The Grieving Tree

CHAPTER 9

Tzaryan Rrac’s ogre troops marched Dandra across town to another inn that looked as if it had, in better times, been a place with aspirations. Singe had told her that until it had been weakened in the Last War, Breland had claimed dominion over the barrens. The inn was a fading remnant of Brelish civilization, clinging to a dream of luxury while ogres stood guard outside its door and painted plaster flaked away from the inside walls. Dandra saw no other guests-and no staff either-as the ogres hustled her through the common room and up a flight of stairs that creaked threateningly under the creatures’ weight. On the upper floor, the leader of the ogres opened a door and gestured for her to enter. She looked inside cautiously. The room was sparsely furnished, but otherwise empty.

“Where’s the General?” she asked.

“You wait here,” the ogre said. “The General will send for you.”

He pushed her through the door-it was like being nudged by a horse-then pulled it closed behind her. Dandra waited for the sound of a lock or a bolt, but there was nothing except the heavy footsteps of the ogres moving away. For a moment, she considered looking back out into the hall to see if a guard had been left behind, but there didn’t seem to be any point. She had no intention of escape.

The room’s single window faced west and the light of the setting sun painted the walls red. Dandra went over to the window and looked out over Vralkek. The Barrel was nowhere in sight. She tried reaching out to Singe with the kesh, but the wizard was too far away. She sighed, wrinkling her nose, and looked beyond the town. Far to the west, back in the Shadow Marches, Dah’mir and Vennet would have reached the Bonetree mound.

Dandra leaned against the window frame and wondered what the dragon’s next move would be. He’d look for them, she was certain of it, but they’d broken their trail. Dah’mir wasn’t going to have an easy time finding them again.

But he will find us, whispered Tetkashtai. The presence’s light was dim in Dandra’s mind. He’ll use magic. He’ll hire another Tharashk bounty hunter. He’ll-

Dandra’s lips pressed tight in frustration. Tetkashtai’s frantic terror had ebbed into a hopeless depression that was almost as frustrating and just as infectious. At times, Dandra found herself fighting to keep from falling into the same pessimism. Khorvaire is a big place, she reminded Tetkashtai. As far as Dah’mir knows, we could be anywhere. Maybe he will find us eventually-but it will take him time and by then we’ll have uncovered his secrets.

We might have uncovered his secrets, the presence pointed out. We don’t even know if we’ll find anything-if we find these Spires of the Forge at all. And even if we do find all the answers you’re looking for, what are you going to do with them?

Dandra lifted her chin. Whatever I have to.

Tetkashtai’s light flickered with a little of her old fire. You’re a fool, she said with disdain.

Maybe I am, but at least I’m doing something. Would you rather end up like Medala or Virikhad? Dandra spun out a memory of her last, fleeting mental contact with Tetkashtai’s one-time friends: Medala harsh and raging, Virikhad desperate and consuming, both of them driven utterly mad at Dah’mir’s hands.

Tetkashtai countered with another memory. In her mind’s eye, Dandra saw the flash of silver-white light that had destroyed Medala’s body as the two kalashtar, forced together by Dandra’s hand, struggled for control of it. No, said Tetkashtai dryly, I’d rather not. You will do whatever you have to, won’t you?

Shame and anger flushed Dandra’s face. Tetkashtai gave her a mental sneer-and rage flared in Dandra. She reached up to the cord that held the psicrystal around her neck and tore it off, flinging the crystal across the room.

Tetkashtai vanished from her mind. Dandra closed her eyes and drew a breath between her teeth, grateful for a moment’s respite from the presence’s taunting, terrified influence. Tetkashtai’s absence left her feeling hollow, like a part of her was missing, but she also felt in control of herself for the first time.

The feeling didn’t last long. She’d barely had time to sit down on the edge of the room’s bed when there was a pounding on the door. The ogre leader shoved it open. “The General will see you,”

She nodded and stood again, then hesitated. “Just a moment,” she told him. She darted across the room and retrieved her crystal. As she settled the cord around her neck once more, Tetkashtai blossomed inside her, shaking and frail. Dandra … she whined in fear.

