The Killing Song

CHAPTER 10

Dandra had hoped to go to Nevchaned’s and examine Erimelk early in the morning-as early as was polite and possibly even earlier. Unfortunately, by the time Singe and Ashi had returned and relayed the tale of their brush with Mithas d’Deneith and their discovery of Natrac’s past, the night was almost over. They’d decided to sleep for just a little while, to give Natrac a little longer to come back from his mysterious errands, before going to Nevchaned’s house.

A little while had turned into a long while. The sun stood at noon, blazing directly over Sharn’s heart. The new day was as bright as the previous day had been dark. Natrac had still not returned.

“Should we look for him?” Ashi asked.

Dandra shook her head. “Where would we start?”

“He could be in trouble.”

“We’re in trouble too,” said Singe. “Natrac will have to wait.” He put away his spellshard-a fist-sized dragonshard imprinted with the arcane texts of his magic-and stood up. “I’m ready.”

The time he took with the spellshard when she wanted to be gone rubbed at Dandra, but the wizard argued for the necessity of studying more sleeping spells in case they needed them against Dah’mir’s herons. Dandra hoped they wouldn’t need the spells. She knew her hope was probably misplaced. Before they left the apartment, she slid her short spear into the harness across her back.

The people in the streets of Fan Adar seemed no less on edge in the bright light of early afternoon than they had in the gloom of evening or the dark of night. Now that she knew what was happening, Dandra could feel the way that they hung back, not just from strangers but out of wariness born by the unpredictable violence of the killing song. Dandra couldn’t blame them. Had the council of elders done the right thing by concealing the killing song? Would knowing that a song lay behind the madness and murders in the community ease Fan Adar’s fears or just make them worse?

She, Singe, and Ashi walked with their heads raised, scanning the skies and high places for the black herons. Nevchaned did good business with the other inhabitants of Overlook district, and his home and shop were just beyond the limits of Fan Adar. Once they were beyond the Adaran neighborhood, the herons might be less of a concern, but until then, they had to be careful. Maybe Dah’mir wasn’t watching for them in particular, but there was no point in taking chances. Dandra was so focused on keeping her eyes open for the birds that she didn’t see Hanamelk until he was right in front of her.

“Dandra?” he said.

The soft word startled her as much as a shout, and she stumbled. Singe and Ashi closed around her, but she gestured them to ease as she recognized the lean, scholarly elder. “What are you doing here, Hanamelk?” she asked.

“I was on my way to look for you. I’ve been waiting with Nevchaned. We expected you earlier.”

If he noticed her embarrassed blush, he said nothing. Instead, he looked at Ashi and Singe, recognizing them from the memories she had shared through kesh. Dandra introduced them properly. The elder’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Natrac isn’t with you?”

“He’s making inquiries of his own,” Singe said. He still had one eye on the skies. “If we’re going to talk, we should find somewhere covered.”

Hanamelk smiled. “Are you worried about Dah’mir’s herons? We’ve found a solution to them.”

“What kind of solution?” asked Dandra. “Selkatari didn’t convince the elders to kill them all, did she?”

“She came up with a more clever solution.” Hanamelk looked into the distance and pointed. “Look there. Do you see on that tower with the green windows?”

Dandra looked and picked out the ragged form of a heron just coming to perch on a ledge. It had barely settled, however, before it rose again with a screech and flurry of greasy feathers. Down on the street, a cheer went up from a group of children, and they ran to follow the harried bird.

“The children of Fan Adar,” Hanamelk said, “have a new game today. We should still be cautious, but we don’t need to be as afraid of being watched.”

He led them onward. “The other elders have also been busy. I went to the shrine of il-Yannah this morning.” He nodded toward a tall, elegant tower that rose up above the buildings a few blocks away. “The shrine is tended by my mentor, the seer Havakhad. He bends his thoughts toward seeking out Dah’mir.”

“Has he had any luck?” asked Dandra.

“Not yet, but he seems confident.” A wary smile grew on Hanamelk’s lips. “I believe his words were ‘Every dragon in Sharn believes he moves unseen.’”

