The Killing Song

CHAPTER 16

Natrac squeezed his hand and wrist between the bars of the window on his cell door, and fished for the heavy bolt that held the door closed. The bars were too close together for him to get more than halfway to his elbow through-he’d had them designed that way, of course-but with the right tools, he thought that he might just be able to catch the bolt and maybe tug it open.

Except that he didn’t have the right tools. He had a strip of ripped cloth that had been his sleeve and a makeshift hook that had been part of the mechanism holding his hidden spy hole closed. Tearing the secret compartment apart had been painful, an act of desperation. Getting out of the cell was more important than keeping secrets though.

How long had he wasted trying to scheme a way out? How much time was left before night fell and Biish moved against the kalashtar in Fan Adar? He wasn’t sure. The hobgoblin’s headquarters-his old headquarters-had gotten very quiet after Biish and Vennet had left.

Holding one end of his rag strip tight between thumb and forefinger, Natrac opened his other fingers and released the hook. It dropped, bounced as the unfurling cloth reached its end, then hit metal. Natrac let out his breath. He’d remembered where the bolt was. He eased the hook up, and it caught on the handle of the bolt on the first try. Natrac pulled slowly. The handle turned with the rising hook until it stood upright, and the hook slipped free. A little more jiggling with the hook got it around the side of the handle. A careful tug rewarded him with the sound of sliding metal as the bolt eased out of its socket.

It moved only a painfully short distance before his hand hit a bar and could move no further. Natrac had known that would happen, though. “Olladra guide my fingers,” he whispered. He twisted his hand to bring the rag to the gap between the next pair of bars-then bent his head and groped for the cloth with tongue and teeth. Lords of the Host, he thought, this would be easier with two hands.

He was standing with the rag in his teeth and his hand pulled part way back into the cell when the door of the outer room opened. He jerked reflexively, wrenching his hand through the bars and leaping back to try and draw the rag and hook out of sight. The hook, however, caught on one of the bars. The rag snapped out of his mouth, his teeth clashed together, and a tusk jabbed up into his lip. Natrac stifled a grunt of agony and groped for the rag, but it was too late. On the other side of his cell door, Benti had the hook between her slim fingers. A thin smile curved her lips.

A flick of her wrist could have pulled the rag away and ended his attempt at escape, but she didn’t move. Natrac glared at her. “If you’re waiting for me to reach for it before you pull it away, you’ll be disappointed.” he said. “I’m not going to play that game.”

“You want out badly, don’t you, Natrac?” the half-elf asked. “I suppose I would too. Biish will be back to see you sooner or later.” Her eyes fell on the broken cover of the spy hole, and her lips twitched a little more. “Finding out that he missed that little secret isn’t going to improve his mood.”

Natrac took a step to the side, blocking the compartment from her view. A desperate hope made his heart beat a little faster. Benti wouldn’t have come back if she didn’t want something-and he didn’t think she would be bringing up the possibility of escape if it weren’t a prize she’d at least consider offering.

Maybe she was just dangling hope of freedom in front of him, the way she dangled the rag, but he had to take that chance. He had to get back to the upper city and warn Dandra about what was coming. He looked up, met Benti’s gaze, and thrust his tusks forward defiantly. “Dagga, I want out,” he said. “Not just because of Biish though. If you’re still interested in ‘Lord Storm,’ I’ll tell you what I know-for a price.”

Her lips straightened into a humorless line. “I can guess that price. How do I know I’ll get the truth from you?”

“How do I know you’ll let me go?” He moved closer to the bars, choosing his words carefully. “Do you know what Biish is going to do for Storm? Have you found out about the second part of his plan, the part he wouldn’t discuss in front of you?”

“He’s going to kidnap kalashtar.” Benti said it with the bluntness of someone who cared about no one but herself. Natrac’s stomach turned at the thought that once he had spoken in exactly the same way.

“Do you know why?” he asked.

“Ransom. Blackmail. Maybe Storm wants the kalashtar to use their powers for him. I don’t know.”

“Storm follows a Cult of the Dragon Below,” Natrac said. “He’s working with a dragon-a true dragon-named Dah’mir. They’re going to twist the kalashtar they kidnap into servants of a daelkyr. Do you know what a daelkyr is?”