Dandra thrust her away. Keep your thoughts to yourself for a while, Tetkashtai. She turned back to the ogre. “I’m ready. Take me to the General.”

The ogre seemed vaguely in awe of the confidence in her voice. He ushered her back out into the hall and along to a grand door at its end where two more ogres wearing the blue star of Tzaryan Keep stood guard. They stood to attention at their leader’s approach. He seemed to take no notice of them, though, instead reaching easily over Dandra’s head and tapping at the doors with a delicacy that made the wood shake. “General,” he called.

A harsh voice answered. “Send her in, Chuut.”

The ogre opened the door. Dandra stepped inside.

The General had claimed the largest room in the inn for his use. It was as sparsely furnished as Dandra’s own, though at one time it must have been grand. Two worn chairs sat beside a large fireplace. One was empty. The other was occupied by a man who stood as she entered. He wore simple clothing: high boots, sturdy brown trousers, a light coat over a good shirt. There was a plain sword at his belt and he wore no ornamentation except for a blue star badge pinned to his coat.

He also, however, wore scarves wrapped around his head and over his face. All that Dandra could see of the man himself were dark, old eyes that peered between the shrouding scarves-and those eyes were narrowed in suspicion, wrinkles deep around them. “The kalashtar,” he said.

Dandra’s belly felt light and fluttering, but she forced herself to remain calm. Pressing her hands together, she bent over them in greeting. “You’re observant, General.”

“I don’t like kalashtar,” said the man. “They get inside your head. I told Chuut to bring me the other woman.” He let out a long, slow breath. “Well, you’re here now.”

He sat down again, a little awkwardly. Dandra saw that his right leg and arm were stiff. When he gestured for her to take the other seat, she noticed as well that his right hand-hidden, like his left, in a fine black glove-was clenched into a claw. She forced her eyes away from it as she sat down, but couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the man that he should take up service under a Droaamish warlord.

When she looked up, she met his eyes again. They were hard, daring her to say something about his concealed infirmities. Dandra sat still and held her tongue. After a moment, the General’s gaze dimmed. He eased back in his chair.

“You have me at a disadvantage, kalashtar,” he said. “You know more about me than I know about you. That should be corrected. What’s your name and what do you and Master Timin want at Tzaryan Keep?”

Singe had suggested that Dandra choose a false name just as he had. She hadn’t thought that she’d need one, but now she was glad that he had insisted. “My name is Kirvakri,” she told the General. “Timin and I are traveling to Tzaryan Keep to ask Tzaryan Rrac’s permission to study the Dhakaani ruins in his territory.”

“You know that Tzaryan Rrac is no common lord?” The General sounded vaguely amused.

Dandra allowed herself a fleeting smile. “We had heard something to that effect.”

“What’s your interest in the ruins?”

Once again, Dandra was glad for Singe’s coaching. The story that the wizard had concocted was close enough to the truth that it rolled easily off her tongue. “Master Timin holds a position in Queen’s College at the University of Wynarn. His area of specialization is history and legend. Recently, we discovered that the clan one of our guards came from tells a tale about an ancient quest to ruins in Droaam. We believe the tale refers to Taruuzh Kraat, the ruins near Tzaryan Keep. Timin wants to confirm the legend.”

“And you?” the General asked. His voice might have been harsh, but his questions were quick and astute.

She spread her hands. “I’m Timin’s assistant and student. I go where he goes.”

The General’s eyes gleamed. “He seems young to have inspired such a dedicated student.”

“He’s gifted.”

“And wealthy? You arrived in Vralkek on a Lyrandar elemental galleon.”

Dandra shrugged casually. “We’ve been in the Shadow Marches, speaking with our guard’s clan. When we left Zarash’ak, the captain of the galleon owed us a favor.”

The General sat back and considered her, then after a moment added, “Tzaryan Rrac doesn’t like treasure hunters.”

