The Killing Song

CHAPTER 18

Singe’s sense of triumph twisted into shock. “What?”

His voice wasn’t the only one raised. “Ashi, no!” Dandra cried out at the same time Natrac said, “Host and Six, are you insane!” Rhazala’s face brightened and she called, “Moza, chib! Save us!” Mithas’s smile came back to his face in a grin that made Singe feel sick.

At the same moment, the Thronehold spectacle began. Singe was dimly aware of ringing bells and blaring horns, a joyful call that spread across Sharn and climbed until it rang in the dark sky. It was joined by flashes of light high overhead. Two dozen or more spellcasters and dragonmarked would be working together to cast illusions into the night, their individual efforts combining to create vast panoramas and enormous phantasmal effigies. The wave of awed gasps as the entire city drew breath in amazement was audible even above the bells and horns.

It mingled with the sounds of violence that rose from Fan Adar. A deep voice cursed in Goblin, then a higher human or kalashtar voice wailed in pain. Singe couldn’t look up. His eyes were on Ashi. His ears rang with the shock of her declaration.

She would go with Mithas?

But Ashi wasn’t finished. “There’s a price!” she shouted at Mithas over the noise. “I go with you for a price.”

The sorcerer’s face grew suspicious. “What is it?”

“Ashi, you don’t have to do this for us!” said Dandra.

Ashi thrust a hand at her, motioning for her to remain quiet. She didn’t take her eyes off Mithas.

“Fight for us,” she said. “You say the kalashtar aren’t your concern? Make them your concern! You’re a mercenary. You fight for payment.” She reached to her shoulder, seized the fabric of her sleeve, and tore it free. She held her bare arm across her body so that the shifting light from the spectacle above played across her skin and made her dragonmark seem to dance. “Here’s your payment. When this is over and everyone is safe, you can deliver me to the lords of Deneith and claim your reward. I’ll go willingly. You have my honor.”

Mithas licked his lips but hesitated, looking like a hungry dog expecting the bowl of food placed before him to vanish if he moved. The greed in his eyes flashed bright. “Done!”

“Then follow us-quickly.” Ashi pointed at Singe. “Whatever order he gives, obey it. Rhazala, get us to the Gathering Light!”

“Moza!”

Singe sat down heavily as the skycoach shot forward. Ashi stayed on her feet, her body rigid. Behind them, Mithas was shouting at his men, getting his coaches moving, but aboard Rhazala’s coach no one said anything for several long moments. Finally, Natrac growled and said, “We drop and run. After the kalashtar are safe, we drop and run. Mithas won’t catch you, Ashi-”

“No.” The hunter shook her head. “I gave my honor-and even if I hadn’t, I meant what I said. I’ll go with him.”

“Ashi, we could have fought our way free!” The words broke out of Singe’s chest. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Rond betch, how exactly could we have fought free?” Ashi snapped. She turned to glare at him and Singe saw that her mouth was set in a hard, thin line. “Mithas had us and every moment we fought with him was another moment for Biish’s raid to go unchecked.”

Singe blinked. There was no answer he could think to give for that. “But … Mithas wins. He gets what he wanted.”

Ashi’s lips twitched and her teeth flashed in a sudden, savage grin. “Mithas wins? I would have gone to Deneith at some point anyway, wouldn’t I? It’s my clan now. This way we still have a chance to stop the raid-and maybe a better chance because we have Mithas and his men to fight with us.” Her eyes softened slightly. “Who told me I had to look at the greater good?”

His mouth opened and closed, then he smiled too. “Twelve moons, I hope the lords of Deneith are ready for you, Ashi.”

They were over the Gathering Light in only moments, but the confrontation with Mithas had cost them more than just time. Singe peered down over the side of the skycoach, trying to assess the situation with the dispassionate logic he had learned during the war. It was hard to be dispassionate, though, when he felt a connection to the people struggling below-and such a hatred for their attackers.

Fleeing prey and pursuing predators had converged on the Gathering Light. Singe had to give the kalashtar and Adarans credit-the hall was admirably situated for defense. The walkway and ramp that led down to the sunken courtyard before the building were broad, but allowed only a single means of access, while the courtyard itself left anyone in it exposed and fighting up stairs to enter the hall.

The same features made the Gathering Light a trap. A few burly bugbears held the walkway and the top of the ramp. A handful of goblin archers perched on the roof of one of the other buildings that overlooked the courtyard, loosing arrows into the fray. At the sides of the Gathering Light, Singe spotted fighting in alleys that must have led to other exits from the buildings. The members of Biish’s gang were forcing back anyone who tried to escape. The refuge of Fan Adar had become a prison.

