The Grieving Tree

CHAPTER 19

The overwhelming strength of Dah’mir’s presence gripped Dandra. She was drowning, swallowed by the dragon’s irresistible personality. Her world dimmed. All she could do was stare in awe at the eyes that stared through a door too narrow for the dragon’s head.

There’d been no warning this time from Tetkashtai. Her creator’s terror had gone beyond rising and falling. The borders of Dandra’s mind were battered by a constant storm of yellow-green light and wailing screams. The eerie silence of the caves, the ghost’s frigid attack, Dah’mir’s sudden appearance-they were all the same to Tetkashtai.

And yet …

Dandra could see. She could hear. For the first time, it seemed that Dah’mir’s power hadn’t taken her completely. She couldn’t move, couldn’t lower the guttering torch still held above her head, could barely summon the focus to think, but she was at least aware of what was happening.

Ekhaas’s voice rose in a scream of horror as she faced Dah’mir for the first time. Geth shouted, a wordless mingling of shock and fear, and ripped Wrath back out of its sheath, raising sword and gauntlet in a barrier of cold metal. Ashi had her sword out, too. Dandra felt the hunter grab her shoulder and the short corridor whirled briefly as she was pulled back to safety, to the very edge of the stairs back down into the caves. At the top step, however, Ashi stiffened and Dandra knew why.

Bone-chilling cold swept up from below, carrying with it a seething, grasping anger. The effect of Ekhaas’s song on Taruuzh’s ghost had worn off-or had been shattered by Dah’mir’s appearance. Taruuzh’s terrible moans drifted up the stairs. There would be no easy escape back into the caverns!

Dandra stared at a wall, caught between the stairs on her left and unseen combat on her right. She could see nothing, but she could hear. Ashi’s hand left Dandra’s shoulder and there was the sharp sound of flesh slapping flesh. Ekhaas’s scream fell silent. Geth snarled. Dah’mir’s scales made a fast, dry hiss as the dragon turned, shifted, moved-

No! Dandra yelled. What’s happening? She tried to reach out with kesh, to touch Ashi, but all she found was Tetkashtai’s storm of madness.

Let me in, Dandra! Let me in! Words emerged from the storm for a moment and Tetkashtai thrust herself along the kesh, trying to breach the defenses Dandra had thrown up to hold her back. Apparently Dah’mir’s power had found no hold on the presence, either. Dandra hurled her back again, desperately pinching off the tentative connection of kesh for her own safety.

In spite of her efforts, her head turned anyway as if some primitive part of her unconscious sought out Dah’mir instinctively. It was a strange feeling to find her head moving without her control. The short length of the tunnel swung back into view-just in time for her to see Dah’mir thrust a foreleg through the ruined doorway and rake blindly at those inside. As the others cried out and pressed back, Dandra could only watch. It seemed that she could see every scale on the dragon’s leg. Embedded in his thick hide, dragonshards-two bright, one dulled like a soot-darkened lantern-made glittering streaks in the shadows.

Geth darted forward and slashed at the flailing foreleg. Wrath bit deep. Dah’mir roared and dark blood sprayed Geth. He slammed his leg against the wall, trying to crush the flea that had bitten him, but Geth leaped away. The dragon snatched back his leg.

“What’s he doing here?” Ashi gasped. “How did he find us?”

Dah’mir’s eyes returned to the shattered door. They shone with anger. “A dragon knows the value of a dragonmark!” he hissed.

Chain, Dandra realized. The bounty hunter must have located them for Dah’mir. She cursed silently, then felt a burst of fear as Dah’mir’s lips curled back and the sour, stinging smell of this breath gusted through the hall. They were an easy target for the devastating spray of his acid!

Geth stepped in front of all of them, Wrath’s twilight blade held across his body. “Use your acid and you destroy the sword,” he said. His gauntleted hand pointed back behind him. “The sword and Dandra.”

Dah’mir’s eyes narrowed and his lips twisted. “Do you think you’d still be alive if I hadn’t thought of that? Dark lords of Khyber, the unsolvable Riddle of Taruuzh-answered by a shifter! I thought I knew all the secrets of Taruuzh Kraat, but you’ve surprised me. I should have known there was some power about that sword the first time I felt its bite.” His eyes flashed. “Give the sword to me!”

The air itself seemed to darken with the intensity of his presence. His will engulfed her-engulfed all of them. It dragged Dandra’s gaze to Wrath and she felt an urge to take the ancient sword away from the shifter and present it to Dah’mir. On the edge of her vision, she saw both Ekhaas and Ashi struggling against the same urge.