In coming up with the tale that they would present to the warlord, Singe had learned from the conclusion Chain had drawn about their group: such an eclectic mix of peoples and backgrounds was undeniably odd. Even claiming Geth, Ashi, Natrac, and Orshok as their guards left Singe and Dandra suspect. Rather than simply deny the assumption, Singe had incorporated it into the story. “Robrand d’Deneith,” he had told them, “used to say that a distraction is better than an outright lie. If someone thinks they know something secret about you, they’ll ignore everything else and focus on that.”

Dandra did her best to look outraged. “We’re not treasure hunters!” she said to the General in a tone of injured pride-a tone that rang entirely false, confirming more than her words denied. Dandra thought she saw a smile tug against the scarf covering the General’s face.

“Of course you’re not,” he said politely. “I’m just warning you. Tzaryan will likely want to speak to you and Master Timin-he enjoys the company of scholars-and if he discovers that you’ve come to loot his ruins …”

“Timin is looking forward to speaking with him as well,” Dandra replied. “Tzaryan’s reputation for learning precedes him.”

The General snorted. “I’m sure his reputation for other things has preceded him as well. If you’re smart, you’ll pay closer attention to those.” He rose, gripping the arm of his chair for support. “You’ve answered my questions,” he said. “Return to your room and sleep. I’ll give you a moment in the morning to speak with Master Timin-you might want to pass on my warning-but you’ll ride with me.”

“Your hostage,” said Dandra as she stood up.

“To put it simply, yes,” the General admitted. “Chuut will show you back to your room.”

He held out his left hand. Dandra shook it clumsily, thought she couldn’t quite manage to keep her eyes from flicking to the man’s clenched and twisted right hand. The General’s face tightened and he released his grip sharply. Dandra held back a wince at having offended him. “Good night, General,” she said and turned to go.

She was reaching for the door when he said abruptly, “House Jorasco.”

Dandra blinked and looked back at him. “General?”

He held out his right arm. “House Jorasco did this. And this.” The General lifted his other hand to touch the scarves around his head and face. “You’ll forgive me for covering myself.”

Words froze on Dandra’s tongue. “House Jorasco carries the Mark of Healing,” she said after a moment.

“Healing and harming aren’t so different, especially in the fire of war,” said the General. “Consider that the next time you meet a halfling.” He sat down again. “Good night, Kirvakri.”

“House Jorasco?” Geth grunted as he heaved a saddle onto the back of one of the horses the General had provided for them, then looked back to Dandra. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” she said. “His right arm and leg, his right hand, his face. What could healers have done to him to leave him like that?”

Geth looked over his shoulder at the ranks of ogres-thirty of the big, smelly monsters-that were forming in Vralkek’s street. The morning was still cold and misty. Few of the town’s inhabitants seemed interested in rising so early to watch Tzaryan Rrac’s troops move out. The General’s ogre lieutenant, Chuut, stood close by, the reins of Dandra’s horse in his hand, his gaze shifting between the General’s “guests” on the journey and the other ogres. The General himself had yet to make an appearance. Geth wanted to lay eyes on this tormented soldier himself.

Singe scratched at his beard, his eyes narrow as he mulled over Dandra’s tale of her discussion with the General. “There have been rumors,” he said. “A dark shadow to Jorasco …” He shook his head. “It might be that he was injured and Jorasco could only do so much. He might just blame them for whatever scars he’s left with. It’s not important.” The wizard glanced at Chuut, then lowered his voice. “Kesh,” he said.

Concentration passed over Dandra’s face and a moment later, Geth felt her thoughts touch his-and those of the others as well. Hurry, Dandra said. I can’t hold all of us in the kesh for long.

Do you think the General believed our story? asked Singe.

Completely, Dandra told him.

Natrac thrust out his tusks as he fussed with his gear, trying to disguise his part in the silent conversation. We really are only a hair away from being treasure hunters, he said. What are we going to do if Tzaryan doesn’t give us permission to investigate the ruins?

Let’s worry about that if it happens. Singe bent to his own saddle. Do you think you’ll be all right? he asked Dandra.