It was a sight to rival any the spectacle projected into the sky and far more terrible. A statue of a kalashtar woman with crystal eyes standing in the center of the courtyard was the only fixed referenced point. All around it, Adarans fought hobgoblins in a seething mass of bodies, bare fists and strange weapons against sharp swords and heavy axes. Herons darted in and out of the fighting, clawing with talons and battering with wings. The doors of the hall had been forced open and light spilled out onto the battle. A line of Adarans stood against those who tried to enter, but that line crumbled even as Singe watched. Goblins leaped across their fallen foes and sprinted inside. They didn’t get far-thin, high-pitched cries rose and faltered-but the way had been opened.

There were no kalashtar fighting. Some stood here and there in the midst of the heaving conflict, but none of them moved except when they were jostled by the combat. The Adaran humans tried to protect them. Biish’s people ignored them. The kalashtar themselves stood with their faces raised like flowers toward the sun, staring at the peaked roof of the hall’s porch.

A solitary heron perched there, acid-green eyes staring down at the scene below. The bird looked like all the others, but there was a focused intensity about it that hinted at a greater power hidden in that feathered form. It was Dah’mir.

Singe caught a glimpse of slackness entering Dandra’s face and his heart almost stopped-the protection of Ashi’s dragonmark shouldn’t have faded so quickly-but before he could even speak, she blinked and drew a shuddering breath. “I called out through kesh,” she said. “There’s nothing! Dah’mir’s presence has captured them all!”

Singe stared at Dah’mir. The heron was as still as the statue in the courtyard-he must have thrown all of his concentration into controlling the kalashtar. As long as it kept him out of combat, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing. “Don’t try to fight him!” he said. “Concentrate on stopping Biish for now!”

“Singe!” Natrac cried. “Look there!” He pointed with his knife hand and Singe looked. In a corner of the courtyard protected by the descending ramp, hobgoblins guarded a group of nearly a dozen kalashtar, fighting back any Adaran who approached. Vennet stood with them, leaping about and screaming as his cutlass slashed air and flesh indiscriminately.

The captive kalashtar were too far away for Singe to be certain, but he had a feeling that all of them carried psicrystals. They were Dah’mir’s targets, the ones the dragon had arranged all of this just to capture.

Singe’s hand tightened on his rapier. He spun around and gestured for Mithas. The coaches carrying the sorcerer and his men hovered only a short distance away. Many of the mercenaries were staring in open amazement at the battle going on below, but Mithas at least maintained a professional alertness.

“Free the side doors!” Singe shouted at him. “Evacuate any kalashtar you can. Carry them out if you have to!”

Mithas raised a fist in acknowledgment and slapped the gawking steersman of his coach. Singe turned to Natrac, Ashi, and Dandra. “Dandra, you and Natrac help defend the main doors. Ashi, you and I will break the guard on the captives.”

All three nodded in understanding. Singe looked to Rhazala. “Take us down to the court-”

A harsh shout in Goblin from below interrupted him, and an instant later, a flurry of arrows struck the belly of the coach. “They know we’re here!” said Ashi, peering over the side. “It looks like the goblin archers are waiting before they loose again-Rond betch! Singe!”

Singe looked down again-and saw that Dah’mir had turned away from the battle to face them. He moved no further but acid-green eyes seemed to flare with hatred.

Like soldiers responding to some silent drill command, the herons that had been swooping over the battle broke away. They began climbing toward the coach, wings hammering on the air. Singe glanced at Dandra. Her eyes were burning.

“I’ll take the herons,” she said tightly. “You take the archers.”

“Done.” Singe pointed at Rhazala. “Down!”

The goblin screamed something that was probably unflattering, but thrust at the steering rod all the same. The coach dropped.

The sight of the Gathering Light invaded-defiled-by Biish’s gang brought an anger out of the depths of Dandra’s spirit like nothing she had ever felt before. Maybe it was because the hall should have been a place of haven and community. Maybe it was because Dah’mir thought he could so casually seize kalashtar and bend them to his will-as the coach dropped, she saw old Shelsatori dragged unresisting through the fighting and thrust among the dragon’s other captives. Maybe it was because if they failed here, more kalashtar would experience the anguish that she and Tetkashtai, Medalashana, and Virikhad had experienced, stripped and sundered to meet an ancient evil’s ambition.

