The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III Page 18

  “That’s what lieutenants and first officers are for, Biish.” Vennet shoved the hobgoblin onward. “Besides, this little adventure is going make someone important very happy.”

  A festival mood pervaded the streets of Malleon’s Gate just as it had the streets of Overlook, although it seemed to Dandra that in the lower city Thronehold was less a celebration of the end of the Last War than an excuse for wild abandon. Not, she suspected, that most of the denizens of the district needed an excuse for abandon.

  Still, there were ragged banners scattered around, and there had been a small mob waiting to take the lift to the upper city—Dandra even spotted a couple of worn skycoaches cruising overhead when she wouldn’t have expected skycoaches of any kind to come within spitting distance of Malleon’s Gate under normal circumstances. She pitied the citizens of Sharn’s upper reaches who found themselves invaded by drunken goblins intent on getting a good view of the Thronehold spectacles.

  “We’re being followed,” Ashi said abruptly.

  “You mean that swarm of goblin children?” A smile flickered on Singe’s lips. “I saw them.”

  Ashi glared at him. “Even children can be dangerous, especially in numbers.”

  “Easy.” Singe held up a hand in surrender. “Watch them if it makes you feel safe. I’d be surprised if anyone could make it through Malleon’s Gate without being followed—”

  “Hush!” Moon’s warning came so suddenly that Singe stumbled. Ashi’s sword was half out of its scabbard in a heartbeat and Dandra had pushed herself up from the ground to glide on the air, ready for a fight. Moon, however, just stepped back into the shadows and pointed ahead. “There,” he said. “Dah’mir is in there.”

  All of them moved swiftly to join him in the shadows. Dandra remained on the air, moving with the grace of thought. She drifted forward slightly in complete silence to get a better view of the structure Moon had pointed out. It squatted at the end of the street they had been following, a derelict oval structure that would have been impressive for its size if for nothing else. The wall that faced them was a good five stories tall and curved away into the gloom on either side. Portions of the wall near the top looked ready to collapse, and it seemed as part of the roofline had already given way. There was a rank of windows high up on the wall, but they were boarded over.

  The wide doors of the building lay dead on to the end of the street, four pairs of them, lined up in a row as if to welcome crowds. Three pairs, however, were boarded up as tight as the windows. The fourth pair, though they stood closed, had recently been opened up again to judge by the splintered planks that hung from their frames. Two thin hobgoblins squatted in front of the fourth door, intent on some kind of card game. To one side of them, a small fire burned on the stones of the street. Skewered rats roasted above the fire, but Dandra stared in surprise at what else the firelight revealed.

  A mural had been painted above the doors. Parts of it had been defaced, but what remained revealed the building’s nature: on painted sand, gladiators of many races struggled in eternal combat while crowds of spectators cheered them on. Protected from sunlight and weather in Malleon’s Gate, only time and a layer of dirt had dimmed strong colors and bold strokes. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar to Dandra.

  “Why do I feel like I recognize that mural?” she asked softly.

  “Because it’s a Bahron,” Singe said. “Bava painted that mural. She must have done it while she was in Sharn, the same time she met Natrac. Twelve moons, I’ve known art collectors who would sell their teeth to see this!”

  Ashi was looking at the mural too. “Look there on the left,” she said. “There’s a laughing man standing on the side of the ring with gold in his hands. Is that Natrac?”

  Dandra stared in surprise. It was Natrac. A younger Natrac, looking much the same as he had been portrayed on the warrant-notice Ashi had found. She frowned. “Do you think Natrac’s secret errand brought him down to Malleon’s Gate?”

  “If it did, why didn’t he come back?” Singe asked in return.

  “Maybe he came here.”

  Moon turned around to face them. “I said hush! This is the place. This is where I saw Dah’mir’s herons—the roof is open inside and they can fly in and out.”

  Singe glanced at Moon and Dandra saw his eyes narrow in barely suppressed suspicion. “Unless we can fly too, we’re not likely to get past those guards without making a lot of noise,” he said. “But you probably know another way in, don’t you?”

