Further down the hall, Chuut and half a dozen other ogres burst out from one of the side corridors, weapons drawn and alarm on their faces-alarm that only grew deeper at the sight of Dah’mir in the courtyard. One of the ogres gave a yelp of terror and staggered back, but Tzaryan was already shouting terse orders in the ogres’ deep language. Chuut recovered himself with the discipline of House Deneith training. Slapping at his squad, he drove them on across the hall and toward the corridor down which Ashi had turned.
Herons were settling back onto the walls of the courtyard. Robrand was still standing frozen against the door he had opened, staring at Dah’mir in shock. His mouth worked in silent motion before he managed to force out words. “Dol Dorn’s mighty fist-!”
“Collect yourself, General!” said Tzaryan. “Dah’mir is our guest.” The ogre mage turned to the dragon. “My ogres will bring them back. They won’t escape.”
“See that they don’t.” Dah’mir’s head turned. “Don’t just stand there. This lethargy won’t last long. Seize them!”
To Dah’mir’s left, two figures emerged from the shadows to reach for Natrac and Orshok. One was Vennet, though the half-elf’s bloodstained clothes and bright, mad eyes scarcely matched Singe’s last glimpse of him. Behind him was Chain, freed from his cell in the dungeon. And to Dah’mir’s right …
A cold sweat broke out on Singe’s skin. At first all he saw were licking, flickering flames and glowing embers, stark against the night, then he saw past the brightness. He stared at a burning corpse, risen from ashes. And not just any corpse. Tongues of flame took the place of tendrils and tentacles. Charred flesh marked hollows in an eyeless face. Below them, a thin mouth twisted in hate.
“No,” Singe croaked. “You’re dead.”
Hruucan lunged forward, fiery shoulder tentacles lashing through the air. Singe tried to raise his rapier. He could feel the sluggishness inflicted by Dah’mir’s breath already starting to pass, but Hruucan had been faster than him before and now he seemed to move like the wind. One extended tentacle whirled past Singe’s face. The wizard lifted his rapier higher-and the other tentacle slammed across his belly.
The ring that he wore on his left hand glittered greedily, devouring the heat of the flame before it could burn him, just as it had protected him from the fiery spell he had used to kill the dolgaunt. There was more than fire in Hruucan’s blow, though. The tentacle punched into his gut and seemed to wrench something out of him. A sudden flash of weakness that he felt in his very core sent him staggering back. Hruucan’s tentacles whirled up for another strike.
“Hruucan!” snapped Dah’mir. The dragon’s wings flapped and furled, sending a gust of wind across the courtyard. His herons stirred in an echo of his irritation. “I said seize, not attack!”
The dolgaunt froze like a serpent. “I’ve waited, Dah’mir! Give me my revenge!”
“Wait a little longer,” Dah’mir said.
Singe saw Robrand swallow, then dart forward. With swift efficiency, he grabbed Singe’s arm before anyone else could. Still reeling from the dolgaunt’s attack, Singe couldn’t put up any resistance. Robrand seized his arm and twisted it in a lock-for a moment bringing his lips close to Singe’s ear.
“I didn’t know about this!” he whispered quickly. “Dol Arrah’s oath, Etan, I swear it!”
Singe forced himself to suck in breath. “Help us!” he answered in a soft gasp. When Robrand reached for his rapier to disarm him, he let him take it.
“I have this one, my lord,” the old man said out loud. Tzaryan nodded his approval. Hruucan hissed, but backed down.
Chain had Orshok in his grasp and the druid’s hunda stick was on the ground. Vennet held Natrac at the end of his cutlass. His eyes flashed merrily. “Like old times, Natrac,” he said. “I like the knife. Very ingenious.”
“Da ga shek erat,” Orshok snarled.
Vennet’s face hardened. “Watch your tongue. I’d be happy to set you up for a matching set of cutlery.”
He fell silent as a rumble grew out of Dah’mir’s belly. The dragon rose and paced forward. Singe could feel every footfall through the stone floor. Dah’mir looked down on them. “There’s one unaccounted for,” he said. “Where’s Geth?”
Tzaryan repeated Robrand’s news of Geth’s flight with Ekhaas. The rumble deepened. “Find him for me, Tzaryan,” said Dah’mir. “I owe him a special debt.” He lowered his head until his eyes stared into Singe’s. “It was a mistake coming here, Singe. Once I learned where you were going, I knew exactly what you were trying to do.”
Singe shivered as Dah’mir’s acrid breath whispered across his face. From the corner of his eye, he saw Orshok turn pale. “How did you know we were coming here?” the young orc asked. There was fear in his face. Singe felt an echo of it. Who knew they had been headed to Tzaryan Keep-or even that they were looking for the Spires of the Forge? Had Dah’mir found Bava after all? Had he somehow tracked down Batul and Krepis?
Vennet answered for the dragon. “A good sailor obeys his captain,” he said. His lips twitched slightly. “Karth was a good sailor in the end.”
The crusted blood that stained Vennet’s clothes. “Lightning on Water …” Singe breathed.
Vennet turned his smile on him. “… never made it to Sharn,” he finished for him. “Although I’m sure Marolis still had her on course right up until I split him open.”
Dread and disgust squeezed Singe’s chest. “Twelve moons, Vennet, your own crew? Your ship?”
“A ship?” Vennet’s voice rose and broke. “What need do I have of a ship when soon I’ll have command of the wind itself?” He shrugged with his free arm and his open shirt slipped down to expose part of his shoulders and back. “Do you see the power of the Dragon Below? My dragonmark grows. By the blessing of the master of my master, I will bear the Siberys Mark of Storm!”
Singe felt Robrand stiffen and mutter a curse of disgust. Orshok looked away. The bright pattern of Vennet’s dragonmark was red and inflamed, as if he had been scratching at it. Patches were crusted with scabs. An open sore over his shoulder blade oozed thin liquid and pus. If the mark had actually grown, though, Singe couldn’t see it.
Dah’mir’s blunt muzzle opened in something like a grin. “I hope you found what you were looking for in Taruuzh Kraat. Do you think it was worth the price?”
A spark of anger rekindled itself in Singe’s gut. He clenched his jaw and met the dragon’s gaze with grim determination. “We found Marg’s device and his ravings. We know Taruuzh’s story.” He narrowed his eyes and added, “We know that the magic of the binding stone is the same magic that defeated the Master of Silence. Your master.”
Less than an armslength from his face, teeth larger than knives clashed together. “Ironic,” Dah’mir said, “isn’t it? My master’s servants will be born from his defeat.”
Singe forced himself to stand tall when every instinct urged him to cower. “The binding stone that Marg made is broken. Dandra smashed it.”
“So I have found.” Dah’mir’s eyes shone. “But I studied the great stone for two hundred years. I understand the magic better than Marg ever did and I have centuries more to perfect it. I will create another.”
“If you could,” said Singe, “you would have already.”
Dah’mir reared back with a furious roar. Hruucan looked enraged at Singe’s defiance. His fiery tentacles struck the air like angry serpents and he lunged forward, but one of Dah’mir’s thick legs slammed down between him and Singe with such force that the stones underfoot cracked. Hruucan reeled away. Singe staggered, falling back against Robrand. Dah’mir glared down at him. “I didn’t have Dandra and Tektashtai to study before.”
Singe swallowed and staggered back to his feet. “You still don’t!”
“Be glad of that,” Dah’mir said, grinding the words between his teeth, “or I would already have given you to Hruucan.”