That wasn’t going to happen.

The droning chorus of the whitefire rose around her, a throbbing counterpoint to the arcane words of the spell that Singe wove. She gathered her will and the psionic power coalesced in a hot shimmer around her hand. For a heartbeat, she waited as the distance between the climbing herons and the dropping coach closed-then she screamed her rage, thrust her hand forward, and released the fire.

Pale flame roared from her palm in a gout that lit up the night. Caught in the blazing cone, the herons screeched as the whitefire consumed them. They fell out of the sky like balls of burning pitch, greasy feathers trailing stinking smoke. New shouts broke out below as the burning remains fell into the fight in the courtyard. Vennet’s voice rose above them all. “No! No! Storm at dawn, no!”

Dandra ignored him.

One of the foul birds had survived and kept climbing even as the flames ate at it. She fell back a short step as it surged up over the side of the coach and plunged toward her face with talons flailing.

The thin blade of a rapier thrust past her and sheared through the bird’s scrawny neck. The heron dropped away, following the rest of Dah’mir’s unnatural flock into death. Dandra swung around to look at Singe. Beyond him, she caught a glimpse of four dead archers with the marks of fiery magic smoldering in their chests as the coach dropped past the roof line. The wizard’s eyes met hers with a fierce passion, though his words remained focused on the situation at hand.

“Clear us a place to land?” he asked.

She gave him a brief smile-then swung back to the side of the coach and vaulted over it into the night.

Rhazala’s gasp followed her, but it took Dandra only a thought to draw the fabric of space around herself and slow her descent. She fell like a cat into the battle below, screaming as she dropped. “Adar! Adar! Bhintava adarani!”

A hobgoblin looked up at her cry, saw her falling, and tried to leap out of the way, but he was too slow. Dandra came down with both feet across his shoulders. He crashed to the ground, his face slapping into the stone. Dandra thrust with her spear, driving the gleaming crysteel head into his neck at the base of his skull. He shuddered once and went limp, but Dandra was already moving on. She pushed herself off from the ground and skimmed above it. A goblin dived at her with a knife, but she just slid aside. The butt of her spear shaft snapped into his face, and he reeled back. Before any other enemies could move for her, she glanced up at the descending coach and concentrated.

Visible only in her mind’s eye, threads of vayhatana spun out before her, piling into a woven mass. Where the coach would come down, two Adaran humans fought back to back against four goblins and a bugbear with rows of gold rings in its big ears. “Bhinto seshay!” she shouted at them. All of the combatants glanced at her, but only the Adarans dived for the ground as she released the threads of vayhatana.

Waves of invisible force caught the goblins and the bugbear, hurling them away and into another cluster of Biish’s thugs. Dandra dashed forward, grabbed the startled Adarans, and pulled them out of the way as the coach came down. They stared at her in surprise for moment, then one of them raised his weapon. “Bhintava Adarani!” he crowed. His friend echoed him, and both of them threw themselves at the nearest hobgoblin. The cry spread, taken up by every fighting Adaran in the courtyard.

Ashi was the first out of the coach, heaving Natrac with her. Singe followed, then slapped the side of the coach. “Up, Rhazala! Get out of here and take this coach back wherever you stole it from!”

“Good luck, if you live!” the goblin said as she pulled on the steering rod. The coach shot up into the night, and for the first time, Dandra actually looked at the Thronehold spectacle unfolding in the sky. Among the stars and moons, warriors in ancient dress battled goblins in the story of the first human settlement of Sharn. She looked at Singe.

“Do you think that’s an omen?” she asked.

“I hope so!” He bent his head and gave her a kiss, then turned and sprinted in the direction of Vennet’s mad cries with Ashi watching his back.

A cry from Natrac brought her around. The half-orc struggled against a knot of goblins trying to drag him down by sheer weight. Natrac stabbed at them, but they clung to the arm that bore his knife-hand. Dandra cracked her spear across their skulls, and they dropped, though not before one had sunk his teeth into Natrac’s good arm. He howled and shook his arm so violently the goblin was flung away.

The bite was raw and deep, but Natrac just let it bleed. “Can you burn us a way through to the Gathering Light?” he said as they forced their way forward.

Dandra shook her head. “No! There are too many Adarans fighting and too many kalashtar-oh!”

A staring form, pushed by the dodge of a hobgoblin, fell against her. It wasn’t the sudden impact that forced the gasp from her lips-it was recognition. Nevchaned’s body was limp in her arms, his eyes fixed on Dah’mir. The old kalashtar was armed with a pair of heavy smith’s hammers, but they hadn’t done him any good. Rage and disgust surged in her, and she stared up at Dah’mir, still perched on the peak of the Gathering Light.