If there’s any problem, I’ll call you or take the long step back to you. I’ll be fine. Dandra reached out and laid a hand on Singe’s shoulder for a moment, then the brief connection of the kesh faded from Geth’s mind as she turned to Chuut. “I’m done,” she said aloud. He handed her the reins of her horse and waited while she mounted.

Geth looked up at her. “See if you can get the General talking. I’m curious to know where he served during the Last War.”

Dandra nodded and gave them all a smile, then turned and moved toward the head of the column of ogres with Chuut striding beside her. Singe glanced at Geth. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“I want to know what happened to him,” Geth said defensively.

They finished saddling their horses and securing their gear. Although there were five of them, he and Singe ended up doing most of the work. Natrac’s severed hand limited him, while Orshok and Ashi simply had no idea what to do. Neither hunter nor druid had ever ridden before. “Just once,” Geth muttered as he held a stirrup for Orshok, “I would like to start a journey with everyone knowing at least how to sit in a saddle!”

Once they were mounted, Chuut returned and led them to their place near the rear of the column. Geth bared his teeth at the thought of riding in the stinking dust of sweating ogres.

Singe must have been thinking something similar. “Can’t we ride at the front?” he asked Chuut with a grimace.

The ogre shook his head. “The General says you ride here. Hold your position.”

“Where is the General?” asked Geth.

“Taking his place now.”

Chuut moved away back up the column. Geth twisted and looked after him. Sure enough, the shrouded figure of the General was turning his horse in place beside Dandra near the column’s head. “Grandfather Rat’s naked tail!” Geth cursed. “He moves like a ghost!”

The General’s hand rose and fell. Chuut’s voice-echoed by the voices of one or two other lead ogres-roared out an order. “Tzaryan company, forward!”

The column began to move with a well-coordinated precision that would have done credit to a Blademarks company. “I would have thought they’d use commands in their own language,” said Natrac.

“It’s all in the training,” said Singe. “The General has probably taught them this way. It looks like the man knows what he’s doing.”

They passed through the still sleeping town to the slow rhythm of big, trudging feet, punctuated by the clatter of horses’ hooves. Geth watched the decrepit buildings slip away in the gray mist. Vralkek looked strangely peaceful in the silence of morning and he could almost pretend it was just another town-aside from the two gnolls lying drunk against one wall or the corpse of a harpy sprawled in the street, arrows piercing its feathered body. And where other towns of similar size often had paupers’ huts clustered on the outskirts, Vralkek had nothing but crumbling, half-burned remains.

As even the burned huts fell behind them, another order rolled back along the column and the ogres picked up their pace, speeding up to a move at a distance-eating march. Geth growled softly. “They won’t be able to keep this up over rough ground.”

“We’re not marching over rough ground,” said Singe, a hint of amazement in his voice. “Look down.”

Geth glanced at the ground passing beneath his horse’s hooves and realized with a start that it was as finely cobbled and leveled as a city street. There had been no change in the hard clatter of horseshoes on stone as they left Vralkek. “A road?” he asked. “But there was no road on either of Bava’s maps!”

“This looks like recent construction,” said Singe.

“Who builds roads to the middle of nowhere in Droaam?”

Orshok pointed to a tall stone marker that loomed at the side of the road. “I think that’s your answer,” he said.

The stone was inlaid with a four-pointed blue star. Singe whistled. “Twelve moons, I think maybe we can thank Tzaryan Rrac’s interest in civilization for making our journey a little bit easier!”

With the flat, solid surface of the road under them, distance passed swiftly. By the time the sun was fully above the horizon and the morning’s mist had burned away, they were far beyond Vralkek and riding through some of the most desolate country Geth had ever seen in his life. As far as he could see in every direction, the land was very nearly flat. In many areas, it looked treacherously boggy. In others, very low hills rose like flat shoals in the sea of bogs. The vegetation was coarse grass and thorny scrub. Scattered groves of thick, black trees stretched for the sky. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of ruins, old and worn stones half sunk in the mire. The only signs of animal life were a few white birds that soared high on the wind.