Benti’s eyes hardened. “Aye. A ghost that orc mothers use to frighten their children.” She pulled back her arm sharply. The rag slithered out between the bars of the window before Natrac could even grab for it. Benti leaned close, her teeth snapping around her words. “Do you think I’m stupid, Natrac? I don’t want to hear folk tales. I want to hear about Storm.”

Anger fell over Natrac. He thrust himself at the cell door, grabbing the bars with his good hand. “Do you think I’m stupid, Benti? Do you think I’d come back to Sharn without a good reason?” He shoved the stump of his wrist up so that Benti was forced to look at the scar-smooth flesh. “Storm did this. His real name is Vennet d’Lyrandar and he’s as crazy as a bat!”

“Vennet?” The harshness of Benti’s face seemed to shift, smoothing out into an expression of curious surprise. “Is he the captain of a Lyrandar ship called Lightning-something?”

Surprise wiped the anger from Natrac’s mind as well. “Lightning on Water,” he said. “You’ve heard of her?”

“She vanished two months ago on her way to Zilargo with … an important passenger on board.” She looked at him sharply. “What do you know about it?”

“I know that she didn’t vanish. Vennet turned her around and sailed to Zarash’ak.” Old instincts tugged at Natrac’s mind in warning, and he took a step back from the bars. There was something different in the set of Benti’s mouth abruptly, an intensity that hadn’t been there before. Her voice was different too, uncaring selfishness replaced by a kind of devotion. “Who are you?” Natrac asked.

“Never mind that,” said Benti. “What about Lightning on Water and Vennet d’Lyrandar?”

The question had the weight of a command. Natrac kept his eyes on Benti, but quickly described what he and the others had learned after freeing Vennet’s crew from Dah’mir’s control in Zarash’ak. How Dah’mir had appeared on Lightning on Water and made some sort of deal with Vennet. How the treacherous captain had slain the ship’s passengers while Dah’mir exerted control over the crew. How the ship had been turned back to Zarash’ak so that Vennet and Dah’mir could travel into the heart of the Shadow Marches-

Benti cut him off. “Where’s Lightning on Water now?”

“Lost somewhere between Vralkek and Sharn. The last time we saw Vennet, he said that he and Dah’mir had destroyed her.” Natrac studied her, then added, “Do you believe me now? That’s only a part of the story. I’d tell you more except-”

“Except you don’t have time.” Benti’s mouth settled into a thin line once more. “I don’t know if I believe you about this daelkyr, but dusk is falling. Biish will be moving against the kalashtar soon.”

Natrac pushed forward. “You’ll let me go?”

She held a hand. “Not so fast.” She looked into his eyes. “What are you going to do?”

He didn’t hesitate in his answer. “Go to Overlook. My friends and I came to Sharn to warn the kalashtar elders about Dah’mir and Vennet. They need to know about Biish’s attack. Maybe they can foil it.”

“Boldrei smile on them if they can,” Benti said. “You understand that I have to stand with Biish? If the kalashtar fall into his hands, I can’t help them.”

“You’re not just a lieutenant with ambitions on taking over her chib’s role, are you?” asked Natrac.

She didn’t answer the question. “You didn’t have my help in this,” she said. “If Biish catches you, I’ll kill you myself before you can open your mouth.” She reached for the door and pulled back the bolt.

Natrac didn’t force the issue. Some things, he knew from long experience, were better left alone. Instead, he said, “Drop the hook and rag. Biish will think I got the bolt open on my own.”

“That wouldn’t have worked.” Benti reached up above the window-and drew a second bolt Natrac hadn’t known was there. Natrac cursed as the door swung open.

“Has Biish changed anything else around here or can I still get out down the back stairs?” he demanded.

“The door’s barred on the inside but not guarded right now. Biish has everyone preparing for the raid.” Benti stepped out of his way and pointed to his knife-hand lying on the table in the outer chamber. “Take that and go. Whatever happens now, you should consider leaving Sharn again.”

Natrac didn’t think he’d ever be happy to strap the knife over his stump, but he grinned to himself as he pulled it on and tightened the straps. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I have no intention of staying.” He glanced up at Benti.