Natrac grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “The doors, Dandra! We can’t fight Dah’mir!”

“I can give him something to concentrate on other than the kalashtar though!” She reached into herself and summoned up the drone of whitefire. There was no one between her and the dragon. If she could break his hold on the kalashtar-

She didn’t get the chance. Abruptly, the hot glow of intense firelight fell over the front of the Gathering Light and raked across the battle in the courtyard. A roar like a furnace filled the air. The battle cries of the Adarans grew quiet and even Biish’s thugs froze. Her attack on Dah’mir forgotten, Dandra whirled around.

An airship swooped down from the skies, slipping right in among the towers and buildings of Fan Adar. The light and the roar came from the fiery elemental ring that wrapped around the ship, supported by great curved beams arcing above, below, and to either side of her hull. She wasn’t the largest airship Dandra had ever seen-from her size and lines and the name Mayret’s Envy written in elaborate script on her bow, Dandra guessed the ship was some wealthy aristocrat’s private yacht-but she had a look of speed and maneuverability about her.

The projecting ring made it impossible to land the vessel, but her unseen pilot brought her right alongside the raised walkway, on the other side of the Gathering Light’s sunken courtyard. The bugbears that had held the walkway pulled back from the heat, though they didn’t pull back far. Partway between the bow and the great ring, a hatch opened in the side of the ship and a long loading ramp unfolded, stretching beyond the radius of the ring to reach the walkway. Two bugbears rushed forward to seize and steady the end of the ramp.

Vennet’s voice rang out as clearly as if he’d been giving orders on the deck of Lightning on Water. “Make way! Time to load the cargo! Make way!” A cheer went up from Biish’s gang, and a new flurry of violence erupted as the thugs pushed back the Gathering Light’s Adaran defenders. Hobgoblins began racing up the ramp from courtyard to walkway, each with a kalashtar thrown casually over his shoulders. The bugbears from above met them halfway, taking two kalashtar at a time and lumbering across the loading ramp into the floating ship.

“Light of il-Yannah, no!” Dandra cursed. Across the courtyard, similar cries rose from the Adaran humans. Many of them began to fight their way back toward the captive kalashtar.

“Lords of the Host!” said Natrac. “That’s what Vennet needed Benti for! He needed a second Lyrandar pilot to fly that thing!” He looked at Dandra. “What do we do now?”

“You die, Natrac!” roared a new voice. “This time, you die!”

Heavy feet pounded stone. Dandra and Natrac turned together as Biish came rushing down the stairs of the Gathering Light, a jagged hobgoblin sword swinging in his hand. Goblins and hobgoblins alike jerked away from his charge. Most of the thugs around Dandra and Natrac took one look at the enraged ganglord and pulled away from the target of his wrath as well.

Most, but not all. Dandra sensed rather than saw the movement behind her and tried to dodge. It was too late. A heavy club swung by a lean hobgoblin smashed into her shoulder and sent her staggering. Natrac tried to steady her, but a goblin grabbed at his arm, holding him back. Dandra fought past her pain and jabbed her spear at the goblin. He yelped and let go, but more thugs found renewed courage and crowded in-only to be thrown back as Biish burst through their ranks. He leveled his sword at Natrac and at her. “You should have run again, Natrac!”

The half-orc thrust his tusks forward. “I’m through running, Biter.” He dropped into a defensive stance, knife-hand at the ready.

Until the airship came down, Singe had lost track of Vennet in the swirl of fighting. A trio of hobgoblins had come at him and Ashi, backing them into a cluster of Adarans gathered around a pair of stunned kalashtar. By the time blood stained Singe’s rapier, the chaos of battle in shadows had turned them around.

The flying ship arrived like dawn. The goblin who had been tying up Singe’s rapier with a pair of flashing daggers flinched at the sudden glare. Singe stayed focused, sliding his blade past the creature’s faltering guard and into his chest, before looking up to study the ship and read the name on her bow. He bit off a curse and blocked the swing of a hobgoblin’s sword. Ashi, fighting beside him, gave free vent to her emotions, however.

“Rond betch! What’s this for?”

Singe made a guess as he fought. If Dah’mir was going to stay in the city with them, skycoaches would have done the job. “To take the kalashtar out of Sharn!”

