The Grieving Tree

CHAPTER 8

Chain looked up as Singe climbed down the ladder-like steps of the aft hold of Lightning on Water. “Look at you,” said the bounty hunter. “Dressed up like you’re trying to impress someone.”

In the glow of the everbright lantern that lit the hold, Singe tugged on the hem of the vest he had bought during their last few hours in Zarash’ak, part of a sturdy but stylish outfit well suited to the part of a traveling scholar. “I can tell it’s working,” he said. “This is the first time I’ve come down here and you haven’t cursed me.”

Chain’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve stopped during daylight this time. We must be in Vralkek. You’ll be leaving soon. The next time I see you I’ll have a sword in my hand.”

Singe cocked his head and gave Chain a long look, then drew his rapier.

“Back up,” he ordered.

Chain shuffled backward as far as he could, pulling tight the chains that shackled him to a strong bolt embedded in the deck. Singe leaned cautiously close to examine the heavy padlock that held the chains. The first time Singe had come to inspect his bonds, Chain had tried to use the slack in the chain to attack him. The wizard had demonstrated to him that while he wasn’t quite as fast Dandra, he was fast enough to avoid a clumsy attack. A stinging blow from the flat of his blade had left the bounty hunter sitting uncomfortably for two days.

Whatever worries, he might have had, however, Chain’s bonds were just as they had been when they’d bound him almost a week ago. Bolt, lock, and chain were still solid. The same shackles had once held Ashi prisoner, and if the hunter’s strength hadn’t been enough to free her, Singe was certain Chain’s wouldn’t be either. He stepped back. Chain eased forward and squatted on the deck, glaring up at him. Singe clenched his teeth at the man’s blunt rage. There was nothing else to say. They’d reassured Chain that Marolis and Karth would let him go at Sharn, and had apologized-though Chain didn’t make it easy-that this had been necessary.

He stepped back toward the steep stairs, keeping his eyes on Chain. When he was safely out of reach, he sheathed his rapier and turned away.

“I’ll be coming for you!” Chain called after him.

The others were waiting on deck. “How’s our friend?” asked Geth.

“He says hello-oh, and that he’ll be coming for us.”

Geth snorted. “Let him.” He closed his right fist in a clash of metal. The shifter had donned his great gauntlet. The black metal gave back a dull gleam in the early afternoon sunlight. He was also wearing a coat stitched with wide bands of heavy leather, a sort of light armor that had been another of Singe’s purchases in Zarash’ak. The coat was less for protection and more for show: the color of the fabric underneath the leather bands was similar enough to Singe’s new outfit to be suggestive of livery. Geth hated it. Singe thought it made him-and Orshok, Natrac, and Ashi, all of whom had similar clothing-look more professional and intimidating.

Dandra had another opinion. “Sometimes kalashtar who share the same lineage deliberately wear clothes in matching designs and colors,” she’d said when Singe had first coaxed their companions to wear the new gear.

“And?” Singe had asked.

“It looks like they’re trying too hard,” Dandra had told him. She’d kept to her own distinctive clothing.

Karth came trotting along the deck. “We’ve hailed one of the local boats. She’s alongside, waiting to take you ashore,” he said. He offered Singe his hand. “Olladra’s fortune,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Singe, returning his grip. They’d told Karth and Marolis most of their story-they owed the crew of Lightning on Water that much at the very least-though they’d left out the truth of Dah’mir’s nature and of his experiments on kalashtar. Karth and Marolis would tell their own tale to the ministers of House Lyrandar. Singe, Dandra, and Geth had all agreed there were some things the great house didn’t need to know.

The others said their good-byes as well, though Karth reserved his most heartfelt farewells for Dandra and Orshok-Dandra because she had freed him and Marolis, Orshok because his prayers had helped the rest of the crew overcome Dah’mir’s power. As they made their way to where a ladder had been thrown over the ship’s rail, other members of the crew clustered around the young druid, offering their thanks. Orshok flushed at the attention and scrambled quickly over the side and down to the waiting boat to escape it. Singe was the last one down the ladder. He waved to Marolis-the half-elf had stayed at the ship’s wheel, holding the ship steady for their disembarking-then shook hands with Karth again.

“Good luck with the ministers of Lyrandar,” he said. “Be careful of Chain. I think he might try something.”

Karth grinned. “He’s on a ship that’s soon going to be leagues away from land again. What can he do? We’re not going to let anything keep us from getting to Sharn.”

Singe squeezed his hand. “Good man.” He let go and clambered down the ladder.