  Moon nodded. He moved further into the shadows and stepped down an alley. Singe’s eyes narrowed even more. Dandra knew exactly what he was thinking: an alternate entrance to the arena was a little too convenient. She touched his shoulder. “Let me stay close to Moon,” she whispered. “If there’s trouble, I’ll stop him.”

  Singe nodded and stepped aside, but Ashi caught Dandra. “Wait,” she said and put her hand against Dandra’s brow. A warmth grew under her fingers and seemed to pass into Dandra—the shielding power of the Siberys mark. If Dah’mir was inside the arena, she’d be protected from his dominating presence. Ashi released her, and Dandra nodded in silent thanks, then turned to move down the alley after Moon.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled, slowing down so she could catch up to him. “You’re beautiful,” he said to her softly as they edged along. “The way you ride the air takes my breath away.”

  His words almost made Dandra sink back to the ground. She remained above it, hands squeezed tight on her spear. “Moon,” she said, “not now. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

  “You make me uncomfortable,” said the young kalashtar. “It hurts me to see you standing with him—” He jerked his head at Singe “—when I know you should be with me. Your face has haunted my thoughts.”

  Her teeth clenched, and she thought again of what Shelsatori had shown her in the killing song: her face, Singe’s face, Geth’s face. If she’d had any doubts that Moon’s obsession was tied to the killing song, his words erased them. But maybe that obsession could give her the edge she needed to break through the madness. Maybe this was their chance to defeat the song before it was too late. “You have to put me out of your head, Moon.” she told him. “What you’re feeling for me … it isn’t real.”

  He only looked at her and shook his head. “You understand so little. It’s real. It’s more real than you know.”

  The walls that surrounded the alley had begun to fall away as they walked. At the far end of the alley, they were little more than stacks of stone loosely held by crumbling mortar. Open space loomed ahead and a moment later they stepped clear of the alley. Malleon’s Gate lay at their back. Before them was a deep canyon and the edge of the plateau on which the oldest parts of Sharn had been built. In the far distance, across the canyon, she could just make out the bulky roots of the great towers that rose on Sharn’s other plateaus. Ancient stonework hid the natural ground at her feet, but the drop was still as sheer and dangerous as any cliff Dandra had ever seen.

  Moon grasped her hand suddenly and, for a moment, fear gripped her as well—if Moon meant to turn against them, this was as good a spot as any—but he just drew her along a narrow path that followed the lonely edge. Dandra heard Ashi gasp and Singe curse as they emerged from the alley in turn and caught sight of the strange vista, but she didn’t dare to turn on the narrow path to look back. She could float, but she couldn’t fly, and while slipping off the edge wouldn’t be fatal, it would be inconvenient.

  The path Moon followed led them back toward the arena. The ruins didn’t quite reach the tall walls—it looked like they had been cleared to make way for the arena—but the fire of the guards was well distant along the street. Moon’s hold on Dandra’s hand tightened, and he raced with her across the open space. A broken wall jutted from the end of the arena, running right up to the edge of the canyon. Moon tugged Dandra through a gap, and they were on a sort of terrace, perhaps built as a private retreat for the more important patrons of the arena.


  They were also, briefly, alone. The instant they were beyond the wall, Moon swung Dandra around, pulling her close and wrapping his free hand around her waist to tug her down so that their faces were level. The pupils of his eyes had shrunk down to small dots like black holes in his face. He pointed at an open doorway leading from the terrace into the shadows of the arena’s interior. When he spoke, his voice was an urgent rasp. “Don’t scream or Dah’mir will hear you,” he said. “I’m taking a chance for you. Listen to me: when the time comes, don’t resist.”

  Dandra shoved at him, trying to pry herself free, but his hold on her was strong. “Let me go, Moon!”

  He gave her a shake. “Tell me you won’t resist, Tetkashtai! Tell me you won’t resist!”

  She glared at him. “I’m not Tetkashtai!”

  “You are. Inside you are. Dandra is a part of Tetkashtai and Tetkashtai is a part of Dandra. I should kill you the way I’m supposed to, but I can’t do it. I want you to join us, the way it was supposed to be.” His arms opened, and he held her only with his tiny, mad eyes. “Dah’mir will succeed in Sharn. I’m going to make sure he does. Your friends have to die, but you can survive if you—”

  Deep inside Dandra, something stirred, and she knew with an abrupt certainty that the young kalashtar before her was no longer Moon, that the rebellious youth was gone. Someone else looked out at her from behind his eyes. Someone else spoke through his mouth.