Ashi flinched. “There are other dragons in Sharn?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Singe said. “It’s a big city. Don’t worry, Ashi. Dah’mir probably doesn’t want any other dragons finding out what he’s up to either.”

They put Fan Adar behind them. With the celebrations of Thronehold imminent, there was a festive mood in the other streets of Overlook. The banners and flags that had been on display the day before had been bolstered with reinforcements. Tavern doors and windows stood wide. The cries of peddlers and the songs of minstrels filled the air. If any herons were watching the district beyond Fan Adar, they would have been hard pressed to follow anyone in the swirl of crowds. Singe leaned closer to Hanamelk and said over the noise, “Do you know what the plans are for the celebration?”

The elder shrugged. “It hasn’t been of much concern to me. I’ve heard that the Lord Mayor intends to make them extravagant. There have been rumors that the elves of House Phiarlan and the gnomes of Zilargo are sponsoring a display of illusion over the city tonight. That will probably attract a lot of attention elsewhere.”

“But not in Fan Adar?” Dandra asked. “I’d think people would welcome the diversion.”

“Thronehold is a celebration of other people’s peace,” said Hanamelk. “We still fight a war.”

The street they followed gave onto a broad square at the edge of one great tower. Nevchaned’s home lay across the square, along an open side that offered a spectacular view of the heart of Sharn. In the towns and cities that Dandra had visited with Singe and Geth-Bull Hollow, Yrlag, Zarash’ak, and Vralkek-she’d found that the usual arrangement among merchants and craftsmen was to operate their business on the ground floor of a shop and dwell in rooms above. As was often the case, though, things were sometimes done differently in Sharn, and she felt a guilty pleasure in watching Ashi stare in confusion as they approached the small, single-story buildings that lined the edge of the square like bumps on the rim of a goblet. Beyond them was nothing but sky and the long plumes of smoke that streamed from a couple of the shops. It was a long stone’s throw to the next tower.

Dandra couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Look here, Ashi.” She drew her to the low wall, a barrier along the open edge of the courtyard, that ran between Nevchaned’s shop and the next building and leaned over.

The small shops were the roofs of tall, narrow buttress-towers that ran like veins up the side of the greater tower. Windows pierced the stone and doors opened onto another street a good dozen stories below. In other cities, a craftsman lived above his shop; in Sharn, it was entirely possible to live below it. Ashi gave a curse of amazement and stepped back. Dandra laughed again and turned to tug on the rope that hung beside Nevchaned’s door.

Somewhere inside the building, a chime rang. The door opened before the sound had even begun to fade, and Nevchaned gestured them inside. The shop was warm and smelled of hot metal. Examples of Nevchaned’s craft lined the walls-from spears and swords to daggers and arrows, to the more domestic metalwork of kitchen knives. “You weren’t seen?” Nevchaned asked as he closed the door behind them.

“I don’t think we were,” said Hanamelk. “The children are keeping the herons off balance.”

Nevchaned looked relieved. He nodded to Dandra. “Kuchta. Hanamelk found you?”

“Kuchtoa. We found each other. I’m sorry we’re late.” She introduced the others to Nevchaned, and the elder nodded respectfully to each of them, then went to one of the shop’s narrow windows and turned a sign from open to closed.

“We won’t be disturbed,” he said. “Come with me. Erimelk is”-his face wrinkled in distaste-“restrained in a storeroom below.”

“You don’t like restraining him?” Singe asked as Nevchaned led them to a staircase that descended through the floor to the living levels below. Nevchaned gave him a sideways glance.

“I know what is necessary,” he said. “Even if I don’t like it. Dandra said you were a veteran of the Last War?” Singe nodded and the old man sighed. “Then you’ve seen war torn-men and women who saw and did such things that although their bodies might have been whole, their minds and souls were wounded.”

Singe’s face wrinkled. “I’ve known war torn.”

“As have I. I learned my trade with Breland’s armies, sharpening their swords. A smith seldom sees battle directly, but I saw the aftermath of too many.” Nevchaned paused before a door at the bottom of the stairs. “Tell me, would you lock up someone who was war torn?”