The boat below was nothing more than an open top fishing craft that smelled strongly of last week’s catch. Between him, the five others, and the four weathered half-orcs that were her crew, the boat was crowded. Singe crouched with Orshok and Natrac in the stern as the crew of the little boat pulled hard on the oars, taking them away from Lightning on Water and toward the rugged coast of Droaam. Orshok was still staring at the ship, watching her in fascination. When the fishing boat had pulled far enough away, Singe heard Marolis shout. A moment later, the great elemental ring that drove the ship churned as a gale blasted out of it. The sleek ship moved again, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed. As she headed back out to the open ocean, moving faster and faster, her hull rose up out of the water to reveal the two great running fins normally hidden below the water line. The narrow profile of the fins allowed the ship to cut through the waves with the greatest possible speed.

Orshok’s eyes were wide. Singe slapped him on the shoulder. “Turn around, Orshok. Have a look at Vralkek.”

“In a moment,” the orc said distantly.

Natrac laughed. “Give him a chance, Singe. You only see things for the first time once.”

The wizard shrugged, then turned to survey Vralkek for himself. Marolis had brought Lightning on Water as close in as he dared without knowing more about the port’s harbor. It had been more than close enough. Compared to Zarash’ak, Vralkek was nothing, its waterfront largely empty. It had more in common with distant Yrlag, far away where the lonely western coast of the Shadow Marches met the southern fringe of the Eldeen Reaches. Yrlag had, so Geth had been told by Adolan, once been the westernmost outpost of the Dhakaani Empire and that heritage still showed in tremendous works of ancient engineering and crumbling ruins. Singe could see some of those same elements in Vralkek, but apparently more had befallen the port since Dhakaan’s end than had befallen Yrlag. What ruins were visible were in worse condition. An old stone pier was nearly hidden beneath a tangle of rickety wood. What he had thought to be a partially submerged shoal was, he realized as they passed it and drew into the harbor proper, actually the broken and age-rounded remains of a mighty breakwall.

Orshok gasped sharply. Singe twisted around to look at him. “What is it?”

The druid’s gaze were still on Lightning on Water, now well distant. He pointed with his hunda stick. “Something fell overboard.” Singe squinted at the ship. “Really?”

“I saw something,” Orshok insisted. “Like someone falling over the side.”

“Mirage,” said Natrac. “Sometimes it’s hard to judge the distance between things on the ocean. You probably saw something much closer, between us and the ship. Maybe a bird, maybe a dolphin breaking the surface, maybe just a wave.”

Orshok looked doubtful. “I’m sure it was right beside the ship.”

“What would it have been?” asked Singe. “Marolis would have stopped if one of the crew had fallen-and I can’t imagine they would have.” The shadow of Vralkek’s docks fell over them and a moment later the structure cut off their last glimpse of Lightning on Water. “Forget about it,” Singe told Orshok. “We’re here.”

He turned around again. The half-orcs at the boat’s oars ignored the dock and pulled right up onto a beach that smelled almost as strongly of fish as their boat. Gulls swooped in, perhaps thinking that the boat’s passengers were the catch of the day

Although Karth would already have paid the fishermen, Singe gave them an extra silver sovereign each. “What’s a good inn?” he asked. “And where can I find guides to take us into the interior?”

The answer to both questions was a place called the Barrel, though Singe doled out a few crowns more as they passed through the town to confirm it. He was exceedingly careful about showing his money, though. Vralkek was that kind of town. He could feel it as soon as they climbed up from the beach and stepped into the muddy streets.

It wasn’t just an air of desperation and crime that gave Vralkek a sense of danger. Singe could feel eyes on him. Eyes appraising him as prey-financially and literally.

Dandra took a step closer to him as they walked. He felt her mind brush against his in the kesh. Her thoughts carried echoes of unease. Singe … she said.

I know, he responded.

There was a reason Droaam was called the nation of monsters and that reason walked the streets of Vralkek. Orcs and half-orcs stood on corners, laughing coarsely. Goblins skulked in the shadows. Gnolls-rangy creatures with the bodies of lean humans and heads like hyenas-strutted along as though they carried the authority of town guards. In a smithy, a muscular minotaur pounded red-hot iron. Along a roofline, a trio of harpies cackled, flapped ragged wings, and watched the world below. A band of hobgoblins stood clustered around the door of one building as if to repel anyone who might try to enter. A series of loud thumps and a low moan drifted out as Singe and the others passed.

The hobgoblins watched them go by. Furry, wolf-like ears twitched and turned, tracking them. Singe’s hand dropped to the hilt of his rapier. He did see humans as they walked, but they were few and generally looked either half-feral or broken and hollow. The broken ones had the marks of slaves. Singe wouldn’t have trusted the feral ones to bury a corpse.

“I don’t like this place,” he murmured so that the others besides Dandra could hear him. Geth gave him a sharp-toothed grin.

“Bothers you, does it?” the shifter asked. “Being in a place where humans are the ones who stand out?” He swaggered like the gnolls, seemingly at home among the monsters, though Singe noticed his eyes roamed the streetscape with the alertness of an animal in strange territory.