He thrust and the hobgoblin fell back clutching his leg. Ashi’s opponent dropped as well. Singe grabbed the hunter and pulled her toward the corner of the courtyard where the captive kalashtar were being held. “We have to hurry or-”

Vennet’s shouting voice cut him off. “Make way! Time to load the cargo! Make way!”

Through the fighting, Singe caught a glimpse of Vennet waving his cutlass, then lost him again as the battle heaved in response to the command. A hobgoblin carrying a kalashtar appeared on the ramp, climbing up toward the walkway and the airship. Singe tried to picture how many captives he had seen from above. It couldn’t have been seventeen, could it? “Dah’mir doesn’t have all his captives, yet!” he said.

“I think he does,” said Ashi. “Look on the walkway!”

Singe looked and cursed. The angle from the sunken courtyard hid some of what was happening above, but he could see bugbears carrying more limp kalashtar in from the shadows. Three … four. Enough to make up the difference. Biish’s people must have made some captures as they drove the kalashtar toward the Gathering Light.

They needed to break through the line of guards. Singe drew a shallow breath. “Ashi, be ready to move,” he said, then focused on a thick tangle of goblins and Adarans, pointed his fingers, and hissed a spell.

Like grain before a scythe, the whole tangle crumpled to the ground. Ashi choked. “Dead?”

“Asleep. Move!” Beyond the fallen combatants, only a few startled goblins separated them from open space. Singe raised his rapier high and charged with a scream. The nerve of the goblins broke and they dived aside. He and Ashi burst through into the clear at the bottom of the ramp to the walkway.

Less than five paces away, Vennet whirled around. The half-elf’s eyes opened wide in a face speckled with blood. There were still hobgoblins carrying kalashtar up the ramp behind him, but a wild grin split his lips and he spread his arms as if in invitation. “You’re too late, Singe!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “It’s over!”

Singe leaped for him in grim silence. His rapier darted forward, but Vennet folded his arms and brought his cutlass around to beat the thin blade down. Singe let his rapier drop with the impact, then twisted to the side and cut upward. A gap opened in the white fabric of Vennet’s shirt, and a bloody crease in the flesh of his side. Vennet gasped and jumped back, his smiling lips peeled back in a snarl. Ashi stepped up to Singe’s side, and Vennet’s eyes darted between the two of them before narrowing sharply. “Dabrak!” he screamed.

On the ramp above, a bugbear with a nasty-looking axe in either hand turned, and his large, hairy face lit up pleasure. Letting loose a bellow, he sprinted down at them, axes held low and ready to strike.

Singe’s rapier wavered between the two threats-and in that instant, Vennet pressed forward, cutlass chopping down. Singe pushed himself to the side and the curved blade cut the air just past his arm. He saw Ashi turn to take on Dabrak, her shining honor blade meeting his two axes blow for blow and block for block.

Singe turned himself to focus on Vennet. The half-elf’s wild swing became a cut at Singe’s ankles. The wizard hopped back, stabbing at Vennet’s outstretched sword arm. Vennet snatched it clear. The two men circled each other for a moment, then Vennet flung himself forward once again.

This time Singe met his blow before it fell. Rapier and cutlass grated together as Singe’s block and the momentum of Vennet’s attack pushed the blades high. Their forearms locked together, muscles straining. Vennet sneered into Singe’s face. “You can’t resist me,” he said. “I command the wind itself! I’ll steal the air from your lungs-yours and your false-marked bitch!”

His eyes were bright and spittle flew with his words. There was a stink of decay around him, an odor of infection that brought memories of healers’ tents after battle, of rotting wounds and gangrene, flooding into Singe’s mind. He choked on the stench and Vennet grinned. “You can’t stand against the power of a true Siberys mark!”

Singe clenched his teeth. “Are you as blind as you are insane, Vennet? You don’t have a Siberys mark!”

He thrust hard with the words, heaving with all of his strength, and Vennet went staggering back. He glared at Singe with such rage and hatred that the wizard felt a chill spread through him. Singe brought up his rapier, ready for another attack-

The cry that came down from the top of the ramp only made him colder. “Captives are on board!”

Vennet’s eyes opened wide with terrible triumph. “Too late, Singe!” He thrust out his hand. “Storm lash my enemies!”

The howling wind that burst from Vennet was no stronger than the power Singe had seen and felt Vennet display in the past. Mad words made the sudden gust no greater. The wind was still more than strong enough to send Singe stumbling backward, blown before its force. Ashi was caught in its path, as well. She cried out in surprise and through narrowed eyes, Singe saw her grab for the nearest solid object to steady herself. That object happened to be Dabrak, but even the big bugbear staggered in the face of the wind. Beyond hunter and thug, goblins screamed as the gale sent them tumbling.