But the half-elf was already gone, vanished like a shadow in darkness. Natrac clenched his teeth, tugged the last strap tight, and followed her example. She’d spoken the truth about the lack of guards: the back hallways of Biish’s headquarters were all but empty. Natrac made his way along familiar corridors with ease, ducking back around a corner only once as the big bugbear Dabrak shambled between rooms. A moment later, the rough sound of a blade being sharpened on a spinning grindstone filled the air. Natrac darted down the hall and up to the back door. He got the bar off the door and was through it in an instant, closing it softly behind him.

He would have liked to savor his escape, but the danger wasn’t past yet. The nearest lift to the upper city was several blocks away. He tugged his cowl back up over his head to hide his face-with his sleeve torn away, there was little he could do to hide his knife-hand except hold it close to his body-and started for it, just one desperate ragged figure among the many on the streets of the Malleon’s Gate.

About halfway to the lift, however, he turned a corner and saw something that made him leap back faster than a Thrane kneeling to pray. Teeth clenched hard enough to ache, he peered cautiously back around the corner and into the street he had almost entered.

Biish and Vennet stood on the far side of it, talking to a pair of small goblin pups. Natrac couldn’t hear what the young goblins were saying, but they gestured vigorously and pointed down another street as if giving the men directions. One of the gestures the pups made caught Natrac’s attention in particular: the child drew the ragged collar of his shirt up across the lower part of his face, hiding everything below his eyes as if wearing a mask. Biish growled something at the pups, then spoke to Vennet. “They went this way.”

The half-elf rubbed his hands together in glee. “Right into the spider’s web! Come along! Come along!”

He strode off in the direction the pups had indicated, leaving Biish to catch up to him. The moment they were away down the street and safely out of sight, Natrac stepped out of hiding and went up to the pups before they could scurry away. “You boys following people for Biish?”

The larger-by the height of the hair that stood up on his small skull-of the two pups looked him up and down. “What’s it to you, chib?”

Natrac bent over to put himself closer to their level. “I’ll swap secrets with you, roo. Tell me who you’re following for Biish, and I’ll you how to make some coin off that half-elf shekot he’s with.”

“You tell me first.”

“His name is Vennet d’Lyrandar, and he was the captain of ship called Lightning on Water. His ship was carrying treasure, but he stole the treasure and let the ship sink off Zilargo. You go down to the wharves at Cliffside, find someone important from House Lyrandar, and tell them that you’ve seen him here. They’ll give you a reward.”

The pup squinted at him, obviously trying to decide how much of the story to believe. Natrac kept his expression open and as close to honest as he could manage. The part about treasure was a complete lie, of course, but rumors that Vennet was alive and in Sharn might actually get the pups a reward if they went to Lyrandar. Natrac suspected, though, that they were more likely to take the rumor of a rich stranger in Malleon’s Gate to some criminal in exchange for a cut of the potential robbery. Either way, Vennet was in for a serious inconvenience. Natrac could almost see the visions of gold conjured by the magic word “treasure” shining in the pup’s eyes, and after a moment the goblin nodded.

“Biish hired our gang to follow four chib from the upper city who came down on the Sunder Lane lift,” he said. “A kalashtar woman, a kalashtar man, a human man with blond whiskers, and a human woman with a scarf on her face.” He repeated his gesture of drawing his collar over his face.

“Lords of the Host.” Natrac straightened up sharply and darted down the street after Biish and Vennet, ignoring the proprieties of concluding the deal with pups. He could just see the hobgoblin and the half-elf ahead of him, but he hadn’t gone more than a few paces before he realized where they were headed-and where, if they were following Dandra, Singe, and Ashi, his friends were going too.

The street was Two Boot Way, where the goblin bartender he’d spoken to had seen Vennet. And at the end of Two Boot Way squatted the former arena-his arena-that had been the excuse for the beginnings of his troubles with Biish. And what had Vennet bought from Biish besides a raid on Fan Adar?

A hiding place. And surely an empty arena would make a hiding place even a dragon could feel comfortable in. Natrac slowed his pace, even though the tightness in his belly urged him to go faster. He had Vennet and Biish in sight and they weren’t turning off Two Boot Way.