“Well, it bothers me,” said Natrac. “This is why I’ve always avoided Droaam before.”

Singe glanced at the half-orc. He walked with his knife-hand visible and stayed close to the others, but the grimness that had vanished with their return to Zarash’ak had reappeared. The persona of the blustering merchant seemed stretched over it, like a dwarf wearing a mask and calling himself an elf.

He’s protesting too much, said Dandra through the kesh. Remember what Bava said.

I agree, Singe said. What’s he hiding?

Even Orshok, who probably could have blended in with the other orcs in the town, looked uncomfortable. Only Ashi seemed completely at ease, maybe even energized by the atmosphere in Vralkek. She moved with a confident stride, her back straight, her eyes bright, a hunter among hunters.

She was also drawing as much attention as all of them put together. “Ashi-” he started to say in soft warning.

He didn’t have a chance to finish. From among a cluster of gnolls beside the street, a massive figure rose up out of a crouch. Its limbs were thick with muscle, its arms nearly as long as its legs. Its head was heavy and hideous, with matted, greasy hair. Its lower jaw was thrust forward, exposing misshapen teeth as big as Singe’s thumbs. From where he stood, the wizard caught a whiff of the foul stench of its unwashed hide. An ogre. A male.

Upright, the creature was easily half again as tall as Ashi. He stepped directly into her path and leered down at her. “Human girl acts tough.” The ogre pinched his lower lip with two filthy fingers in imitation of Ashi’s piercings. “Gots little tusks. Tough and pretty.”

For one anxious moment, Singe was afraid Ashi was going to draw her sword. That was the last thing they needed. A naked blade could provoke a street fight. He could see that Geth was thinking the same thing-the shifter stiffened and turned sharply toward Ashi.

But the Bonetree hunter just stood and looked up at the ogre, her face and eyes hard. She said nothing. The laughter that had risen among the gnolls died out and after a moment, the grin on the ogre’s face sagged and faltered. A sneer replaced it. The ogre beat his hands against his chest. “You wants?” it growled. “Thinks you can beat?”

“I know I could,” Ashi said. Her voice was low and confident. The fingers of her sword hand clenched and spread. “You think you can beat me?”

The street around them had grown quiet as the mingled creatures on it turned their attention to the confrontation. The gnolls who were with the ogre muttered among themselves, but stayed back. Geth threw a glance to Singe and twitched his head toward Ashi. Singe knew what he was asking-should he step in? The wizard shook his head. Ashi had started this. She needed to resolve it on her own or the creatures of Vralkek would be on them like leeches on a wound.

The silence between the hunter and the ogre stretched out. Big greasy drops of sweat formed on the monster’s forehead. Ashi’s brow dropped. Her face grew dark-

The ogre broke. “Girl is pretty,” he said finally. “Just sayings girl is pretty. Don’t sees human girls so pretty and tough.” He raised his heavy head and glared around the street. “Just sayings!”

He stepped back out of Ashi’s way and the hunter nodded her head. Singe noticed, however, that she remained alert as she moved past the monster and rejoined him and the others. Noise returned to the street. His heart racing, Singe hustled them all onward.

“That was impressive, Ashi!” said Dandra under her breath.

Ashi grunted. “Are all ogres such cowards?”

“No,” said Singe with a wince. “Usually they’re just angry.” He glanced at Ashi. “Please don’t do that again.”

“I could have beaten him.”

“Yes, but he had a lot of friends-and just because Droaam is country of monsters doesn’t mean they don’t have laws. I don’t think we want to get in trouble here.”

The taproom of the Barrel was a very different place from the gaeth’ad house where they had met Chain. Both house and taproom were dark, but that was where any resemblance ended.

The Barrel was alive with sound, the crowd of its patrons talking, shouting, and laughing, filling the air with the sound of strange languages-Singe picked out Orc and Goblin immediately, but could only guess that the booming tongue that occasionally rolled above other speech was Giant. The place was a rush of smells: musky and pungent bodies, stale ale, sizzling meat, even an undertone of blood. Dandra flinched at the odor.

“Not the Zarash’ak herb market, is it?” Singe asked her as they made their way toward the bar. She shook her head.

Somewhat to his surprise, no one had taken much notice when their group opened the outer door-the Barrel had separate entrances to the taproom and to the upstairs inn where they had taken rooms for what would hopefully be a short stay in Vralkek. Maybe, Singe thought, human-dominated groups weren’t such an unusual sight in the town after all. Maybe the patrons of the Barrel just didn’t care that much. Either way, so long as no undue attention came their way, he was happy.

“Ashi,” said Natrac, “I think you have some admirers.” He nodded toward a knot of goblins who were muttering among themselves and glancing frequently at the hunter. Ashi crinkled her nose and ignored them.

