “Morak! Uta! Have the elementals bind him and bring him close!”

  Before Geth could struggle, the elementals surged back into motion. Arms of mud wrapped him and Ekhaas like stone. Geth tried to heave against them but couldn’t break the grasp. Ekhaas drew breath to sing out a spell, and a tendril of mud slapped over her mouth. The elementals pushed them both forward to Batul. The old Gatekeeper knelt down on the edge of the mudhole. His good eye was narrow.

  “A tomb of stone waits for you,” he said, “but you will not carry the treasures of my sect into death.” He reached out and seized the amulet, ready to tear it from Geth’s neck.

  The instant that his fingers closed on the ancient talisman, his body tensed. Both of his eyes opened wide and in the milky depths of his blind eye, Geth thought he saw something stir. The shifter’s breath caught. So did the druid’s. He blinked and his eyes met Geth’s.

  His good eye was clear but determined. “You wake me, my friend,” he whispered. “The time is right.”

  Sharp pain burned around Geth’s neck as Batul wrenched on the amulet, snapping the cord that held it. Still kneeling, the orc held the amulet high. “Vvaraak, Scaled Teacher,” he shouted, “show truth to your disciples!”