“Lords of the Host,” Natrac murmured again. What were Dandra and the others doing in Malleon’s Gate? How had they found out where Dah’mir was and who was the kalashtar man that the goblin pup had described? He took a deep breath. The man didn’t matter. The others must have found some new ally. If they were down here and on Dah’mir’s trail, they probably knew what they were doing. He doubted if they knew Vennet and Biish were following them, though. They likely wouldn’t even know who Biish was.

More importantly, if they were in Malleon’s Gate, they couldn’t have any idea of what was about to happen in Overlook. Natrac swallowed.

Up ahead, Biish and Vennet stopped and talked to another goblin pup, then turned down a narrow alley. Natrac’s stride stumbled for a moment, but he kept walking. He knew that alley, and the last time he’d been in Sharn it hadn’t led anywhere but into empty space-but it could get someone very close to the private terrace at the back of the arena. However Singe and Dandra had found Dah’mir, somehow they knew about the terrace entrance.

The situation didn’t feel right at all.

He could see the gates of the arena now, the astounding mural that Bava had created for him. It was the first time he’d laid eyes on it since he’d fled the city for Zarash’ak, and he felt a momentary pleasure in seeing that it had survived the years. Biish might have closed the arena in petty revenge, but the mural still kept it alive.

It hurt him more than he expected to see three of the four gates boarded over, but at least the four pair of doors had been opened. He had his way into the arena-following the route down the alley and through the terrace that the others appeared to have taken would have consumed too much time. He had to get inside and see what was happening.

All he had to do was get past the two hobgoblins standing guard over the doors without raising an alarm. He could probably take them but not without a fight. He needed to use his brain instead of his blade. Natrac drew a breath and marched along Two Boot Way, past the alley, and straight up to the guards. He made no effort to disguise his approach, and the guards looked up from their cards to watch him with curious indifference.

He stopped just short of them. “Biish sent me,” he said. “I’m taking over for you. He needs you on the raid.”

That got their attention, but they were good hobgoblins and knew their duty. Both studied him with suspicion, reminding Natrac of the goblin pup, before one grunted, “I don’t know you. You’re not one of Biish’s.”

“I used to be,” Natrac told him. “Before your time. Biish called me up. I can watch things here, but he needs younger, stronger men for the raid.”

The other guard laughed. “He’s come to his senses. This place and Lord Storm don’t need more than an old, one-handed orc to guard them!”

He started to gather up the cards, but the first hobgoblin continued to study Natrac until his comrade gave him a hard poke. “You want to stay here when we could be raiding?”

The first hobgoblin bared his teeth at him, then turned his head and spat on the ground at Natrac’s feet. “Ban,” he said, rising. “But I’m checking this with Biish. If you’re lying …”

“You can come back and gut me,” said Natrac. “It’s a deal. I’ll be waiting for you.” He seated himself by the guards’ small fire and reached for one of the rats they had roasting.

The belligerent guard snatched them away from him. “Get your own.” Natrac shrugged and sat back. Both guards went trotting off along Two Boot Way.

As soon as they were well on their way, Natrac heaved himself back to his feet, opened the gates, and slipped into the halls of the arena. He paused for a moment to take stock of the arena’s condition. Dark. Damp. Unused. Silent when it should have been filled with the roar of a crowd. He touched his hand to the nearest wall. “It was a different time for both of us, old girl,” he whispered.

There was a stink in the air that went far beyond the mould of abandonment, however. Natrac hesitated for a moment, then turned left and headed around the outer ring corridor until he reached a plain door with a simple sign that read Management only. He’d left the door locked the last time he’d used it, but someone had bashed it in a long time ago. He squeezed through the gap, trying not to disturb the rusty hinges, and climbed quickly up the stairs beyond. He was almost at the top when a shout, echoing through the open space of the arena, rolled down from above.

“Master! I bring your enemies to you!”

It was Vennet-and almost instantly, Dah’mir replied, “Actually, Vennet, I believe the ones that matter brought themselves.”

Natrac dropped to his knees and scuttled up the last few stairs on his hand and knees, hobbling like a three-legged dog into what had once been the arena manager’s box. How many fights and spectacles had he watched from the box in his younger days? Hundreds at least. As he peered cautiously over the rail of the box, though, the scene on the sands below left him colder and more frightened than any other he could recall.