“It’s a good thing we don’t need to keep a low profile,” Singe muttered. He looked at Ashi. “Don’t worry. A reputation for strength probably isn’t a bad thing to have around here.”

He moved up to the bar. A female gnoll with one eye stood behind it. “Six,” said Singe, slapping down a handful of copper coins. He caught the gnoll’s eye. “We’re looking for a guide. The innkeeper upstairs said you could help us.”

The gnoll’s voice was high and barking. “He said you’d be coming down.” She gestured to an empty table, then turned to draw their ale. “Space to talk. Settle yourselves. I’ll send people over. Where do you need to go?”

“Tzaryan Keep.”

Thin lips around the gnoll’s dog-like muzzle pulled back. “Dangerous.”

“I know.”

“Sit,” she said, handing him the first two mugs. “I’ll bring the rest.”

Three chairs had been provided around the table. Geth moved to sit down in one, but Singe nudged him with an elbow. “Stand,” he said. “A chair for me, a chair for Dandra, a chair for the guide.”

“What?” asked the shifter.

“You’re a guard. You stand behind me and watch my back.”

Geth glowered at him. “It makes a tempting target.”

“Just watch it-don’t stick anything in it.” He gave one of the mugs to Geth then clacked the other against it. “Here’s to better luck than we had with Chain.”

When the gnoll barkeep brought the rest of their ale, she brought something else as well-a half-orc in worn and travel stained clothes. “Ryl,” she said by way of introduction, then departed.

The half-orc settled into the empty chair. Singe looked him over. Ryl seemed well-traveled and, at least by the standard of the Barrel, not particularly desperate. “So,” he asked him after a moment, “you could take us to Tzaryan Keep?”

“I could,” the half-orc said. “Easy traveling-dangerous passage. I’ve got a question for you, though. Is Tzaryan Rrac expecting you?”

“Not as such,” Singe told him. They’d worked out their plan during the voyage fro Zarash’ak. “But I’m sure he’ll be willing to talk to me. I want his permission to study the Dhakaani ruins near Tzaryan Keep.”

Ryl thrust out his jaw. “I can take you to within sight of the keep. I won’t go any further if Tzaryan’s not expecting you.”

“Fair enough.” There was another gnoll standing nearby, obviously waiting his chance to talk to them. Singe nodded to Ryl. “Stay in the Barrel. We’ll let you know when we’ve made a decision.”

The half-orc rose and made way for the gnoll. “I’m Kagishi,” the hyena-headed creature said. His voice was a whine. “I’ll work cheap.”

His clothing was frayed and heavily patched. The fur that covered his lean body was thin and mangy. An unstrung bow of Brelish make was slung across his back-along with a quiver that was completely empty of arrows. Singe felt Dandra take his hand underneath the table and give it a little squeeze of warning. He gave no reaction, but raised an eyebrow to Kagishi. “You know Tzaryan Keep? The ruins there?”

“Does Tzaryan Rrac know you’re coming?” Kagishi asked like Ryl’s echo.

“No.”

Kagishi flinched. “That will cost you extra.”

“You said you’d work cheap,” said Natrac.

The gnoll looked uncomfortable. “There’s cheap and there’s stupid.”

The reactions of Ryl and Kagishi were echoed by the next two guides to seek them out. A black-haired shifter who Geth took an immediate dislike to and a whip-like human both hesitated as soon as they learned that Singe’s party would be approaching the keep unexpected. The human offered to arrange for a runner to precede them and alert Tzaryan Rrac to their approach-a sensible and tempting offer. The shifter told them the same story of the House Tharashk dragonshard prospectors that they had heard from Bava and suggested that what they needed was more protection. By coincidence, he knew a number of others who would be willing to accompany them.

Geth bared his teeth and growled at him before he could even finish the suggestion. “Boar’s whiskers! Do you think we were born moonstruck?” He stepped around from behind the table, shifting as he moved-his thick body seemed to grow even thicker, his hair denser. “Get out of here!”

Their would-be guide bared sharp teeth as well. His hands flexed and what had been heavy nails grew suddenly into long, sharp claws. The two shifters glared at each other for a moment, the hair on their bodies bristling, then the black-haired shifter stepped back and swiftly vanished among a crowd that had barely even glanced at the confrontation.

Geth growled again, this time in satisfaction, and turned back to their table. He dropped into the third chair and looked at Geth and Dandra. “I assume he’s out of the running,” he said.

Singe nodded. “I think we’ve talked to enough now.” He twisted around so that he could see all of the others. “What do you think of-”

“There’s one more,” said Orshok. He gestured. Singe turned back around.

On the edge of the crowd stood a goblin. The short creature was looking up at them nervously. “Yes?” Singe asked him. “You need guide Tzaryan Keep?”