In her gut, she knew that she shouldn’t have been able to resist the command any more than she should have been able to resist the dominating fascination of the dragon’s presence. And yet she did. Her arms and legs tried to move, but didn’t. Dah’mir’s power seemed to break before it reached the core of her being, like waves dashing against rocks, like a storm surge driven into a swamp-

Like a song lost in screaming. Like a focused will broken by insanity.

Tetkashtai, she said in amazement. Her creator answered only with another wail, but in her mind’s eye, Dandra could see Tetkashtai’s light churning as it absorbed Dah’mir’s power. Tetkashtai’s madness was protecting her. Madness, she guessed as well, must have also been what allowed Medala to stand at her new master’s side without succumbing to him. She felt a kind of awe rising inside her. Madness, the power of Xoriat, drew kalashtar in and trapped them. Once they had themselves succumbed to madness, they were Xoriat’s servants. It was simple. It was brilliant.

She stood on the threshold, struggling to hold back Tetkashtai’s terrified madness, protected by it, yet powerless. Dandra felt a rising terror of her own. Light of il-Yannah, give me strength! she whispered.

With a low cry, Ekhaas lost her struggle. She staggered forward, reaching for Geth. The shifter’s eyes never left Dah’mir, though. His face twisted and the Gatekeeper collar around his neck seemed sharp and distinct in the torchlight, as if it was more real than anything else amid the nightmare of Dah’mir’s power. “You’ll never have this sword!” Geth snarled.

The intensity of Dah’mir’s presence snapped. Ekhaas stumbled, then looked up, stunned. Dah’mir’s displeasure rumbled out of his belly-and was cut short by a cold, echoing moan from the depths of the caves. The dragon’s eyes opened wide, then narrowed. “What have you woken in the caves?” he asked. “No wonder you don’t retreat!”

At Dandra’s side, Ashi bared her teeth and spat at him. Dah’mir’s lips twitched. “A defiant gesture, Ashi. I’ll tell the Bonetree clan about it so they can add it to their stories of your treachery!” His gaze fixed on the sword. “That sword is a lhesh shaarat, isn’t it?”

Geth kept his mouth closed. So did Ekhaas.

Somewhere out on the great chamber beyond Dah’mir, there was a rush of heavy, running footsteps, and voices called out “Master!” and “Dah’mir!”

“Vennet! Tzaryan!” Dah’mir sat back a little bit. “Come forward and bring the prisoners. I’m sure they’d like to say hello their friends.” Cruel playfulness flickered in his eyes as he glanced back into the tunnel. “Let’s see just how strong your will is, Geth.”

Dah’mir’s first roar had come while they were still in the tunnel approaching the great chamber. Vennet had let out a cry of “Master!” and Robrand had called out an order for a faster pace. The ogres surrounding them had broken into a shambling run, the guards watching over the prisoners simply scooping up their charges and carrying them along. With the dragon’s second roar, Singe’s stomach had risen in fear, any hopes of finding a way to warn Dandra crushed.

They burst into the great chamber hard on the heels of Vennet and Robrand, Hruucan and Chain. The bounty hunter and Singe’s old commander paused for a moment, struck by the size of the chamber that spread out below them, by its vaulted ceiling and abandoned forges, by the weird sculpture of the grieving tree. Vennet and Hruucan didn’t stop, though. Hruucan hurtled off the balcony in an acrobatic swirl of flame to land lightly on the floor below. Vennet seized one of the torches from the orc slave who had accompanied them and raced down the stairs, calling for Dah’mir. An instant later, a gust of wind ruffled Singe’s hair and Tzaryan’s flying form soared overhead. “Dah’mir!” he shouted.

“Vennet! Tzaryan! Come forward and bring the prisoners.” So large that he took up half the space at the great chamber’s end, Dah’mir was a silhouette against a feeble light. The dragon crouched before the narrow mouth of a passage like a cat before a mouse hole. “I’m sure they’d like to say hello their friends.”

Tzaryan settled to the ground and turned around. “General!” he bellowed. “Troops forward! Bring down the prisoners!”

Robrand stiffened and turned back to look at Singe. The anger that had been in his face before had faded; he wore the expression of someone caught between two hard decisions. Singe’s stomach managed to rise again. For the first time since they’d been captured, their enemies had left them-only the ogres remained and they listened to their General. Once they were free, they still faced daunting odds, but they’d have a chance. They might still be able to rescue Ashi and Dandra and escape together. “Now, Robrand!” he hissed. “Help us now!”