Singe and Dandra in the ring, surrounded by five rotting bodies. Vennet standing on the rail of the private box while Biish fought Ashi just beside him. Dah’mir in his heron form, settling down to perch on the arena wall. “You were right, Dandra,” he said. “I wouldn’t just leave the binding stones out in the open.”

For an instant, the scene seemed frozen, Dandra and Singe gripped by what must have been the same horror that Natrac felt, Vennet breathing hard in exalted triumph, Biish staring in surprise at the talking heron that the half-elf addressed as “Master.” Only Ashi seemed to hold her wits. The hunter seized the moment of Biish’s distraction to spin away from him and leap over the edge of the private box into the tiers of public seats below. The old wood of the benches cracked and splintered under her feet, but she moved as lightly as a halfling, bounding from bench to bench in an effort to join the others.

The frozen scene shattered with her movement. In a swift action, Singe snatched up a metal box from a work table sitting on the sands. “Try anything, Dah’mir,” he shouted, “and I’ll smash your bloody stones!”

Dah’mir merely ruffled his feathers and said like a scolding father, “Put that down.”

The power of his presence wasn’t so great in heron form as it was in dragon form, but it was still strong enough that even Natrac felt the edge of the command. Dah’mir’s full attention was focused on Singe, however, and Natrac saw only the briefest hint of struggle flash across the wizard’s face before his features relaxed and he lowered the box.

But then Dandra was beside him, her dark eyes clear and determined, and Natrac realized Ashi must have used her dragonmark to protect her. He was too far away to hear the droning chorus as Dandra drew on her power of psionic fire, but abruptly a brilliant white flame blazed in her cupped hand. “That trick isn’t going to work on me,” she said. “Let us go, or I melt these abominations!”

Dah’mir stiffened in the face of a real threat, but neither his heron’s face nor his voice betrayed any emotion. “If I let you go, you’ll just destroy them anyway.”

“Maybe you should have stayed closer to them, then,” Dandra said between clenched teeth. She jerked her head at Singe. “Release him.”

Farther along the arena, Ashi dropped over the wall onto the sand, sword at the ready, and walked warily toward the others. Hope rose in Natrac. Was it possible that they could actually get away from Dah’mir with the binding stones? One of the gates onto the arena floor stood open. He was fairly certain that Dandra would probably lead Singe and Ashi out that way, but those gates led into the fighters’ tunnels beneath the arena. They’d need a guide if they were going to find their way out of the arena quickly or they’d risk being trapped.

The manager’s box, however, had two stairs: one to the outer corridor of the arena at ground level, the other leading down into the fighters’ tunnels. That easy double access was precisely one of the reasons he’d made his way to the box. He could be down in the tunnels to intercept Dandra and the others in only moments. No one knew his arena as well as he did! He eased away from the rail, climbed to his feet, and started to turn for the second set of stairs-then stopped dead as a rasping voice cried, “No!”

On the arena floor, the skinniest and least decayed of the five corpses sat up suddenly and Natrac realized with shock that he wasn’t looking at a body, but a living man on the very verge of death. Everyone else in the arena-even Dah’mir-seemed stunned. The emaciated man opened his mouth and another rasping cry emerged. “Dah’mir will succeed in Sharn!”

His arm snapped up and pointed at Dandra. Silver-white light flared and seemed to coalesce around her in a swirling vortex. The air shivered and twisted. Dandra screamed as her body shivered and twisted along with it, then the vortex cracked and vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

But not before there was a second crack, and Dandra was flung out of thin air halfway across the arena to stagger into Ashi’s path. The emaciated man collapsed again like rag doll with its stuffing pulled out. Dandra’s scream seemed to pierce Dah’mir’s power over Singe. The wizard shook his head and whirled around to stare at her. “Dandra!” he cried, and leaped for her. The box he had held tumbled to the ground. There was a yelp of distress from Vennet-but not from Dah’mir. The heron took to the air with beating wings and flew straight for the open gate, form swelling in mid-air.

Feathers became scales. Hind legs grew and forelegs emerged. A beak became a muzzle filled with sharp teeth. A soft crest became a horny frill. Dah’mir had taken to the air as a heron, but he landed as a dragon. He slammed his mighty body against the open gate, and the stonework collapsed with a dull rumble, cutting off escape from the arena.