The goblin’s voice was thin and harshly accented. Singe considered him. He hadn’t thought of a goblin as a guide, especially in Droaam where it seemed that most of the population could and did swallow goblins whole. This goblin, however, carried a multitude of scars. He was clearly a survivor. Singe flicked his fingers at Geth-the shifter vacated his chair with a groan-and waved the goblin forward. “Who are you?”

“Moza.” The goblin hopped up into the empty chair, standing rather than sitting in it. Being at eye level with the larger people around the table seemed to take away some of his nervousness. “You need guide?” he asked again.

Singe nodded. “Yes,” he said, “we need a guide to Tzaryan Keep.” He skipped right to the information the other guides had asked for. “And no, Tzaryan Rrac doesn’t know we’re coming but we’re not trying to sneak into his keep. We’re walking right up to his door.”

“I hear,” Moza said. “What you want with Dhakaani ruins?”

Singe sat back, a little surprised. None of the other prospective guides had even blinked at his mention of the ruins-and certainly none had asked about the ruins before he’d even mentioned them. “How do you know about that?”

The goblin seemed strangely taken aback at the question. His nervousness returned, his eyes darting around the taproom briefly then coming back to Singe. He tugged on his ear. “I hear.”

He sounded barely convinced by his own answer. Singe frowned. “What do you care if I’m interested in the ruins?”

The goblin flinched a second time. He started to look around again.

Ashi bent sharply to whisper in Singe’s ear. “On your left-there’s a hobgoblin woman in the crowd. She’s giving him cues.” The wizard turned his head.

If he hadn’t been looking for her, he probably would have missed the hobgoblin woman completely. She had slipped herself in beside a group of gnolls, their height hiding hers, their brownish fur making her yellowish skin and orange-brown hair stand out a little less. Black leather armor studded with darkened rivets blended into the shadows of the taproom.

Her furry ears stood high and were turned toward their table. She was gesturing to Moza, her mouth shaping exaggerated words.

Between one heartbeat and the next, however, dark eyes met Singe’s gaze. The hobgoblin froze for an instant, then dropped down, vanishing among the crowd.

Singe leaped to his feet, taking a fast step in the hobgoblin’s direction as Ashi lunged across the table to grab for Moza. The goblin squealed and slipped away from her grasping fingers, slithering down out of the chair. Dandra and Natrac flinched. “What are you doing?” Natrac asked in a yelp.

“There was a hobgoblin,” growled Geth. “I saw her.”

“That was a set-up!” spat Singe. “Someone is-”

Before he could say anything more or take another step, the door of the taproom opened-and for the first time, the patrons of the Barrel grew silent and still.

The sun was beginning to set outside and in from the fiery brightness stepped two … four … six ogres. Unlike the ogre that had accosted Ashi in the street, however, these were clean and well-groomed. Singe couldn’t have said that they looked any more intelligent, but they moved with a purpose and discipline that was distinctly unusual in an ogre.

All of them carried massive maces and wore stiff jerkins of heavy hide. Emblazoned on the jerkins was the insignia of a four-pointed blue star. Tzaryan Rrac’s insignia.

“Twelve bloody moons,” Singe cursed under his breath. “What are they doing here?” He eased back to the table. The others did the same, those who were standing crouching down a bit to make themselves less conspicuous.

Through the open door, Singe could see the silhouettes of at least two more ogres standing guard outside. The ogres inside the Barrel scanned the silent room. The gnoll barkeep hurried up to the largest of the monsters. The ogres that flanked him raised their weapons at her approach but lowered them again at a glance from their leader. He and the gnoll exchanged words.

Her hand rose and pointed straight to Singe and the others. The ogre leader nodded and made his way across the room. The Barrel’s patrons pressed back out of his path.

“Tiger!” hissed Geth. “What do we do?”

Singe swallowed. “Act calm,” he said. He sat up straight in his chair and the ogre leader leaned across the table. Even cleaned up, the monster’s breath reeked of decayed meat.

“Are you Timin Shay? he asked.

Timin Shay had been a childhood friend killed in a cart accident as a young man. Singe had taken to using the name as an alias long ago. He’d given it to the innkeeper of the Barrel. “Yes,” he said. “I am. What’s this about?”

“You’re looking for a guide to Tzaryan Keep?”

The ogre pronounced each of its words with care, as if taught to speak the language properly. Singe nodded. A hint of relief, as if he was pleased that he had found the right human, flickered in the ogre’s eyes. He stood straight. “I serve Tzaryan Rrac. By order of the general, you are invited to travel with us as we return to Tzaryan Keep.”

Singe blinked in surprise, then looked left and right to Dandra and Geth. The kalashtar and the shifter both wore started expressions as well. He looked back to the ogre. The general … Bava and Natrac had said that Tzaryan Rrac had hired a veteran general of the Last War to train his troops. Judging by the utter change in the ogres standing before them, his training was extremely effective. Singe licked his lips, trying to think of what to do.