The old man hesitated a moment too long.

With a look of desperation on his face, Chain stepped up behind him. Singe saw the flash of a dagger, then Chain had one arm around Robrand’s neck and the other at his back. “Let them go!” he ordered.

Robrand looked startled. The nearest ogres stood straight, their weapons snapping up. Chain wrenched Robrand around so that they could all see the dagger he held. “I can kill him with a thrust,” he said. “I haven’t seen a Deneith dragonmark that could stop a dagger that’s already tasting blood.” He jerked his head at the ogres holding Singe, Natrac, and Orshok. “Let them go now and get out of my way!”

“Chain?” called Vennet. The half-elf froze on the stairs and turned back to stare back up at them. “Storm at dawn, Chain, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Leaving, you bloody lunatic!” Chain snapped. He glared at the ogres. “I said let them go and get out of my way.”

“Chain, no!” Singe choked. “This isn’t what I meant-”

The ogres behind him stirred and parted. Chuut stepped out and faced Chain and his captive. “What do you want us to do, General?” he asked.

Robrand’s gaze darted to Singe, his eyes hard and flat. Singe’s stomach clenched. If Robrand chose, he could order them released. They would be free and his duty to Tzaryan would remain uncompromised. But there would be a price, Singe knew. “No,” he whispered. “Ashi … Dandra …”

Robrand looked back to Chuut. His mouth opened. He drew breath-

He never had the chance to speak. Over the edge of the balcony, a fiery glow like dawn appeared. Tentacles of flame rose up out of the darkness and struck with the speed of serpents, one wrapping Chain’s throat, the other around the arm that held the dagger. They wrenched on Chain, tearing him back away from Robrand. The old man fell forward. Chain stumbled backward and into Hruucan’s arms as the fiery dolgaunt climbed over the edge of the balcony. More tendrils enfolded the bounty hunter. Chain’s eyes opened in pain and a high, thin cry whistled from his constricted throat-then he burst into flames, writhing and struggling in Hruucan’s embrace.

His struggles ceased in only moments and the dolgaunt let him go. Chain’s burned corpse hit the ground in a spray of glowing embers.

Ogres stared in shock. Robrand sat frozen on the ground. Natrac’s face was pale. Orshok was shaking. Singe’s heart simply felt like a lump of stone. He lifted his head and stared at Hruucan. The dolgaunt’s inscrutable, eyeless face stared back at him.

“What was that?” roared Dah’mir from below.

“Mutiny,” Vennet called back. “It’s been dealt with.” He strode across the balcony and hauled Robrand to his feet. “I know you weren’t going to do anything stupid, were you, General? Get your crew moving!”

Robrand tore his eyes away from Chain. “Company forward,” he said, his voice strained.

If Singe had felt subdued before, he felt wretched now. They descended the stairs and crossed the great chamber. As they drew closer to Dah’mir, Singe could see that the passage beside which the dragon crouched opened through the tall statue of Taruuzh. The statue’s legs and the blade of the sword it held had been a cleverly hidden door, though now that door seemed to have been torn off and thrown aside. The ancient bones that had been Marg had been crushed and scattered. Singe couldn’t see more than a few feet into the passage, though; the light that shone out of it came from further inside. Heart beating wildly, he shouted out, “Dandra? Ashi?”

The ogre holding him grunted and gave him a jaw-rattling shake, but there was an answer from inside the passage-though not one he expected. “Singe!” Geth called back. “We’re here!”

“Enough of this,” said Dah’mir. He lifted one foreleg-Singe saw that it bore the long gash of a fresh wound-and pointed at the Grieving Tree. “Bring the prisoners around to face the passage and put them up on the platform.”

The ogres obeyed the dragon without further orders from Robrand. Singe found himself dumped on the broad platform on which the grieving tree stood, Natrac on one side of him, Orshok on the other. The ogres stepped back, leaving only Robrand standing below them like a grim honor guard. Dah’mir moved aside and Singe stared down the passage. Near its end, Dandra stood, one hand holding her spear, the other a fading torch. Her face was slack, her eyes on Dah’mir and Singe choked back a curse. He should have realized that she would have been caught by Dah’mir’s presence.

She had protectors, though. Around her stood Ashi, Ekhaas, and Geth. For just a moment, Singe actually felt buoyed up by the sight of the shifter. “Geth! Twelve bloody moons, you didn’t run!” He glanced down at Robrand-and felt a twist of confusion.