Or at least that means of escape. Natrac clenched his jaw, threw himself at the stairs to the tunnels, and prayed that he still knew his arena as well as he thought he did.

“If I let you go, you’ll just destroy them anyway.”

Dandra glared at him and clenched her teeth, the chorus of whitefire throbbing in the air. Dah’mir was right. She’d rather have turned her power against the binding stones instead of using them as bargaining chips. If they could get away from Dah’mir, maybe she would-but they had to get away first. How stupid had she been to assume the arena was deserted! They should have left while they had a chance.

She thrust back her fear and lifted her chin. “Maybe you should have stayed closer to them, then,” she said. They still had a chance, thanks to Singe’s quick thinking. There was an open gate nearby. She didn’t dare turn around to check Ashi’s escape from Vennet, but her crashing progress through the benches was getting closer. They wouldn’t get far with Singe still enthralled by Dah’mir’s command. She nodded at the wizard. “Release him.”

The heron’s eyes narrowed as if Dah’mir were weighing his options. Dandra drew breath through her teeth. She couldn’t allow him time to think. She met Dah’mir’s eyes boldly as a thought sent the white flame burning in her palm blazing high.

“No!” rasped a new voice.

She turned as the kalashtar who wore the final version of Dah’mir’s vile bracers, sat up, flies swarming around him. Dandra’s heart leaped into her throat, and a horrid thought forced its way into her mind: the kalashtar’s spirit had found strength in madness. Just as Medala had, he had fought his way back to control of his body, murdering the piece of himself that had been his psicrystal in the process. Dah’mir had succeeded in creating another servant for the Master of Silence.

Then the kalashtar spoke again, and she knew she was wrong. Dah’mir hadn’t created another servant. Someone else had taken residence in the kalashtar’s mindless body. More flies burst from the man’s mouth as he cried out, “Dah’mir will succeed in Sharn!”

She knew the words. She knew the madness. It was Virikhad.

Even as she thought the name, though, the man’s arm came up and pointed at her. Silver-white light flared bright in her vision. It felt as though she were being torn apart, her body being squeezed through the fabric of space like mortar between bricks. It was as if she were taking the long step, but against her will. She screamed, and her scream seemed to hang in the air for an eternity, squeezed out as well, until both she and it had been pressed so thin that not even the fabric of space could hold them. The silver-white light vanished, and she staggered free of Virikhad’s power halfway across the arena from where she had been standing.

Strong hands grabbed her, and Ashi’s voice said, “I have you!” From somewhere else, Singe called her name. She looked up, saw first the kalashtar that Virikhad had seized, sprawled motionless once more, then Singe, charging across the arena floor.

And then the gray metal box that held the binding stones, lying abandoned on the sand.

“No,” she choked, fighting to put strength in her voice. “No! The stones!”

The warning came too late. Dah’mir was already in the air, his thin black heron form growing larger as he moved. At the same moment that Singe threw himself across the sand to embrace her, the dragon landed and threw himself against the open gate.

The impact of his body smashed the stonework. The gate collapsed, taking the last of the optimism Dandra had felt only moments before down with it. Dah’mir turned to stare at them. At her.

A thin squeaking whine filled the silence that followed the rumble of falling stones. Up in the private box, the big hobgoblin who had fought Ashi stood stiff and pale, his eyes fixed on Dah’mir, his toothy mouth hanging open in stunned panic at the sight of the dragon. Vennet turned around and slapped him. “Be quiet, Biish!”

Ashi put herself and the bright sword of her ancestor between Dandra and Dah’mir. Singe’s arm slipped from Dandra’s waist, and his hand clasped hers as he turned to face Dah’mir as well. The burning acid-green orbs of the dragon’s eyes were fixed entirely on Dandra, however. His muzzle peeled back from his massive teeth and he spoke.

“How did you do it?”

The question was so utterly unexpected that she could only look back at Dah’mir in stunned silence. Nor did Singe or Ashi have any answer. The wizard’s grip on her hand tightened. The hunter just eased back at little closer to her. But Dah’mir appeared to take their shock for defiance. His voice rose in a roar so loud that the arena shook and the dust rising from the collapsed gate shivered as if the air had been slapped. “How did you do it? How did you rouse my master’s servant?”