“What’s your general’s name?” he asked.

“He is the General,” the ogre said.

Singe clenched his teeth. “Fair enough,” he said. “How does the General know I’m looking for a guide to Tzaryan Keep?”

The ogre looked as if he was trying to find an answer to an unexpected question in an unfamiliar language. “The General hears about your looking,” he said awkwardly.

“The General hears quickly,” said Dandra. “What is he doing in Vralkek anyway?”

The ogre’s face tensed in frustration. “The General brought us to Vralkek to test our discipline.”

Singe heard someone else’s voice behind the ogre’s word; he had probably learned the response by rote after listening to orders from his commander over and over again. The presence of Tzaryan’s troops in Vralkek was an annoying coincidence, but it was plausible. Placing troops into an urban setting to test their discipline was a common enough training practice. Robrand d’Deneith had done the same thing to him and Geth when they were being trained in the Frostbrand. He glanced at the shifter again.

Geth narrowed his eyes and shook his head. Don’t accept.

Singe looked Dandra. She shrugged. Maybe.

His gut told him that the General’s invitation, if unexpected, was a boon to them. In the company of ogre troops, they would be safe from virtually any danger they might encounter. There would be no doubt that Tzaryan Rrac would know they were coming. They would probably even be escorted right to the ogre mage if they asked for it.

On the other hand, his head told him to be wary. The thought of traveling with this unknown general, among ogre troops, directly into the presence of someone they were, after all, trying to deceive, seemed too dangerous. It was far too simple and far too convenient. They were putting themselves directly into Tzaryan Rrac’s power.

He bent his head toward the ogre. “Thank the General for his invitation, but we prefer to travel on our own.”

The ogre looked completely confused. His sloping forehead rippled into furrows deep as a plowed field. “By order of the general, you are invited to travel with us as we return to Tzaryan Keep,” he repeated, this time with greater force-and a different emphasis. He gestured and the ogres with him moved to stand beside the table.

“Singe,” growled Geth quietly, “I don’t think this is exactly an invitation.”

“Figured that out, did you?” Singe asked. Six of them, six ogres, he thought-they were evenly matched, at least until the troops outside the Barrel came in. They were also surrounded and in a very cramped space. Even if they could fight their way free, though, they would have earned themselves an enemy close to Tzaryan Rrac.

He looked up at the ogre leader and smiled. “I misunderstood,” he said. “Of course, we’d be honored to accept the General’s protection in our travels. Would it be possible for me to meet him to offer my thanks in person?”

The ogre looked relieved but his answer to the request was blunt. “No,” he said. “But she can.” His eyes settled on Dandra-then wavered to Ashi. For a moment, he looked confused again, then he thrust a finger at Dandra. “Her,” he said decisively. “The General asks her to ride with him on the journey.”

Singe stiffened. “What? No!”

Dandra, however, was already rising. “I’d be honored,” she said-even as the kesh brushed Singe’s mind. Don’t worry, she told him silently, I’ll be fine.

You’ll be a hostage! Singe warned her.

I escaped Dah’mir and the Bonetree clan. I can escape this General if I need to. An image of her using the long step to vanish from one place and appear in another flickered through the kesh.

If anyone was going to be a hostage, Singe had to admit that Dandra made a good choice. Be careful, he told her.

The ogre leader stepped up to wrap one meaty fist around Dandra’s arm, then gestured for his troops. “Take them to their rooms.”

Ashi started to open her mouth, but Singe quickly put an elbow into her side. Her protest didn’t go unnoticed, however. The ogre leader glared at her, then looked down at Singe. “You should sleep. We leave early in the morning.”

“Of course,” said Singe. He shot a glance at Geth. The shifter moved to take a position beside Ashi, keeping her calm, as Singe led the way past the ogres and toward the taproom’s door. The others followed him, each of them shadowed by an ogre. Outside-the noise in the taproom rising once again in excited gossip-they were turned toward the stairs leading up to the Barrel’s rooms. Singe glanced over his shoulder and exchanged a glance with Dandra as the ogre leader led her off in another direction.

“Lords of the Host!” cursed Natrac. “I don’t know if this is good or bad!”

“I think,” said Singe, “it might actually be good.”

Geth growled. “If this is good, I hope things don’t get any better.”

Darkness vanished in a burst of fiery light and Vennet blinked against the radiance of the setting sun on open ocean. Far below, a ship-his ship-crawled against the plain of water. “Hold fast!” bellowed Dah’mir. The dragon’s head and neck bent, his wings followed-and his body plunged down through the air at a terrible angle.

Vennet shouted with delirious excitement. Acceleration and the rushing air pressed at him, threatening to tear him from Dah’mir’s back or Hruucan’s bundled body from his arms. The sudden brightness and the speed forced his eyes shut, but he could hear just fine. The wind screamed around him. There’s the ship! They’re on it! Find them! Kill them!