The wind only lasted a moment, vanishing with an abruptness that left Singe reeling, but a moment was all Vennet needed. By the time Singe had regained his feet, the half-elf was at the top of the ramp and onto the walkway.

Curses and the clang of metal on metal behind Singe marked the resumption of Ashi and Dabrak’s duel. Singe didn’t even look back at them-legs pumping, a spell ready on his lips, he raced up the ramp after Vennet.

He was just in time to see Vennet dash up a loading ramp and vanish through a hatch into the airship’s interior. A bugbear, apparently not fast enough to get out of Vennet’s way, was huddled on the walkway at the end of the ramp as blood gushed from a wound across its belly. The other bugbears and hobgoblins who had helped load the kalashtar onto the ship were all staring in confusion, but Singe’s appearance, rapier drawn, sent them scrambling out of the way. The end of the loading ramp was already swinging away. Singe leaped the gap between it and the walkway without looking down. Three fast strides carried him the length of the ramp, and he threw himself through the hatch, ready for an ambush.

The hatch opened into a small hold. The only light was the fiery glow that fell through the hatch from the elemental ring. In the dimness, Singe could make out some crates, a few barrels-and a number of silent, unmoving figures. Standing, sitting, or lying in whatever position they had been placed, Dah’mir’s kalashtar captives stared at him with unblinking eyes before-one by one-looking away beyond him and back toward the presence that held their minds prisoner.

There was no use trying to free them. Singe had seen Dandra in this state. The kalashtar would do nothing of their own volition until Dah’mir released them. Moving cautiously, he stepped further into the hold. He couldn’t see any sign of Vennet, but there were passages leading fore and aft, rectangles of deeper darkness amid the shadows.

Then from the passage leading fore came noise. An exclamation in Goblin, cut short by the rending of flesh. A body falling. Vennet’s voice, softly. “Storm at dawn, didn’t I tell you not to wander around on board?”

Quick footsteps moved back aft along the passage. Singe darted to the farthest side of the hold and crouched down among the unmoving kalashtar. Vennet reappeared, his cutlass and ruined shirt dripping new blood.

A spell rose in Singe’s mind, and he lifted his hand, tracking the mad half-elf. He would only have one chance to catch him. He didn’t relish the idea of hand-to-hand fighting in the hold, and the spell had to be precise or he’d risk harming the kalashtar. He focused his concentration, pointed his fingers-then held back the spell at the last moment as sudden shouts of alarm erupted from outside the ship and Vennet leaped to throw a lever beside the hatch. With a groan of steel and wood, the loading ramp began to fold itself back into the ship and somewhere a bell rang. Singe felt a tremor pass through the airship, a surge of power from the elemental that drove it, and caught his breath. They were moving!

But he could still stop this. Vennet was still leaning against the frame of the slowly closing hatch, watching whatever was happening outside. His body was a perfect silhouette. Singe focused his concentration again …

“Aahyi-ksiksiksi-kladakla-”

The killing song was right in his ear. Singe sucked in his breath and jerked his head around. A hand shot up. Cold fingers grabbed his. Moon’s face looked back at him in the dim light-but the intelligence behind the pin-prick eyes was like nothing human or kalashtar Singe had ever seen.

“When the blue moon is full and bright, the servants will come to the master,” whispered Virikhad. “Dah’mir must succeed.”

Silver-white light flared around Moon’s fingers and agony tore through Singe’s hand. He yelled-he couldn’t have held it back-and against the glare of the light he saw Vennet spin around in surprise just as the hatch slammed shut. For a moment, the hold was in darkness. Moon’s hand fell away.

Then another light blossomed, an everbright lantern carelessly torn open in passing, and Vennet was rushing at him. “You!” he screamed. “Storm at dawn, how?”

Singe tried to lift his rapier but Moon’s weight had shifted on top of it. He tried to cast the spell that had been on his tongue only moments before, but his injured fingers couldn’t form the gestures. Vennet pounced on him, one hand squeezing around his throat before he could try to speak another. “Treachery! Murder!”