He took a step to the side, then whirled and paced the other way, the great blue-black Khyber shard set in his chest and the smaller red Eberron shards set along his forelegs flashing as he moved. His body turned and flowed like a cat’s, but his eyes never left Dandra’s. “It isn’t possible!” he screamed. “It shouldn’t be possible. Not now. Not here. How did you do it?”

He meant the kalashtar Virikhad had seized control of, Dandra realized. He’d assumed the same thing she had at first-that the interaction of the binding stone and the psicrystal had done its work, that a new servant for the Master of Silence had been born.

And he still believed it. Singe’s guess had been right. Dah’mir knew nothing of Virikhad’s survival. But why should he be surprised at the apparent success of his device?

Whatever the reason, at least he hadn’t pounced on them. They were still alive-for now. Dandra pulled her hand out of Singe’s grasp and stepped forward, pushing in front of Ashi to face Dah’mir. “Let Singe and Ashi go and I’ll tell you.”

Singe started to protest. Dandra thrust a hand at him, gesturing him to silence. Dah’mir stopped pacing. “You,” he said, “are persistent.”

He drew the word out into a hiss, then bit it off savagely. He stepped toward her and the others. “You continue to bargain when you have nothing to bargain with. Do you think that because you’ve found a way to resist me, you’re now my equal?” His leathery wings rattled against his sides. “I have many questions, Dandra. And you-or Singe or Ashi-will answer them. Unconditionally.”

The talons of his forelegs tensed and dug through the sand with a slow, coarse grinding. Dandra glanced down-and Dah’mir lunged, his teeth clashing together. He was still several paces away from her, but Dandra flinched back in spite of herself. Behind her, a gasp of shock escaped Ashi. Dah’mir lifted his head and looked down on them with a mocking smile. A wave of anger burst in Dandra’s belly.

“The kalashtar elders know about you!” she shouted at the dragon. “They know what you plan to do.”

“Lies!” came a scream from above. Vennet looked like he was ready to throw himself over the edge of the private box. “Master, we just came from Overlook! The kalashtar expect nothing.”

“Silence, Vennet!” Dah’mir roared without looking around at him. “Get down here and take charge of the box! Check the bracers.” His eyes flashed as he looked back to Dandra, Singe, and Ashi. “Persistence will only carry you so far. Any damage you’ve done-”

His threat broke off as a new sound, a sudden rattle of chains, filled the air. Dah’mir’s gaze went past Dandra. She turned, as well.

A short distance away, closer to Dandra and the others than to Dah’mir, the floor of the arena seemed to collapse. The sand that covered it went sliding, some of it puffing up in a cloud of reeking dust. A head poked up through the hole.

Natrac’s head. “Here!” the half-orc yelled. “Run!”

The screech that erupted from Dah’mir made his previous roar sound like a song, but Dandra hardly heard it. Never mind how Natrac had come to be under the arena floor-if they ran, Dah’mir would be on them before they could reach safety.

But with a distraction, the others might make it. She grabbed Ashi and shoved her toward Natrac. “Go!” she ordered, then pushed off from the ground and, with a thought, sent herself skimming across the sand with all the focused power of her will.

Right past Dah’mir. Right toward the gray metal box lying on the arena floor.

She caught a glimpse of Dah’mir’s startled expression as she darted by him, saw his head twitch from his fleeing captives to her, heard his screech change to a snarl as he realized exactly what she was racing for. Sand slithered and a huge shadow flashed over head like a bolt of darkness. Dah’mir’s lithe form struck the ground with such force that the entire arena floor shook. His feet dug into the sand, scattering work table and corpses, and he twisted around to stand protectively over the precious box, forelegs spread wide, head low, teeth bared, all of his furious attention on her.

Her heart racing, Dandra met his blazing eyes-and pushed with her mind at the space around her, thrusting herself through it, taking the long step. In less than instant, she was twenty paces away from the dragon and dropping down through the hole in the arena floor.

Which was, she realized, a ramp down into a passage running beneath the arena. A hand-Singe’s-grabbed her and pulled her away into darkness. Natrac’s voice hissed beneath Dah’mir’s frustrated roar from above. “This way!”