In his time, he’d seen many kinds of desolation, in many different places. The Last War had scourged nearly every part of the Five Nations. Only the fringes of the continent, places like the vast forests of the Eldeen Reaches or the thick marshes of the Shadow Marches had remained untouched. To the best of his knowledge, Droaam had also seen little of the Last War, yet the barrens had the same feel as battlefields Geth recalled from Cyre and Karrnath-only much, much older, as if Droaam had been ruined by time rather than by war.

Orshok stared around them in awe, stunned to silence. Because he was bound to the land and nature, Geth guessed, the druid could probably sense things about the barrens that the rest of them couldn’t. When the young orc finally spoke, it was in a whisper. “What happened here?”

Singe shrugged. “Who knows? Ten thousand years ago, this was part of the Empire of Dhakaan. Hobgoblins ruled here until the Daelkyr War. After Dhakaan fell, the barrens lay empty until humans came to Khorvaire. When the Five Nations joined to form the Kingdom of Galifar, Breland was already claiming them as its territory, but its claim was tenuous at best. There have been more attempts to colonize the barrens than anyone could keep track of. Some succeeded and held on-like Vralkek-until Breland abandoned the region during the Last War. Others failed quickly. Some just vanished.” He looked out across the bogs and low hills and drew a deep breath. “Researchers from Wynarn have spent lifetimes trying to pull answers out of this land. Twelve moons, what I wouldn’t give for some of their notebooks right now!”

“You can spend all the time here that you want,” said Natrac with a shudder. He shrank down in his saddle. “That feeling has always made me nervous, like there’s something watching and waiting for its chance to reach out of the past and grab for you. It’s not just here-it’s everywhere in Droaam.”

Geth glanced at Singe and raised an eyebrow. Natrac had just contradicted himself. The wizard’s eyes narrowed and he gave a slight nod. He’d noticed it as well. “Natrac,” said Geth, “when we were walking through Vralkek for the first time, you said you’d always avoided Droaam before this.”

The muscles of the half-orc’s heavy jaw tightened. “I meant that I avoided it whenever I could.”

“But if you can say that the feeling of something watching and waiting is everywhere in Droaam,” said Singe casually, “that must mean you’ve traveled the country fairly extensively.”

“Not that much really,” Natrac said. His voice was strained. “Enough to know I don’t like Droaam.”

“What about Graywall?” Singe asked. “Have you ever been to Graywall?”

Natrac looked at the wizard sharply, his eyes bright and hard, then turned around and stared at the marching ogres ahead of them. “Bava,” he said after a few moments. “Bava told you.”

There was a darkness in his voice, a sort of anger that Geth had never heard from the half-orc before, even when they’d sworn to take vengeance on Vennet for what he’d done. Blustering merchant, grim warrior-abruptly Geth felt like he was seeing a glimpse of a third side of Natrac, something deep and raw. “She didn’t tell us much,” he said. “Only that you’d been born in Graywall and that she’d met you in Sharn. We tried to get her to tell us more but she wouldn’t.”

“She’d already told you too much,” Natrac snarled at him. “Lords of the Host, she promised me-” He shut his mouth tight and rode in silence.

Geth and Singe exchanged glances, then Geth nudged his horse a little closer to the half-orc.

“Natrac,” he said quietly. “We’ve all done things we don’t want to talk about-”

“Like Narath?” asked Natrac.

Hot anger and cold dread mixed in Geth’s gut. “Who told you-?” he began, then caught himself. Natrac stared at him with flat, cool eyes.

“Nobody told me,” the half-orc said. “All I had to do was listen. I remember hearing about the Massacre at Narath. You-and Singe-would have been on the losing side. If you don’t want to talk about something you did there, it must have been bad.”

“It’s nothing that’s going to affect us now,” Geth told him. “It’s over. It’s in the past.”