“If they were violent,” Singe said. “House Deneith had some experience in dealing with mercenaries who’d become war torn. It’s better to try and bring them back into the unit-or the community. Often that’s the healing they need.”

“I think that’s what the victims of the killing song need as well. They’ve seen something in the killing song that breaks them.” He looked meaningfully at Hanamelk.

“The other elders don’t share this opinion?” Dandra asked.

“No,” Hanamelk answered.

Nevchaned shook his head. “Erimelk was my friend,” he said. “I’ve seen the war torn recover given time and care. I’ve never seen them recover when they’re shut in prisons.”

He pushed the door open. The apartment beyond, striped by the afternoon light that fell through the windows, was simple but clean. The air, however, was tainted by the sound of a muffled voice. At first, Dandra thought it was someone screaming, but then she realized it was someone singing hoarsely. It was wordless and largely tuneless, but definitely singing.

“We gag him,” Nevchaned said, “but he sings anyway.”

“Light of il-Yannah.” Dandra wanted to stick her fingers in her ears, not that it would have helped. The song seemed to penetrate right through her skull, bypassing her ears to take up residency in her head. Careful concentration dispersed the feeling. “How can you live with it? How can the other elders who hide the fallen kalashtar live with it?”

“Each new victim seems to act a bit differently, though there have been patterns,” said Hanamelk. “Recent victims fell quickly, but seemed to retain a certain cunning. Erimelk hid himself from us for days until you appeared. Earlier victims fell slowly, as if the song took time to have an effect, but when they became violent, they were mindless. The first to fall to the song that we knew of, Makvakri, was moody and sang quietly for a few days before she turned violent. Ultimately, she killed herself before we could intervene.”

“The first that you knew of?” Singe asked.

“We know of seven victims, but three kalashtar have been missing since nearly the same time that the song began.” Hanamelk folded his hands. “We think that they suffered a fate similar to Makvakri and took their own lives, although there was no sign of her slower degradation.”

Singe pressed his lips together. “If there is someone or something behind the killing song, it almost seems like they’ve been tuning the song like an instrument, trying to find the right pitch.”

“That’s an unpleasant way of putting it.”

“Veterans have a way of facing the unpleasant, Hanamelk,” Nevchaned said. “This way.”

The song grew louder as Nevchaned ushered them along a short corridor toward another set of stairs. Before they reached the stairs, however, another door opened along the corridor, and Moon stuck his head out. The young kalashtar was still dressed in the clothes he had worn the previous night, including the Brelish blue vest. His eyes looked red, as if he had just woken up. Maybe he had-Dandra caught a glimpse of displeasure in Nevchaned’s face. Moon’s gaze darted between them all, then settled on her. For a moment, she thought she saw something flash in his eyes. Heat spread across her cheeks, and she looked away.

The young man’s red eyes had been soft with adoration. Il-Yannah, Dandra thought incredulously, he’s in love with me? She tried to remember saying or doing anything at the Gathering Light that might have encouraged him. Maybe he’d liked the way she handled the elders or the un-kalashtar manner of her behavior. Either way, there was something distinctly odd in the way he’d stared. She almost felt a chill-not a bad chill, but a shiver of familiarity.

Moon looked like he was on the edge of speaking, but Nevchaned’s displeasure reached his tongue first. “When did you come in? I thought you were still out.”

“I got in late.” Moon’s voice was thick and slightly slurred. In spite of herself, Dandra glanced up. The softness had gone out of Moon’s eyes, replaced by a hardness as he looked back at his father. It was unusual for a kalashtar-even one so rebellious as Moon-to indulge in drink. Moon seemed so hostile that he reminded Dandra more of a young human, or even of Diad, Natrac’s half-orc son by Bava in Zarash’ak.

Nevchaned’s face tightened. “Wash and take yourself out again. You shouldn’t be here now.”

“Why?”