The dim light of the arena didn’t penetrate far from the ramp and Dandra felt rather than saw stone walls rush past her as she was pulled along. A thunderous crash and a shaking of the walls marked Dah’mir’s pounce at the ramp. Wood cracked. New light pierced the gloom as he tore the hole wider.

Ahead of her, Singe stopped so suddenly she ran into him, and Natrac spoke again. “Ashi, help me!” Metal grated against stone just as the faint light from behind them dimmed sharply. Another roar echoed, deafening within the tunnels. Dandra twisted around and saw acid-green eyes smolder in the shadows. Dah’mir had thrust his head down the ramp. White teeth flashed as he opened his mouth and drew a deep breath.

The green of his eyes wasn’t the only thing acidic about the dragon. Dandra had seen the effects of his corrosive venom on the battlefield before the Bonetree mound. Trapped in the passage, they were easy targets. “Natrac!” she shouted.

“Down!” said the half-orc, and it felt as if they all moved at once, tumbling through an unseen hole into an even deeper darkness that reeked of filth.

There was no rain of venom, but Dah’mir’s final roar of fury followed them.

Events on the floor of the arena unfolded too quickly for Vennet to react. The sudden opening of the ramp beneath the sands, Singe and Ashi’s flight, Dandra’s break for the box containing the precious bracers, Dah’mir’s leap to intercept her-and Dandra’s reappearance beside the ramp in the blink of an eye. All he could do was thrust himself against the rail of the box and scream down, “No! No! Storm at dawn, no!”

Dah’mir’s second leap-to the gaping hole of the ramp-sent such a shudder through the structure of the arena that Vennet felt it in the rail beneath his hands. His roars and the splintering of the arena floor as he ripped at it brought the voices of the wind whipping around Vennet’s ears.

They must not escape! If they escape, your reward goes with them. They mock you, Vennet! They mock you!

“They won’t escape!” He pounded his hands against the rail. “Kill them, Dah’mir! Kill them!”

But the dragon extracted his head and neck from the hole in the floor with a slow dignity. His muzzle was wrinkled. “They’re in the sewers,” he said.

“Let me go after them!”

“There is no point. There are too many places for them to go or to hide.”

“Then let me send the wind!” Vennet’s chest felt hollow with desperation. “The wind will find them wherever they go. By the powers of Khyber, I’ll turn the very stink of the sewers against them!”

“Be silent!” Dah’mir’s voice was like a crack of thunder. Even the voices of the air fell silent. Vennet’s arms fell to his side. Dandra, Singe, and Ashi might have escaped, but at least they hadn’t captured the box. And, he reminded himself, there was still the unconscious kalashtar lying on the terrace outside the arena. He had a partial prize to present Dah’mir at least.

But the dragon didn’t seem as angry as Vennet might have expected. Dah’mir settled back on his haunches, his great eyes thoughtful. “That was Natrac that aided them.”

New rage seethed in Vennet. “Natrac!”

And behind him, Biish’s ears flicked, and he spoke coherent words for the first time since Dah’mir had revealed his majestic true form. “Natrac?” he asked. His lips twitched. “But that’s not possible.”

Vennet turned on him. “You know Natrac? How?”

The hobgoblin glanced at Dah’mir. “Mazo,” he said finally. “He … he used to own this arena, until I ran him out of Sharn and took over his gang. I found out he was back in Sharn last night. I tracked him down and took him prisoner. He should still be in his cell at my headquarters.”

A rumble rolled out of Dah’mir’s throat. “Obviously, he escaped.” His huge eyes narrowed. “How did he know to come here?”

Biish shook his head, his ears lying back flat against his head, and Vennet realized just how pathetic and frightened he looked. “Maybe Natrac overheard something,” the half-elf suggested.

Biish’s eyes snapped to him. “Impossible!”

“Yet he was here. And if he knew to come here, perhaps he overheard something more. And if he knows more than he should, then Dandra and Singe will soon know it too.” Dah’mir rose and stretched, wings sweeping out. “Biish! Are your people ready to move?”

The hobgoblin flinched back at the demand. “Mazo, lhesh!”

“Then we strike before there can be any interference,” said Dah’mir. He bared his teeth. “We strike now.”