“So is what I did. You don’t need to worry about it.” Natrac fixed his eyes on a distant grove of trees. “I was born in Graywall, yes. I left it for Sharn-and then I left Sharn for Zarash’ak and a new life. I was gone from Graywall long before Breland abandoned the barrens and I haven’t returned to Droaam since. Does that answer your questions?”

“You said that you’d spent time in an arena, but you weren’t a gladiator,” said Geth. “Does that have anything to do with this?”

Natrac’s eyes flickered, but his lips just pressed together until they were almost white around his protruding tusks. He said nothing more.

Geth let his horse drop back to where Singe rode. “What did he say?” the wizard asked.

“It’s nothing we need to worry about,” said Geth.

“Did I hear him mention Narath?”

“It’s nothing we need to worry about,” Geth repeated harshly. He shifted his mount away again, ignoring the flash of anger that crossed Singe’s face.

They rode in uncomfortable silence through the rest of the morning. Around midday, orders rang out, calling a break. The column stopped and the ogres fell out of formation. They sprawled out across the road and onto the firm land on either side of it, gnawing at chunks of unidentifiable meat, resting, and relieving themselves. Geth and the others dismounted as well. In addition to horses, the General had provided water and trail rations suitable for human consumption. They stuck close together as they ate. Disciplined or not, some of Tzaryan’s troops were looking at them with an unpleasant interest.

At the head of the column, a hastily erected pavilion gave shelter from the sun to the General and Dandra. Geth could catch glimpses of the pair through the shifting mass of ogres. Their manners toward each other seemed distant, yet polite. “I wonder how they’re doing?” he said.

Singe stood up from where he had been sitting. “Why don’t we go see?” he suggested. He looked to Orshok, Natrac, and Ashi. “Wait here.”

Chuut, however, stepped out of the crowd and stopped them before they had taken ten paces. “The General says you’re to hold position.”

“We just want to pay our respects to our host,” said Singe, but the ogre was unmoved. Up ahead, Geth saw Dandra glance at them, then lean a little closer to the General. The man seemed to listen to her, then shake his scarf-shrouded head. Dandra looked frustrated, but she turned back to him and Singe, smiled, and gave them a wave.

“I think she’s fine,” the shifter murmured to Singe. He took the wizard’s arm and tugged him back to the others. Chuut followed them for a few paces, escorting them, then left them with a final warning to stay in their place within the column. Singe’s eyes were still on the pavilion, however.

“Twelve bloody moons,” he said. “Is the General going to talk to us at all during this journey?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want too many of us around him at one time?” suggested Ashi. “He might be afraid we would try to overpower him.”

“Maybe,” said Singe, but to Geth’s ears he sounded doubtful.

In the afternoon, the land began to rise until they were riding through rolling hills sparsely covered in tangled trees. The woods were thickets compared to the great forests of the Eldeen, where the growth was sometimes so dense it was impossible to see more than a few feet beyond the edges of a narrow path, but somehow Geth found the open woodlands more unnerving. They had the same feeling of ancient desolation as the lowland bogs, intensified by the shifting shadows among the branches and trunks. The woods were silent as well, probably because the noise of the ogres’ passage along the road hushed any birds or animals nearby, but Geth couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the woods were always quiet, holding the secrets of ages behind tight-sealed lips. When they came around the side of a hill and the sweeping vista of a valley opened before them, he spotted the rounded longhouse and huts of an orc camp on its far side-but couldn’t have guessed at how old the camp was. Nothing moved around the huts and no smoke rose from the longhouse. Its inhabitants might have been in hiding or they might have left a few days previously, or they might have abandoned the camp months or even years before. He asked Orshok what he thought, but by the time the druid had turned to look, the camp had been hidden by leaves once more.

“Like there’s something watching and waiting for its chance to reach out of the past and grab for you,” Natrac had said. Geth understood exactly what the half-orc meant. He flexed his right arm, listening to the soft creak of his great gauntlet. The armored sleeve was no use against imagined mysteries, but its weight was comforting.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Ashi twisting around and staring at the road behind them. He leaned over to her. “What is it?”

“We’re being followed.”