Dandra decided to interrupt the argument before it grew. Erimelk was close, and she wanted to examine him before his coarse chant of the killing song got on her nerves. “Because we’re going to try something that could be dangerous,” she said. She smiled at Moon. If he had somehow developed feelings for her, she wouldn’t hesitate to use them. “Go. There’s nothing for you to see here. Maybe we can talk later?”

Somewhat to her astonishment, the appeal worked. Moon looked at her, then dropped his eyes, folded his hands together and bent his head over them in a surprisingly traditional gesture. “Patan yannah.”

He stepped back into his room. Nevchaned shook his head and continued down the stairs. “You’d think that he was the first kalashtar to wear the blue of Breland,” he said.

“There aren’t many of you,” said Hanamelk. “And he’s both of the lineage of Chaned and your son. Ranhana thayava, Nevchaned.”

As the two kalashtar spoke, Ashi nudged Dandra. “I think Moon likes you.”

Dandra wrinkled her nose. “You noticed?”

“She wasn’t the only one,” Singe said, glancing back from ahead of her. “I saw-and I think Moon saw that I saw. Did you see the look that he gave me?” Dandra shook her head and Singe chuckled. “Like he was trying to burn stone. He’s jealous.”

Dandra muttered a curse under her breath. Ashi laughed.

Thoughts of Moon vanished as they stepped into the lower passage, an undecorated corridor with a few doors leading off of it. One of them had been barred with an iron rod. Erimelk’s muffled song came from behind it. Nevchaned slid the bar aside, then looked to Hanamelk and to Dandra. Hanamelk nodded. Dandra’s gut felt tight but she said, “Let me see him.”

Nevchaned opened the door. Dandra looked inside. The assortment of domestic goods that had once crowded the storeroom had been pushed to one side, making way for a thin sleeping pallet. Erimelk crouched on the pallet with his arms twisted behind his back and shackled to a ring driven into the wall. Bright metal still showed on the ring and Erimelk’s chains where Nevchaned’s hammer had scarred them.

Although Erimelk had been washed and his clothes changed since she’d seen him the day before, he somehow looked even worse than he had then. He was trembling, more from exhaustion, Dandra guessed, than fear or manic energy. He’d soiled himself, and the stench in the room was thick. Eyes that had been wild were dull, focused on something only he could see. The gag of twisted cloth that circled his jaw pulled his lips back in a hideous smile. It was soaked with saliva and where it had rubbed the corners of his mouth raw with blood. He still sang, the nonsense words of the killing song falling from his tongue in a broken cascade. “Aahyi-ksiksiksi-kladakla-yahaahyi-”

Nevchaned looked away from his friend with helpless anger written on his face.

“Poor bastard,” muttered Singe. A memory-one of Tetkashtai’s memories-came to Dandra of a service the scribe had once done for her creator, an illuminated page decorated with beautiful jewel-toned inks. Rage at Dah’mir or whoever had inflicted the killing song on Nevchaned and the other kalashtar of Sharn filled her.

“Is he still violent?” she asked.

“When he notices us, he probably will be,” said Hanamelk. “The chains are short, though.”

“I’m not afraid of him.” Dandra raised her chin and stepped into the room.

There was no change in Erimelk’s expression or in the tone of his song. Dandra knelt cautiously at the foot of the pallet and spoke his name. “Erimelk?” He didn’t respond. She probably would have been more surprised if he had. Dandra drew a breath, reached into herself, and pushed her mind toward his in the link of kesh.

It was like sinking into thick cream. There was no resistance, and the world vanished around her-leaving her utterly surrounded by the killing song. The cascading sounds were all that she could hear and somehow, all that she could see. It was so sudden, she almost screamed.

She bit back her fear. She could escape this if she needed to. These weren’t her thoughts. The killing song wasn’t in her, it was in Erimelk. She pushed deeper. Just as it had been in the memories Shelsatori had shared with her, the song was inhumanly pure and maddeningly intricate, building toward dark urges of violence. Dandra tried calling Erimelk’s name again, this time within the confines of his mind. Erimelk?

She might has well have shouted in the middle of a thunder storm. There was no response-at least not from Erimelk.