Their old commander’s face was flushed red with rage as he stared into the passage. “Impossible!” he spat. “Impossible!”

Vennet, meanwhile, sauntered up to the mouth of the passage and peered inside. “Well, there you are, Geth!” he said. “We were wondering what had happened to you.”

The shifter only growled at him. Vennet laughed and turned back around. “Tzaryan, what are you waiting for? Get your ogres in there!”

Alarm crossed Tzaryan’s face and he swung around to Dah’mir. “My ogres would be at a disadvantage!” he protested. “The space is too tight. Dah’mir, you can’t make them-”

“At ease, Tzaryan,” said Dah’mir. “No one is going in. Geth is going to come out and give me what I want.”

In the passage, Ekhaas started and leaned over to murmur something to Geth and Ashi. Singe saw Geth’s eyes go wide. “Tiger’s blood!” the shifter cursed.

Dah’mir gave an indulgent chuckle. “The hobgoblin has guessed what will happen. Tzaryan, who is she?”

“Her name is Ekhaas. She’s a duur’kala.”

“Ah.” Dah’mir peered into the tunnel. “Watch closely, duur’kala, and you’ll see something out of your legends.” He sat back and looked to the prisoners on the platform. “Do you know what it is you sit beneath?”

A chill spread through Singe. Ekhaas wasn’t the only one who could guess what would happen. “It’s a Grieving Tree,” he said to Dah’mir. “It’s a Dhakaani execution device.”

“Not just a Grieving Tree, Singe,” Dah’mir said. “The Grieving Tree. The very first one, created by Taruuzh. It’s also more than just a device. The original Grieving Trees were alive in their own way. They grew-that’s one reason why this one is so big. And like any living thing, they needed to be fed.” His acid-green eyes flashed. “This tree hasn’t been fed in a very long time.” He spoke a word that sounded like Goblin.

Singe felt a stirring at his back and twisted around.

The Grieving Tree was moving, the strangely curved stone segments that made up its trunk and limbs grinding as they rotated against each other. They shuddered and dipped as the tree flexed. Singe’s blood ran cold. Natrac choked and tried to squirm away. Dah’mir spoke another word.

A thick branch bent down and curved stone curled around the half-orc, whisking him up into the air and passing him from limb to limb until he hung in the shadows high above the ground. Sharp ridges and thorny spikes rippled-and dug into his flesh. Natrac flung back his head and screamed.

Wherever a branch embraced him, the grooves carved into the stone turned dark and red, catching and channeling his blood. A shudder like an unseen, unfelt breeze shook the tree. Natrac’s scream fell into a deep moan.

Dah’mir’s voice was light. “Death on a Grieving Tree is slow. The tree takes only a little blood at a time. A strong person could linger on the tree for days. I recall a legend of a fallen Dhakaani hero who hung on the tree for two weeks before she died.”

Natrac shifted-or tried to. The effort only dragged a new scream out of him. Dah’mir spoke the Goblin word a second time. Another branch twisted, reaching for Orshok. The druid saw it coming and shouted in fear. “No!” Singe yelled. He threw himself on top of the young orc, trying hold him down, to keep the tree from dragging him up. It was no good. Carved stone slid underneath Orshok and lifted both of them. His hands still tied, Singe couldn’t grasp him. He slid and fell, landing flat on his back. The impact drove the air out of his lungs. Stunned, he could only stare up into the branches and watch Orshok thrash in agony as spikes dug into his flesh and the tree released his blood.

“No,” he choked. He wrenched his neck around, trying to look for Geth, for Dah’mir. His eyes found Robrand. “Do something!”

The old man looked frightened and shockingly frail. He didn’t move. Beyond him, Tzaryan wore an expression of cold curiosity, studying the tree as if calculating how he could make use of it. Vennet’s face was alight with horrid, mad fascination.

In the passage, Geth’s face was pale and tormented-but hard. His lips were pressed tight together.

Dah’mir began to speak the word that commanded the tree a third time …

“No.”

Dah’mir stopped, the word of command poised on his tongue. Singe twisted around.

Hruucan stood over him, the fire of his body casting a bloody light up into the branches of the tree. His face was turned to Dah’mir. “No,” he said again. “The tree can’t have him. He’s mine. I claim him.”

The dragon’s mouth curved into a frown. “Your kills end too quickly, Hruucan.”