The other man’s weight bore Singe backward. His skull cracked against something-a crate, a barrel, the wall-and sparks flashed inside his head. A fist or maybe a foot drove into his belly, then Vennet straddled him, pinning one of Singe’s hands to the floor under his knee as he slammed his head back again, screaming all the while. “Mutiny! Mutiny, Singe! I know you did it! I know you turned my crew against me. When did you start? Was it back in Yrlag? I should have left you on the dock. But I was greedy, wasn’t I? Greedy!”

Singe tried to strike Vennet with his free hand. He punched. He clawed. He tore at Vennet’s pointed ear. Vennet just jerked his head away and punched him hard in the shoulder. Singe’s arm fell, numbed. He bucked at Vennet’s weight. The half-elf slammed his head back a third time, even harder. Sparks gave way to shadows as Singe’s vision swam from the impact and the madman’s grip around his throat.

“You’ve got no respect for authority, Singe. No respect for power. You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Vennet’s voice rose and broke into a screech. “I don’t have a Siberys mark? I’m blind and insane?”

A knee crushed into Singe’s chest. A hand slapped against his forehead and forced his head back. The hand that had been around his throat withdrew. Air rushed into Singe’s lungs. The shadows cleared from his vision-

— just as Vennet’s fingers dug into his face. Fire burned in his left eye and even though he howled at the pain, he could still hear a terrible wet, ripping noise. He sank back into shadows, although somehow he was dimly aware of Vennet staggering away from him and flinging something across the hold.

“Who’s blind, Singe?” Vennet demanded. “Who’s blind?”

He had a sensation of fingers twined in his hair dragging him to his feet, of being forced to walk, of tripping on stairs, of a sudden burst of cool air and wind. A woman’s shout of surprise. Dah’mir’s oil-smooth voice. Then someone pushed him and he was falling-

Biish roared again. The sword swept around in a flat arc, forcing both Natrac and Dandra back a pace. Dandra tried to slide forward again behind that swing, but Biish turned the blow around faster than she would have thought possible and she had to drop to avoid it. There was no parrying that heavy blade-it would shear right through her spear shaft!

Her move gave Natrac an opening, and he jumped in to slash at Biish’s side with his knife-hand. Biish grunted at the blow, but the knife just scraped on metal. Through the gash that it opened in Biish’s coat, Dandra caught the flash of a mail shirt. Biish punched out with his off-hand. Natrac dodged back, but another swing of Biish’s sword forced him back even further. For a moment, the hobgoblin’s back was to her. Natrac’s knife might not have been able to penetrate Biish’s mail shirt, but her spear could.

Before she could rise to strike, though, hands grabbed for her. She kicked, felt her boot strike something soft. The hold on her fell away, but the opportunity was lost-Biish and Natrac had turned in their deadly dance. More of the hobgoblin’s thugs closed around her. She swung her spear desperately, striking with point and shaft wherever she could. Closely pressed, there was no room for her dodge and no opportunity for her to concentrate even for the moment it would take to bring her powers to bear. For every goblin she struck down, two more seemed to appear. All she could do was fight and shout. “Adar! Adar!”

“Bhintava Adarani!” Suddenly two forms fought with her-the two Adaran humans she had rescued earlier! They carved through her attackers with hard precise blows, one wielding a pair of short curved blades, the other striking only with stiffened fingers. One of them met her eyes for an instant and grinned at her with a mouth bloodied by some earlier blow. Dandra clenched her teeth, shortened her grip on her spear, and renewed her attack, using the unexpected aid to fight her way closer to Natrac.

The half-orc and Biish still looked like they were dancing. Biish’s sword swung. Natrac dodged back, then slipped inside Biish’s guard to strike quickly, before darting away once more. The hobgoblin’s arms showed half a dozen nicks, but nothing that slowed him-it would take a lucky blow from Natrac’s knife-hand to pierce the chain shirt.

But only a single connecting strike from Biish’s heavy blade would bring Natrac down. And Natrac was tiring. He stumbled as he stepped back away from Biish. The ganglord saw his opening and let out another roar, raising his sword over his old rival. “Die, taat!”

“No!” cried Dandra. She thrust back a goblin’s feeble strike then drew in her will, focusing her power into a single thread of vayhatana to snatch the sword from Biish’s grasp before it could fall, even though in her gut, she knew it would be too late.

And it was-for Biish.

Natrac uncoiled from his feigned weakness like a bent sapling springing straight. With all the strength of his arm and shoulder behind it, his knife-hand punched up under Biish’s jaw. The blow snapped his toothy mouth closed, pinning lower jaw to upper. Biish’s eyes opened wide. His body stiffened.