Like lightning splitting a storm, images burst out of the song along with a wave of violent hatred. Visions of her and of Singe, the targets toward which Erimelk had been directed. To Dandra’s surprise, though, there were also fragments of recent memories, something she hadn’t seen in what Shelsatori had shown her. Erimelk’s joy at spotting his targets. Blissful release as he attacked. A terrible anger at his failure-

Buffeted by the song, Dandra snatched at the last fragment and examined it more closely. There was something odd about it. Anger-but not the disappointment or anguish she would have expected from Erimelk’s tormented mind.

The shattered memory was his and yet not his, much as the memories she had inherited from Tetkashtai were hers and yet not hers. If Dandra hadn’t known that Erimelk had not possessed a psicrystal, she would have guessed that to be the source of the memory.

But he hadn’t possessed a psicrystal. Someone or something else had ridden with him.

Was it Dah’mir? Dandra braced herself and reached out into the roaring, cascade of the song. She let it wash over her and listened-listened hard-for a voice that had become too horribly familiar to her. There was a particular sensation that accompanied Dah’mir’s dominating presence, a lingering cold that suffocated thought. She’d felt it each time she’d confronted the dragon. She’d felt in Tzaryan Keep, moments before Tzaryan Rrac had led them into Dah’mir’s ambush. She’d felt it in the minds of the sailors on Lighting on Water, when Dah’mir’s power-weaker in humans, but still strong enough to command immediate obedience-had kept them trapped aboard the ship in Zarash’ak’s harbor.

She didn’t feel it in the killing song. There was something there, something elusively familiar, but it wasn’t Dah’mir.

The realization pierced her with a numbing fear. She pulled herself back from the song and slid along the link of kesh to her own body like someone following a rope in darkness. As if it had finally realized an intruder had entered its domain, the song rose and ripped at her, crystal tones tearing into her mental self. Something turned sluggishly within the storm, and Dandra felt a fleeting moment of terrible exaltation brush her mind. You!

She burst out of the kesh and fell back into herself, but the scream followed her. Something snapped across her jaw, and she tumbled backward, stunned. She caught a quick glimpse of Erimelk stretched out on his sleeping pallet, chains and arms stretched tight as he kicked at her and screamed around his gag, then hands seized her and pulled her clear. Voices came back to her, cutting through Erimelk’s shrieks in her ears and the echoes of the killing song in her mind. “I thought you said the chains were short!”

“They are short!”

“Dandra? Dandra!”

Ashi, Nevchaned, and Singe. She blinked and glanced up at them. Ashi had her sword out and looked ready to kill. Nevchaned and Hanamelk looked startled. Singe just looked concerned, though relief passed over his face when he saw her eyes focus on him. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” She sat up. Her jaw ached where Erimelk had kicked her. The mad kalashtar was still screaming and spitting, though at least he was howling curses instead of the killing song. One of his arms bent at a strange angle. He’d dislocated his shoulder in his struggles. There was no sign of the lassitude that had held him before. She was glad he was still chained. “How long was I in kesh?”

“Long enough that we were starting to worry,” Singe said. “What happened? One moment Erimelk was quiet, the next he was doing everything he could to reach you.”

“I was inside him too long, or maybe I pushed too deep.” She looked to Hanamelk and Nevchaned. “It’s not Dah’mir. I know his touch and this isn’t it. Your guess was right-something else is causing the song.”

Hanamelk’s lips pressed together. “I’d rather I’d been wrong.”

“Well, you’re not.” With Singe’s help, Dandra climbed to her feet. “What do we do now?”

Somewhere above, the chime of Nevchaned’s shop door rang. Nevchaned ignored it. “We’re going to have to go back to the council of elders,” he said. “This is going to frighten some of them-they hoped we’d found all of our answers.”

“I hoped we’d found all our answers,” Dandra said. “Which do you think the elders will feel more threatened by, the killing song or Dah’mir?”