“This one won’t.” A tentacle of flame reached down. Singe tried to roll aside but Hruucan was quicker. The tentacle writhed after him, catching his leg and hauling him back. Once again, the ring that Singe wore devoured the flame before it burned him, but just as before, there was more to Hruucan’s fiery touch than heat. His leg twitched, curled, and seemed to go numb. When the tentacle tore away, it ripped something out of his very soul. Singe jerked and cried out. Patches of darkness blotted his vision.

Dah’mir’s voice came out of one of those patches. He sounded amused. “Take him with my blessing then,” he said. “Enjoy your revenge.”

Hruucan reached down with a charred hand and grasped the front of Singe’s shirt, hauling him to his feet. The wizard stared in the black pits of the dolgaunt’s empty eye sockets as he bared sharp teeth. “I will,” Hruucan said.

His free hand rose and clamped across Singe’s face.

Geth’s stomach was filled with stones. His head had been packed with broken glass. His ears hurt. His eyes burned. His fists were clenched so tight that his fingers ached. He didn’t look at Ashi or at Ekhaas, though he could hear them. Ashi’s breath came in harsh rasps. Ekhaas was singing something softly, her voice near to cracking.

Out in the great chamber, Singe shrieked and came near to collapsing under the touch of the fiery undead thing that Hruucan had become. On the Grieving Tree, Orshok’s voice rose in a babble of pain and Natrac moaned like an echo of Taruuzh in the caves below.

His friends were dying and there was nothing he could do.

Giving Wrath to Dah’mir would be giving the dragon Taruuzh’s stones. He couldn’t do that. He’d thought about breaking the sword-but that would only slow Dah’mir down. He could still take Dandra and Tetkashtai and kill the rest of them. Geth couldn’t accept that either. There had to be something else he could do, something clever. Something that Singe or Dandra would have thought of. They were the clever ones. All he could do was fight.

Another voice rose in agony. Robrand whirled around and stared into the passage. “Dol Arrah’s mercy, Geth-give him what he wants! End this! For Etan’s sake, end it!”

Dah’mir’s eyes stirred with interest and Geth could see the looks of surprise that Tzaryan and Vennet gave the old man.

“General! You know these two?” Tzaryan asked.

“They were under my command in the Frostbrand, my lord.” Robrand’s voice shook. “Etan was … is a friend. I promise you, I’ve given them no information or aid since they’ve been here that would dishonor the contract between us, but this-” He took a step toward the tunnel and raised his hands to Geth. “You can stop this, Geth. Whatever the dragon wants, give it to him!”

Geth’s throat felt raw. “I can’t,” he croaked.

Robrand’s face seemed to collapse. “You …” he said. He raised a trembling arm and pointed it at Geth. “You are a coward. You always have been. You always will be. Even when you can’t run away, you’re too much of a coward to act!”

The words were like blows. Only a few hours before, Geth would have curled up under them like the coward Robrand accused him of being, frightened of his old commander’s rage, ashamed of his own past.

Not now. Fury replaced shame and fear. Geth took the blows and hit back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, old man! You don’t know what’s at stake here-and you don’t know what was at stake in Narath! Why don’t you close your mouth and look at who you’re standing with before you call me a coward again!”

Robrand staggered, then stood straight. He turned to Tzaryan. “My lord, your assessment of the risk in storming the passage does no credit to your troops. They can take the enemy position without undue loss.”

A part of Geth flinched at being referred to as the enemy. He bit it back, though. He and Robrand had chosen sides. His rage already roused, he snarled out at Robrand, “Send them in! Let’s see just how well you’ve trained them!”

Ekhaas twitched. “You’re as mad as the half-elf!” she hissed. Geth ignored her and glanced at Ashi. The hunter nodded grimly, her hand tightening on the grip of her bright Deneith honor blade.

Beyond the passage, Tzaryan looked up at Dah’mir. The dragon’s eyes narrowed to shining slits as if he was contemplating his options. On the platform under the Grieving Tree, Hruucan released his grasp on Singe. The wizard gave a low cry and dropped to his knees. Hruucan turned away, only to snap around in a whirling kick that cracked into Singe’s side and sent him sliding across the platform. Singe hit the trunk of the Grieving Tree hard-hard enough to shake the carved stone-and lay still. Hung on the branches above, though, the shock of his impact brought new screams from both Natrac and Orshok.

Tears threatened to cloud Geth’s vision. A howl of anguish built in his throat.