Geth raised a shaggy eyebrow. It was tempting to suggest that the feeling was in the hunter’s mind, an effect of the eerie atmosphere, but he’d been around Ashi for weeks now. Her instincts were solid. He glanced over his shoulder as well. The road behind them was empty. “Where?”

Ashi shook her head. “Nowhere in particular. Sometimes in the woods, sometimes right on the edge of the road. A dark figure. Human-shaped, big as a large man. On foot.”

“If they’re on foot, they can’t have been following us very long. Who in their right mind would follow a column of ogres-”

He was turning back to Ashi when the figure appeared for just an instant, darting through the woods from one tree to another on the north side of the road about sixty paces back from the end of the column. Geth got only the most fleeting glimpse of it, but as Ashi had said, it was human in shape and big as a large man. The clothing it wore was dark and close-fitted, probably leather. Its head seemed curiously smooth and rounded. He didn’t get a good look at its face, but there was something vaguely familiar about the figure, though he couldn’t place it.

“Rat!” Geth hissed. He scanned the faces of the few ogres that marched behind them at the very rear of the column, but there was no indication that they had seen anything. Their big ugly faces were slack, eyes glazed with the monotony of a long march. Geth gestured for Singe to join him.

The wizard, as well as Natrac and Orshok, listened to him and Ashi describe what they had seen. His eyes narrowed. “Following the column-or following us?”

“Geth,” asked Orshok, “when you say the figure had a smooth head could it have been shaved bald?”

“I suppose so,” said the shifter. “But I don’t see-”

“It’s Chain,” Orshok said tightly.

Geth-as well as the others-stared at him. “Chain’s in the hold of Lightning on Water on his way to Sharn,” Geth said after a moment.

“What if he’s not?” asked Orshok. The young orc’s face was flushed. “I know I saw something fall off Lightning on Water yesterday. What if Chain escaped? Singe says he swore he’d be coming for us!”

Geth looked at Singe. The wizard shook his head. “It can’t be him. I checked his chains before we left the ship.”

“Chain or not, someone is back there,” said Geth. “I don’t like it.” He pulled his horse around and out of the line of march, trotting up the column toward Chuut. He called the ogre’s name and Chuut swung around. Rage crossed his face.

“The General said hold your position!”

“I know,” Geth said. “But there’s something you should know.”

Chuut pulled a massive mace from his belt and raised it threateningly. “Return to your place.”

Geth paused in the act of pointing to the woods behind the column. His eyes narrowed. “Chuut, we’re being-” he began, but the ogre just stepped forward and bellowed in his face.

“I said you gets back to your spot now!”

His breath stank. Saliva spattered Geth’s face-and anger surged in his belly. The last time anyone had yelled in his face like that, he had been a recruit to the Frostbrand company and a trainer had been drilling orders into him. If that was how Chuut was going to think, he needed a taste of real Blademarks command! Geth’s lips peeled back, baring his teeth. He sat tall in his saddle and roared right back at the ogre. “Master Chuut, stand respect!”

The ogre’s face went from rage to shock in an instant, but his body responded to the command even faster, taking two fast steps back and standing rigid, head up, weapon at his side. The nearest ogres stared in shock, stumbling as they tried to watch the confrontation and keep marching at the same time.

Swept up in his anger, Geth turned on them. “Tzaryan company, about and alert!”

The sudden order was more than the ogre troops could handle. Some stopped and turned out away from the column, hands on their weapons, ready for trouble. More tripped over their own feet. A few kept marching until they ran into-or stepped on-their comrades. In only moments, Tzaryan Rrac’s troops were in complete disarray.

Geth rounded on Chuut once more. “Go to the General and tell him the column is being trailed by one enemy scout on the north side of the road. Bring back his reply.” He leaned close and growled in Chuut’s face. “I’ll be waiting in my position.”

Chuut trembled but didn’t move. “Go!” Geth barked at him.