Nevchaned and Hanamelk glanced at each other. “The killing song,” Hanamelk answered. “They know it’s a threat. They see it in front of them. It may be infecting another kalashtar right now. But Dah’mir …” He shook his head. “You’ve put a compelling case before us, Dandra, but we don’t know anything yet. Maybe Havakhad and the seers will find something. For now, there’s no immediate danger. Dah’mir hasn’t moved against us yet. He may not move against us for weeks or months.”

“You can’t wait until he strikes!” said Singe. The wizard’s angry words were partly drowned out by Erimelk’s screams and by a new series of rapid, insistent chimes from above. Nevchaned’s face flushed dark. He reached out and jerked the door of the storeroom shut, dampening one source of noise.

“We know!” he said. “But if we have to choose between something that threatens our community now and something that may threaten us weeks from now, we have to deal with the urgent threat.”

“You’ve warned us. We’ll be ready,” Hanamelk added. “But what is there we can do until we know more? We may seem like a large community, but we’re not. We don’t have the resources to fight two dangers we only barely understand.”

“You have us,” Ashi said. “Help us to find Dah’mir and-”

She didn’t finish. The chimes from the shop ended and replaced by a loud impact and the sound of splintering. Nevchaned’s eyes went wide. “My shop!”

Hanamelk’s face slackened for a moment, colors danced in the depths of his eyes, and he appeared to look into the distance. “There are humans at your door,” he said. “Five men. They’re trying to break in-” There was another crash. Hanamelk blinked and corrected himself. “They’re in.”

“What?” Nevchaned sprinted for the stairs.

“Wait!” Hanamelk called after him, but the old man didn’t stop. Hanamelk turned to Singe. “He’s not going to be able to stop them.”

Singe glanced at Dandra. She nodded to him. He and Hanamelk raced after Nevchaned. Ashi’s eyes followed them longingly. She still had her sword drawn. “Should we go?” she asked.

Dandra leaned against a wall. Her head still spun slightly from Erimelk’s kick. “Just a moment-”

“No, don’t go!” Shadows moved on the stairs. Moon stepped down into the corridor. It seemed he hadn’t followed either her request or his father’s orders-he hadn’t washed and he was still in the house. He looked unsteady or nervous, and when he met Dandra’s eyes, she once again saw that same soft love in them.

This time, however, it was mixed with a strange determination. She frowned in concern. “Why not?”

“There’s something I need to tell you-” The young man seemed to brace himself, then added “-Dandra.” He flinched as she stood up straight and Ashi tensed, and continued in a rush. “Last night at the Gathering Light, I eavesdropped on what you told the elders. I know what you told them-”

She looked at him. “I spoke to them through kesh.”

He blushed. “When there are so many people participating in kesh, it’s easy for one more to join. I’m sorry. But I heard what you told them. About Dah’mir. About his herons. I heard what you were just talking about now too. I can help-”

There was a shout from above as Nevchaned raised his voice in challenge to whoever had invaded his home. Ashi’s head snapped up like a dog scenting prey.

“Moon, we have to help your father!” Dandra said. “Tell us later!”

“No!” the young kalashtar blurted. “You have to listen now! I’ve seen the herons in another part of the city. I know where you can find Dah’mir!”

For an old man, Nevchaned could move fast. Singe supposed that he would move quickly too, if someone were breaking into his home and shop.

He caught up to the smith and grabbed his arm before he could race up the stairs to his shop. A hand over Nevchaned’s mouth and a hard look silenced him before he could say anything. Singe pulled him back from the door to the stairs, pushing him into Hanamelk’s hands, then stepped up to the doorway himself and listened. He could hear the men moving around, but it didn’t sound like they were trying to steal anything. The sounds of the square outside the shop were muffled. They must have closed the broken door behind themselves. The wizard frowned. Broad daylight-who would be so bold and why?

Floorboards creaked at the head of the stairs and someone finally spoke. “Stairs,” growled a soft voice. “Dol Dorn’s mighty fist, what’s that screaming?”

The response that drifted down the stairs answered Singe’s question and left him cold at the same time. “Forget the screaming and go down,” said Mithas d’Deneith. “I can feel the mark. She’s close!”