Natrac planted his hand against the hobgoblin’s stunned face and jerked the knife free. A spasm shook Biish and he collapsed backward. His sword, untouched by Dandra’s power, fell from his grip to ring on the stones of the courtyard.

For a moment, the goblins and hobgoblins fighting around them froze in shocked disbelief. Then a hobgoblin who had been moving to attack Dandra shouted and fell back. More shouts rose on the air as panic spread through the courtyard, and suddenly, the gang members who had been fighting to breaking into the Gathering Light were fighting to escape.

A hiss like a steaming kettle, as loud as if the ocean itself were boiling, broke from the peak of the hall’s roof. Dandra twisted around to look up at Dah’mir. His thin, feathered form was shaking and his acid-green eyes flashed as he stared down at her and Natrac. Dandra’s belly tightened with fear at the prospect of the dragon’s rage-then tightened even more as she realized that he was laughing. Dark wings spread, and Dah’mir sprang from the roof to arc high over the courtyard. A new cry from the Adarans broke through her fear.

She spun around to see the loading ramp of Mayret’s Envy slam closed, and the ship start to rise, gathering speed with every moment. Still laughing, Dah’mir settled onto the rail. His hiss turned into a mocking call that drifted down from above. “Too late! Too late!”

But the cry that truly cut into Dandra’s soul was Ashi’s desperate shout from across the courtyard.

“Dandra! Dandra, Singe is on the ship!”

Groggy voices woke to a confused chorus around Dandra-kalashtar released from Dah’mir’s power as the rising airship bore the dragon away. She heard Nevchaned close at hand, heard Natrac babbling some kind of explanation at him, heard Ashi shouting. The voices just slipped away. Dandra’s eyes were on the airship as the vessel soared up. Her mind was flung out in kesh, groping desperately.

Singe? Singe? Answer me, Singe!

Then something fell over the side of the airship. A body. The light of the elemental ring flashed on blond hair. “Singe!” Dandra screamed.

She wove vayhatana almost without willing it, and a skein of light she saw only inside her mind stretched up into the sky-stretched and stretched, but still didn’t quite reach the falling wizard. Dandra thrust against the ground, pushing herself up as high as she could to meet him, as if an extra pace’s distance could make a difference. It couldn’t. It didn’t. Singe plummeted down.

Then suddenly she wasn’t alone. Other minds reached out to hers. It was less than kesh, but also more. She recognized minds-Hanamelk, Nevchaned, Selkatari, and others-and it seemed as if their psionic strength flowed into her. She glanced down from the sky for an instant.

Hanamelk, looking tired and disheveled, stood with his hand on the statue that stood in the center of the courtyard. The statue’s crystal eyes glowed a thin, haunting blue. A misty tendril of the same color leaped from Hanamelk to Nevchaned-and from Nevchaned to Selkatari at the doors of the Gathering Light, and from Selkatari to a man Dandra didn’t know but who stood with his eyes on her, and from him to another kalashtar, and from her to yet another.

And from all of them, tendrils reached out to her.

Hanamelk’s voice echoed in her mind, words spoken at the speed of thought. We know what you did for us. Use our strength as your own.

Glance, recognition, and words took less than a moment. Dandra lifted herself, looked up again-and this time reached out to Singe with ease. Vayhatana wrapped his body. His fall slowed and stopped. For a moment, he floated in the sky, midway between the towers of Sharn and the Thronehold spectacle still unfolding high above, then Dandra drew him carefully down to the courtyard before the Gathering Light.

As his body came closer, the strength lent to her by the other kalashtar faded, until it was her power alone that supported him. The loss of their strength left her feeling as weak as she had ever felt, but the joy that filled her made up for it. Singe lay stiff within the cocoon of vayhatana, but she could sense his movements. He was alive-but it wasn’t until he drifted down into the light that spilled from the Gathering Light that she realized something was wrong.

The hair that fell into the light was blond, but touched with red. The clothes were none she had ever seen before. And the face-pale with terror-that came into view wasn’t that of a human man, but of a half-elf woman!

Natrac’s eyes opened wide and he choked out, “Benti?”

The carefully spun vayhatana vanished, spilling the woman the last few paces onto the stone of the courtyard. Dandra lifted her face to the sky, desperately seeking the rising spark that was Mayret’s Envy.

But the night was full of sparks as the final spectacle of Thronehold burst into a colorful rain of fire. Across Sharn cheers and applause rose like the wings of a hundred thousand birds.

In Fan Adar, one voice rose in a wail of loss and fury.