The ogre’s head snapped down in acknowledgement and he raced off toward the front of the collapsed column. Geth dug his heels into his horse’s side and trotted back to the others. Ashi, Natrac, and Orshok looked at him in amazement, but Singe wore a troubled expression.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Geth said. “I had to make him listen and I didn’t feel like fighting him.”

“It’s not that,” said Singe. His eyebrows drew down into a knot. “Those were Blademarks commands you used.”

“I know.” Geth bared his teeth again, this time in a smile. “Did you see those ogres jump?”

“Geth-Blademarks commands.”

The shifter stared at him for a moment before the words sank in. Tzaryan Rrac’s troops had been trained with Blademarks commands-by the General. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, Boar’s whiskers.”

Ashi looked from him to Singe and back. “I don’t understand.”

“The General is selling House Deneith training to Tzaryan Rrac,” Singe said grimly. “The Blademarks and House Deneith use their own commands in training. The commands aren’t anything special, but if the General is using them, it means he’s also using Deneith techniques to train Tzaryan’s ogres.”

“Maybe Tzaryan hired House Deneith,” Natrac suggested.

Singe shook his head. “Then why is the General concealing his identity? I’m not even talking about the scarves-a member of House Deneith conducting legitimate business would use his name openly.” He frowned. “And I’m reasonably certain the lords of Deneith wouldn’t consent to training ogres. When they took on hobgoblin mercenaries during the Last War, the hobgoblins rebelled and carved Darguun out of Cyre.”

A stirring among the ogres brought Geth’s attention back to them-Tzaryan’s troops were shifting into new positions as their leaders moved among them, quietly issuing new orders. Chuut was heading back along the column as well. Geth slapped Singe’s arm and jerked his head toward the approaching ogre. Singe fell silent and turned to meet him.

Chuut carried a piece of folded paper. He stopped before Geth and Singe as if momentarily uncertain who was supposed to be in charge, then extended the parchment to Singe. “The General has orders,” he said.

Singe took the parchment and unfolded it, quickly scanning the writing on it. His eyes narrowed. Geth stretched his neck and read over his shoulder.

Master Timin, send the shifter and the savage to locate our pursuer. Capture if possible. Tzaryan company will provide a distraction when you’re ready. Move quickly.

“That sounds like a good plan,” said Geth. He could see the General’s intention immediately. If they were going to turn the tables on whoever was following the column, swift and stealthy action was needed. Ogres would crash through the woods like a herd of cattle, but the General had clearly recognized his and Ashi’s wilderness experience. Geth swung a leg over his saddle and jumped down to the ground. “Ashi, we’re going hunting.”

Ashi’s lips spread in a thin smile and she dismounted as well. Singe grabbed Geth’s arm, though. “A good plan,” he agreed, but held the paper down in front of Geth, “except that this is Dandra’s writing.”

“Maybe he had her write it for him.” Geth held a hand up in imitation of the General’s clenched fingers. “He probably can’t do it very well himself.”

“Then why is he carrying paper and ink at all? Something’s not right.”

Geth growled. The hours of riding through the haunted landscape of Droaam dragged on him. He wanted to be off after their stalking enemy. “Save your conspiracies, Singe. The General isn’t the one sneaking through the woods behind us.” He slipped free of the wizard’s grasp and glanced at Ashi. The hunter slid the bright blade of her sword from its sheath. Geth turned back to Chuut. “We’re ready.”

The possibility of action clearly appealed to the ogre as well. His troubled face lit up and he spun to face the waiting troops. “Red squad, move!” he shouted, raising his mace and pointing back along the road. “Search south!”

About a third off the column split away and-with an enthusiastic roar-thundered back the way they had come, plunging off the road and into the woods with no attempt at stealth. A number of smaller trees came crashing down as ogres blundered into them. A blind and deaf man couldn’t have missed the commotion.

Whoever had been following the column was guaranteed to be watching the ogres. Geth gestured for Ashi to take to the woods on the north of the road. Singe, however, drew a sharp breath. “Geth-”

The shifter shook his head. “Ashi and I will be fine. You look after yourselves. We’ll worry about the General later.”

He darted for the trees.