  “—just—”

  And maybe, she realized, that someone was right that Tetkashtai remained a part of her. Feelings that were less memory than instinct rose out of her. The arm that had been around her waist, the way it had tugged her down to look into a familiar face, the way a phrase was turned, the tones beneath Moon’s voice …

  “—don’t—”

  And the thing that she and Singe had missed fell into place. Moon hadn’t loved her—or Tetkashtai—any more than he had known where to find Dah’mir. But someone else had loved Tetkashtai. Someone who had mastered the power of the long step, who knew how to use it as a weapon as Erimelk and Moon had.

  “—resist!”

  And her voice cracked as she said in amazement, “Virikhad?”

  Moon’s eyes lit up at the name of Tetkashtai’s lover. “Suri! You remember me!” He reached for her again.

  Dandra jerked on her spear, snapping the butt of it up between Moon’s legs, and his words ended in a horrible gurgle. She thrust herself away from him, and her spear spun again. The shaft cracked against the side of Moon’s head, and he went down, eyes rolling back to show white before falling closed.

  Beyond his unconscious body, Singe and Ashi froze on the broken wall, their faces wide in surprise. “Dandra!” hissed Singe. “What—?”

  Dandra let her spear fall and pushed her mind out to the wizard and the hunter before either of them could speak again. Be quiet! she said through kesh. She pointed at the passage leading from the terrace into the arena. He said Dah’mir is inside.

  Singe’s face darkened as he came forward, trading silently. He tried to warn him?

  No, said Dandra. She settled onto the ground and knelt to touch Moon’s head. He’d have a nasty bruise, but he wasn’t seriously injured. He tried to warn me—or at least, he tried to warn Tetkashtai.

  She passed the events of the last few moments through the mental link, then let the connection of kesh fade. Singe’s eyebrows rose. Ashi’s body tensed.

  “Virikhad survived Medala’s destruction at the Bonetree mound?” she asked in a whisper. “How is that possible?”

  Dandra kept her voice low too. “I don’t know. Maybe he was stronger than I thought he was.” She bit her lip. “I wonder if he wasn’t the only one to survive. He said ‘I want you to join us, the way it was supposed to be.’”

  “Medala,” Singe said. “Tetkashtai, Virikhad, and Medala were supposed to be the first servants Dah’mir created for the Master of Silence. But if she survived too, where is she? Wouldn’t two kalashtar at a time fall to the killing song then?”

  “One answer, more questions. I wouldn’t even be certain Virikhad is still inside Moon. He might have left him when I knocked him out. There could be another victim of the killing song waiting for us in Overlook.” An unpleasant thought struck Dandra. “Unless he’s gone to tell Dah’mir.”

  Singe shook his head. “If he had, we wouldn’t still be standing here. But why wouldn’t he?” His eyes opened wide abruptly. “Twelve bloody moons. I don’t think Dah’mir knows Virikhad survived either! Remember how he acted at Tzaryan Keep? Until he found Taruuzh’s binding stones, he thought you were the last link to his experiments, Dandra. He wouldn’t have thought that if he knew Virikhad or Medala was still alive.”

  “But why would Virikhad secretly be helping Dah’mir then?” Ashi asked. “He said he was going to make sure Dah’mir succeeded in Sharn—we don’t even know what Dah’mir is supposed to succeed at.”

  Dandra drew a deep breath. “We can find out though,” she said. “If Dah’mir hasn’t come for us yet, chances are he still doesn’t know we’re on his doorstep.” She turned to the passage into the arena. “We came to spy on him. Let’s do it.”

  Ashi stayed with Moon. Dandra was certain her blow would keep him unconscious long enough for them to get into and out of the arena, but they couldn’t take the chance that he might wake. If Virikhad was still in control of the young man, he’d certainly try to betray them—and if he wasn’t, there was a strong chance that Moon would wake to the same screaming violence as Erimelk. Dandra almost thought that she saw his lips twitch, as if some part of him was still singing the killing song, even as she and Singe stepped into the passage.