Dah’mir pulled up out of his dive only a ship’s height above the water. Waves rushed past as they bore down upon Lightning on Water. “Be ready to jump when I hover!” he said.

“Aye, master!” Vennet braced himself. The ship rushed up to meet them. Dah’mir’s wings arced and scooped, beating hard just as they passed over the deck. Flat wood and screaming sailors were only a few paces below.

“Now!”

Vennet thrust himself free of the dragon’s scaly body and leaped for the deck.

Time had barely seemed to pass while Dah’mir plunged through Shadow, but some small part of Vennet realized even as he jumped that if it had been morning when they left the Bonetree mound and the sun was now setting, then he had spent hours clinging desperately to the dragon’s back. His limbs were cramped and stiff. His fingers were clenched into claws. Movement was awkward.

He hit the deck with a crash that sent agony flaring through an ankle.

He tried his best to protect the bundle that was Hruucan, but even so he felt the dolgaunt’s inert body crumble a little bit more under the impact.

“C-captain?” A familiar face bent over him, pale with horror. Karth, Vennet realized it was Karth. Steadfast, solid-

“Traitor!” he shouted and lashed out with a backhand blow that sent Karth reeling back. Vennet dropped Hruucan and forced himself to his feet, trying to get his bearings.

He stood on the aft deck. Below on the main deck, the crew that he had left in Zarash’ak raced back and forth, driven mad with fear at the sight of the dragon that circled the ship. The ship continued to surge forward through the water, though. Even Dah’mir was hard pressed to match her speed. Vennet spun around.

Only Marolis seemed to have resisted the terror of the dragon’s appearance. He clutched the ship’s wheel, his knuckles white, his face even whiter as he stared at his captain.

Above him, the great air elemental bound into the ship howled a song of wordless power.

Vennet leaped toward his junior officer. “Stop this ship!”

Marolis didn’t speak, but just shook his head. He spun the wheel sharply, bringing the ship hard over and sending the deck canting at a dangerous angle. Terrified sailors lost their footing and slid across the wood. Hruucan tumbled and rolled, crashing into a hatch. Vennet had seen far worse in storms. He leaned against the sloping deck and ripped his cutlass from his scabbard.

“Stop!” he roared. “Stop!” He wrapped both hands around the hilt of the cutlass and swung it in a powerful arc. The weapon chopped into the angle of Marolis’s neck, cleaving flesh and jumping as it hit bone, stopping only when the blade became wedged in the ruin of the man’s chest. Marolis sagged, his dead weight dragging on the wheel, rolling the ship in the other direction. Vennet cursed and kicked his body away. He grasped the wheel and held it steady, then narrowed his eyes and called on the power of his dragonmark.

Heat flared across his shoulder and the back of his neck. Vennet channeled the magic of the mark into the wheel, feeling it skip and strike among the chips of dragonshards that had been used in the wheel’s making. Through the wheel, he sent a stern order to the bound elemental. Full stop!

The howl of wind ceased instantly, the churning circle of mist condensing back into a solid ring. Lightning on Water slowed, momentum carrying her on through the water.

Moments later, Dah’mir’s herons caught up to the ship.

The birds had kept up with them in their passage through Shadow, but Dah’mir’s final burst of speed had left them behind. Now they fell on Lightning on Water like locusts on a field of grain. Beaks pierced and snapped at the flesh of screaming sailors. Claws raked. Ripped out of their fear, the sailors tried to fight back, but their attacks were clumsy. The greasy black feathers of the herons became sodden with blood.

Dah’mir circled around and hovered briefly above the deck, great wings beating a gale. “Find them, Vennet! Find Dandra! Find Geth! Find them all!”

“Master!” Vennet wrenched his cutlass from Marolis’s body and leaped down to the main deck. He raced through a whirlwind of screeching bird and wailing men, sliding on slippery wood, and dropped down through the hatch that led to the passenger cabins. One by one, he flung the doors open-meeting no resistance.

He clenched his teeth and pushed through the door-once shattered by Karth-of his sleeping cabin. It was empty as well. He drew a ragged breath, a dark suspicion dawning on him. “No,” he said to himself. “No. No! No!”

He tore into the hidden compartment in his floor and ripped open his strongbox, scattering coins, gems, and tradestrips of precious metal. Bloody hands emerged with a packet wrapped in pale fabric. Squeezing a fist around it, he raced back up onto the deck.

“Master!” he screamed at Dah’mir. “They’re not here! They’re not here!” He flung the packet to the deck. Pale silk, now stained, unfolded. Two large, sparkling dragonshards-one blue-black, one gold-bounced across the blood-slick deck. “We followed your shards, not them!”