“Hruucan,” Dah’mir said sharply, “hold.” The dolgaunt paused in midstride. Dah’mir lowered his head to peer into the passage. “Geth, I have a proposal for you.”

“I’m not going to deal with you,” Geth said. “All you want is the sword!”

“Not exactly. I also want to make you suffer for the injury you inflicted on me at the Bonetree mound. I want to punish Ashi for abandoning me.” The dragon’s voice was hard. “But I am capable of compromise. You’re strong enough to let your friends die in a vain attempt to keep the sword safe, but I will have it eventually. I may not be able to reach you, but we both know that you can’t escape. I can wait, you’ll starve in that hole, and the sword will be mine.”

Geth bared his teeth. “You’ll be waiting a long time!”

“Exactly.” Dah’mir blinked slowly, acid-green eyes closing then opening again like a double eclipse. “The Bonetree hunters would say that you’ve shown yourself to be a good enemy, Geth. You’ve survived everything I’ve thrown at you. That’s why I’ll offer you the warrior’s choice. You can hold the sword and I’ll claim it after you and all of your friends are dead-or you can surrender the sword to me now and I’ll let all of you go free to try and win the sword back another day.” His muzzle curved in a smile. “I like a challenge.”

All of the tension inside Geth came together in a single knot. “You’d use the sword to claim Taruuzh’s stones.”

“Of course, I would. But I don’t have all the pieces to the puzzle, do I? I don’t have a hobgoblin lord. There’s a little time for you to try to stop me.”

Something tugged at Geth, something out of place in what the dragon had said, but he couldn’t quite identify it. He thrust it aside. “What’s to stop you from attacking us as soon as we leave the passage?”

“Geth!” hissed Ashi. “You’re not going to take his deal, are you?”

“Take it!” Ekhaas said from his other side. “Khaavolaar, I don’t want to die here!”

Geth swallowed. “I … I don’t …”

“Not an easy decision, is it?” asked Dah’mir. “But I’ll make it easier for you: keep the sword until you’re out of this place. You’ve said yourself that I don’t risk attacking you for fear of destroying the sword. So long as I need the sword, you’re safe. Once you’re out of Taruuzh Kraat, leave the sword and I pledge not to attack you or yours until we meet again.” He bent his head. “Majak wux aridarastrixszaka-I give you the word of a dragon.”

Suspicion rose immediately in Geth. “How can I trust your word?” he asked. “You’ve tried to kill us. You’re our enemy. Grandfather Rat, you serve a daelkyr!”

Dah’mir smiled again. “You stand between a duur’kala of the Kech Volaar and a hunter of the Bonetree clan. Ask Ekhaas about the pledge of a dragon. Ask Ashi if I’ve ever failed to keep my word once it was given.”

Geth glanced at the two women. Ashi’s brow furrowed. “Bonetree legends say that when the Revered promised something, it was always carried out.”

Ekhaas nodded. “Among the Kech Volaar, it’s said that a dragon doesn’t give his word lightly, but once given it’s always honored.” Her ears bent forward, though, and her voice dropped. “But it’s also said that the word of a dragon can have many meanings.”

Geth’s jaw clenched. “He’s trying to trick us.” He looked back up-and focused on Tzaryan standing at Dah’mir’s side. “Tzaryan, too. And Hruucan and Vennet. Your pledge extends to them.”

Dah’mir’s smile faded slightly, but his voice betrayed nothing. “Done,” he said. “I expect you to honor the pledge as well. Leave the sword outside Taruuzh Kraat or you’ll face a fury such as you’ve never seen.”

“You’ll have the sword,” said Geth.

“You’re going to do it.” Ashi stared at him in disbelief. “Rond betch, you’re going to give it to him.”

“We’ll get it back.” Geth said. He glared at Dah’mir. “You have my word on that.”

Dah’mir chuckled faintly. “I said that I like a challenge.” He straightened up and turned toward Hruucan as he hovered over Singe’s unmoving form. “Away from him,” Dah’mir said.

The dolgaunt’s tentacles whipped at the air. “He still lives!” he said, his voice an angry rasp. “My revenge-”

“-can wait. I need him alive. Back away!”

Dah’mir’s presence poured through the command. Hruucan, poised on the edge of lunging for Singe, instead staggered and thrust himself back violently, tumbling off the platform and darting across the great chamber. Only when he could run no farther did he stop and turn back to bare his teeth at Dah’mir.

The wash of the dragon’s power also seemed to bring Singe starting back to consciousness. His eyes twitched between Dah’mir and Hruucan in confusion. “What-?” he gasped.