  The idea of the insidious song’s hold on him only stiffened her resolve. Maybe Virikhad and Dah’mir weren’t working together, but if Tetkashtai’s lover was secretly helping the dragon, perhaps there was some connection between his plots and the dragon’s. Maybe they could even find a way to aid the victims of the killing song.

  Or maybe not, she reminded herself. All of the kalashtar elders hadn’t been able to trace the source of the killing song, let alone aid its victims. Maybe she knew what—or who—was causing the song, but there were still too many pieces missing. Like how Virikhad had come to be in Sharn, waiting for them, or how he’d survived at all.

  Or why he wasn’t still the screaming, shattered mind she’d unleashed against Medala.

  A hand touched her shoulder. She looked up at Singe. The wizard’s face was somber. “Are you all right?” he murmured. “Ashi could come with me if you want to stay with Moon.”

  Dandra lifted her chin and stepped into the air. “Not a chance.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  If Kobus had expected Geth to stand in surprise or to lunge for the obvious threat, he was wrong. The instant of anticipation passed and battle burst over Geth. He whirled, spinning hard to the left and putting the entire weight of his body into a punch at one of the warriors who had walked on that side of him. The warrior had been drawing an axe from his belt, but Geth’s gauntleted fist took him in the side of the face. Bone cracked and skin split. Blood flashed on the air. The warrior went down, stunned, and Geth leaped through the opening he had made in the closing circle, drawing Wrath as he moved.

  “Garu’s eye, he knew!” yelped one of the warriors. “How did he know?”

  “Where’s Batul?” asked Pog.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Kobus growled. Geth couldn’t tell which question he was answering. The big orc stalked forward, double axe at the ready. The weapon looked as vicious as Kobus himself: two battle-axes, each with a two broad heads, mounted at either end of a stout wooden shaft as thick as a woman’s wrist. Four sharp edges gleaming in the dull light. The other orcs were armed with lesser axes and heavy-bladed swords. The warrior Geth had taken down staggered back to his feet, blood coursing from a now misshapen face. His eyes were tiny and intent. Even Pog watched Geth with a cold hatred.

  They reminded Geth of wolve
s circling their prey. Seven big, well-armed wolves—and in their pinprick eyes, he was certain he could see Medala’s mad malevolence. Gauntlet raised, Wrath ready, he watched them warily.

  “Close around him,” said Kobus. “Don’t let him through. The tainted beast-blood isn’t leaving these trees alive—”

  A low snarl crept out of Geth’s throat. One of the largest trees in the stand was just behind him. He stepped back against it and swept his arms wide, sword and gauntlet pointed at the nearest warriors. Kobus stopped and his eyes narrowed.

  “He can understand us,” he said. He thrust his tusks forward. “Understand this, friend. You might have fooled us for a night, you might have fooled Batul, but you fool no one now. Whatever power you had has failed. We see you for what you are: an agent of the daelkyr. You die here. The horde of Angry Eyes will march—and we’ll carry your head on a pole before us!”

  Geth clenched his teeth. His gut ached. If Ekhaas had been here, she might have been able to talk some sense into the warriors. She might have been able to break Medala’s hold on them. These were warriors he had drunk and sung with, whose campfires he had shared. “No!” he spat. They wouldn’t be able to understand anything he said, but he had to try. Memories of Pog offering him ale, of Kobus slapping him after their fight, were raw on his soul. “This is Medala’s doing! She’s your enemy, not me!” He spoke two words loud and slow. “Medala … enemy.”

  His words fell on uncomprehending ears. Kobus grimaced and drew back as if in disgust at the alien words. Fear flashed in the eyes of one orc. “Magic! He’s trying to put his power on us again!” He screamed a battle cry and threw himself forward, axe swept back to strike.

  It was a killing blow. Geth reacted the way he had to. He lunged forward, and Wrath flashed as he snapped his arm back across his body. The forked tip of the extended sword tore into the warrior’s shoulder and chest. Taut muscles broke beneath the blade. The orc’s arm, pulled by the muscles of his back, seemed to wrench itself backward for a moment before Wrath’s fork caught his throat and severed his windpipe. The warrior stumbled in surprise before finally collapsing, blood spreading out in a flood.