In the air above, Dah’mir’s eyes narrowed. “Impossible! Check the holds!”

Vennet darted to the forward hold first, pausing at the bottom of the steep stairs to scan the shadows, then slowly pushing forward. The hold was packed with cargo that had once been destined for Trolanport. He listened closely, ignoring the creaks of a moving ship, the sloshing of water, the last groans and whimpers of his dying crew. He could hear and see nothing. Vennet mounted the stairs and stalked grimly toward the stern and the aft hold. Dah’mir said nothing as he circled. The black herons had retreated to the rails of the ship, leaving only torn bodies behind.

The moment he descended the stairs, Vennet heard a muffled sobbing. An everbright lantern had been hung near the stairs. Vennet lowered the shade. The sobbing stopped, stifled, as light flooded the hold, but he knew where it had come from. He slid forward silently, cutlass ready.

Chains lay on the floor. Someone had been held prisoner-and recently. There were fresh, bright scratches on the open lock and a piece of bent wire, the kind sometimes used to bind crates, still stuck out of the keyhole. Whoever had been held prisoner had escaped. Vennet clenched his teeth. He wasn’t going to find the people he wanted here, he realized, but he might find answers.

The sobbing had come from behind some crates. Vennet slid up to them, paused, then stepped around sharply.

A length of wood swung at him. He leaped back and sliced with his cutlass. He felt it bite flesh. The wood fell to the floor.

Karth stared at him. The sailor’s face was wet with tears. He clutched at his arm and blood seeped between his fingers.

Vennet held his cutlass steady. “Where are they, Karth?”

The sailor’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Vennet cursed. He reached out and grabbed Karth’s shirt, hauling him out of his hiding place and dragging him to the center of the hold. He flung him down beside the chains. “Who was held prisoner here?” he demanded.

“A bounty hunter,” Karth choked. “A bounty hunter named Chain.”

Vennet ground his teeth together so hard they hurt-then twisted around and slammed the hilt of his cutlass across Karth’s face. The man staggered, stunned. Vennet grabbed him and hauled him close, swiftly wrapping the length of chain tight around his wrists. He strung the chain through the bolt in the floor and, just as Karth realized what was going on and started to struggle, hooked the lock through the chains and squeezed it shut. The bent wire that had picked the lock before he flicked far away into a corner of the hold, then watched as Karth tried to wrench himself free of the chains.

“What was Chain doing a prisoner in my hold?” Vennet asked him. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know! I came down here to hide from you and he was gone!” said Karth. He was starting to sob again. Blood from his wounded arm was running down to turn the chains red. “Dandra captured him in Zarash’ak,”

“Well then, where’s Dandra?” Vennet shouted. “Where’s Geth? Where’s Singe? Where’s Ashi? Where are they?” He swung his cutlass, cutting deep into the deck only a span from Karth’s legs. “Tell me or by Khyber’s glory, I will start cutting pieces off you just like I did Natrac!”

“Vralkek!” Karth wailed. “We let them off in Vralkek. They’re traveling to Tzaryan Keep.”

“Thank you.” Vennet wrenched his cutlass out of the deck and turned for the stairs. Karth sobbed in fear behind him-sobs that rose into a frightened shout as Vennet climbed up onto the deck.

“Captain? Captain, I told you where they are. Set me free.” Chains rattled as Karth climbed to his feet. “Captain, set me free!”

Dah’mir was waiting on the deck in his heron form. “Well?”

“Vralkek,” Vennet said. “Headed to Tzaryan Keep.” His face twisted. “Storm at dawn, they must have left the ship while we were in Shadow.”

“Tzaryan Keep,” repeated Dah’mir. “How did they-?” The heron’s expression was inscrutable, but his eyes seemed to flash in the dying light and when he spoke again, his voiced seethed. “Ashi. The tales of the Bonetree. Vennet, find Hruucan. We’ll be leaving shortly.” He flapped his wings and hopped into the middle of the largest stretch of clear deck the ship had to offer, then transformed. Lightning on Water groaned under the sudden weight of a dragon, but Dah’mir looked unconcerned.

Vennet found Hruucan’s body wedged among barrels and ropes, the stinking tunic half unwrapped from his charred form. He wrapped it up again, ashes sifting out with every movement. Vennet hoped that the dolgaunt wouldn’t notice when he woke again. He hurried to Dah’mir and climbed back up to the base of his neck.

“Master,” he said, “will we be able to catch them before they reach Tzaryan Keep?”

“We don’t need to chase them anymore,” said Dah’mir. “I know what they’re trying to do.”

With a leap that left Lightning on Water bobbing in the water like a toy, the dragon took to the air again, his herons following in his wake. They circled the drifting ship once, then broke to the northwest and began to climb into the gathering night.

For a long time after, it seemed to Vennet that he could still hear Karth screaming.