“Don’t ask questions, Singe,” said Geth. He glanced at Ekhaas and Ashi. “Ekhaas,” he said, “come with me. Ashi, bring Dandra to the mouth of the passage. Be ready to leave.” He tightened his grip on the sword and strode forward with Ekhaas behind him. At the end of the passage, he hesitated for a moment, then stepped out into the cavern.

No one moved. Hruucan crouched against the far wall of the cavern, Chuut and the ogres of Tzaryan Keep arrayed in the shadows, Vennet to the right of the passage, Tzaryan Rrac and Dah’mir to the left, Robrand still standing near the base of the Grieving Tree-none of them moved. Every eye was on him, though.

He fixed his gaze on the grieving tree and walked. He passed Robrand. Neither of them said anything. Geth leaped up onto the platform and looked at Singe. “Do you think you can walk?” he asked.

The wizard grimaced and climbed unsteadily to his feet. “With help,” he said.

“You may have to do it on your own.” Geth glanced up into the branches, then turned and faced Dah’mir. “Get them down,” he said.

Dah’mir growled a word and the branches of the Grieving Tree shivered. Natrac groaned as the carved stone passed him toward the ground. The tree released him with surprising gentleness, lowering him to crouch on the platform in a shuddering, shaking heap. “See to him,” Geth told Ekhaas. “Carry him if you need to.” He looked back up to Dah’mir. “Orshok!” he demanded.

Dah’mir’s voice growled and once again the tree moved. This time though, there was little gentleness. As if reluctant to give up its prey, the Grieving Tree thrashed rather than shivered. Orshok screamed, then twisted among the branches. His drop was sharp and hard; he hit the ground with a cracking of bones.

“Orshok!” Geth threw himself toward the young druid’s twisted body. One of Orshok’s arms was bent at a hard angle underneath his body. His breath whistled in his throat. One of his legs shook in an uncontrolled spasm. Geth hesitated, then reached for him with his free hand. “Orshok.”

The orc’s eyes fluttered. “Geth …” He lifted the arm that wasn’t trapped and groped for Geth’s hand.

The instant that their fingers met, Wrath’s blade flared with a purple radiance that seared Geth’s eyes. There was a sharp crack like lightning striking close and the sword bucked in his hand. The branches of the Grieving Tree stiffened, its truck split-and, like an echo through the ages, Geth heard Taruuzh’s voice cry out.

Three great works stand together as allies: treasure, key, guardian, disciple, and lord. The time has come again!

The grinding of sliding stone rumbled over a chorus of shouts and fell apart into the deafening clatter of rock against rock. Geth blinked, fighting to clear the radiance of Wrath’s flare from his eyes, but all he saw were shadows as the Grieving Tree split and fell away from him. Orshok clung to him. He tore his hand away and staggered blindly to his feet.

The broken stump of the Grieving Tree stood before him like pedestal. Resting on it was a box of dull gray metal.

“Yes!” roared Dah’mir. “Yes! Vennet, seize that box and get it open! Tzaryan, forward! Secure your prisoners!”

Geth stared at the box. It couldn’t be … there was no way … He stared down at Wrath, the blade once more dull as twilight in his hand. The key, the guardian, the disciple. “But I’m not a hobgoblin,” he whispered. “I’m not a warlord-”

And in the same instant, he saw in his mind a gang of goblins running from his drawn blade in Zarash’ak and heard Ekhaas’s words in the dungeon beneath Tzaryan Keep. A lhesh shaarat was a warlord’s blade, she’d said, the weapon of kings and heroes. Anyone who drew one proclaimed his power.

Anyone who drew one. Not necessarily a hobgoblin.

Dah’mir had guessed it. The dragon’s words had tugged at Geth because he’d only mentioned his lack of a hobgoblin warlord-he’d known that he had a Gatekeeper in his possession. He’d known that he only needed to bring Geth and Orshok together under the Grieving Tree.

A lithe body leaped up onto the platform and lunged for the box. Vennet. Geth howled and swung Wrath at the half-elf in a powerful arc.

The blade cracked against the heavy shaft of an out-flung mace. An ogre’s strength thrust him back. Chuut stepped up between Geth and Vennet, mace raised to strike again-and abruptly Geth was aware once more of the chaos around him. He and Orshok were surrounded. At the mouth of the passage, Ashi tried to shield Dandra, her sword outstretched as she attempted to menace three ogres and Tzaryan himself simultaneously. Ekhaas, Natrac slumped against her, and Singe stood back to back, more ogres on one side of them and Hruucan’s fiery form on the other. Robrand stood with his sword drawn, but not moving, just turning around and around as if overcome by the rush. He looked older than Geth could have imagined.

“Dah’mir!” Ekhaas’s voice rose out of the confusion. “Your pledge! You gave the word of a dragon that you’d let us leave!”

Dah’mir stood tall in the shadows, his eyes bright and intense. “So long as I needed the sword!” he said with a triumphant hiss. “And now I don’t need the sword anymore. Didn’t I say that Geth would come out and give me what I want?” He looked down at Geth. “I’m certain,” he added, “that when Taruuzh made that lhesh shaarat, he had no idea that anyone other than a goblinoid or maybe an orc would ever wield it. The Dhakaani had a high opinion of themselves.”

“So do dragons,” Geth growled.

Immense teeth flashed as Dah’mir’s jaws snapped together. “In our case, it’s the truth.”

“Master!” Vennet had the box. It was no longer or wider than the length of Geth’s forearm and no deeper than a hand span, but the half-elf hefted it as though it was heavy. An ogre reached out to help him but Vennet grimaced and twisted away. “Get back!” he snapped. He dragged the box off of the platform by himself and hauled it over to Dah’mir.

“Open it,” said the dragon. Vennet set the box down, fumbled with the latch, then threw open the lid.

Blue-black dragonshards, each no bigger than a finger, each wrapped in a filigree of gold, shone against rich red fabric. There were fewer than Geth would have guessed-twenty maybe, no more-but the sight of them brought an ache to his heart. He’d failed. He’d made the wrong choice. Somewhere below the great chamber, Taruuzh’s ghost let out a soft, fading wail.

“Take one out,” Dah’mir told Vennet. “They won’t harm you. Hold it up for me.”

The ancient fabric cradling the stones crumbled at Vennet’s touch, but the half-elf plucked out a stone and held it high. “They’re beautiful,” he said.

“They’re more than beautiful.” The dark shard reflected the acid-green of Dah’mir’s eyes as the dragon bent close to examine it. “They’re seeds. From them will spring my master’s new servants.” He glanced up at Geth-and smiled. “Perhaps we should plant the first seed now.” His long neck twisted toward the passage. “Dandra,” he said, “come here.”

Unblinking, her face expressionless, Dandra took a step forward.

“No!” Ashi tried to push her back, but in the moment that she was distracted, the ogres facing her surged forward. Ashi’s voice rose in a scream of rage. Her sword thrust and darted, caught one ogre in the knee cap and another in the belly, then Tzaryan Rrac stepped close and snatched the sword from her, wrapping his hand around the blade itself. For an instant, black blood flowed, but when the ogre mage flung the sword away, his hand bore no injury. Tzaryan and his ogres lunged at the unarmed hunter in unison, dragging her down. Ashi twisted, punched, and kicked, still trying to grab for Dandra. Geth cried out and would have leaped to Ashi’s side, but Chuut swung his mace and he was forced to stumble back.

“Dandra!” shouted Singe. “Twelve moons-Dandra!”

Unmindful of anything that was happening around her, Dandra kept walking toward Dah’mir and the binding stone. Ashi squirmed out from among the writhing tangle of ogres that tried to hold her and grabbed at the kalashtar. “You won’t have her!” she spat. “You will not have her!”

Tzaryan caught the hunter’s leg. Ashi’s grasp fell short. Her fingertips only brushed at Dandra’s back.

But the air seemed to shimmer at that brief contact-and Dandra froze. For a heartbeat, her eyes opened wide, then she flung back her head and screamed. Against her chest, her psicrystal pulsed with a yellow-green glow. Her feet left the ground and she rose to hover an armslength above it, still screaming. Behind her, Tzaryan and his ogres sprang away from Ashi as if in shock at Dandra’s cry but Geth realized immediately that they were springing away from Ashi herself.

Lines of radiant color were drawing themselves across the hunter’s exposed skin, curling up from the hand with which she had reached for Dandra and racing across her arms, her legs, her face-

“By the houses,” choked Robrand.

“A Siberys mark,” Singe said. “The Siberys Mark of Sentinel!”

“No!” howled Vennet, the binding stone slipping from his fingers to fall to the ground. “She can’t have a Siberys mark! I have a Siberys mark!”

Ashi just knelt on the ground, staring at her arms.

Then Dandra stopped screaming.