The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III (15 page)

“I’ve been to the lodge. No one enters except at the word of a druid. The vaults of Volaar Draal aren’t sealed so tight. While the horde simmers, the Gatekeepers stew in their own juices.”

“Wolf and Rat, we have to do something!”

“Do we?” Ekhaas looked at him. “What danger is there? It seems that Medala—and again, we don’t know for certain that it is her—is working toward the same goals as the Gatekeepers.”

“Maybe I just don’t like idea of her messing with my mind!” Geth snapped. The hair on his arms and on the back of his neck was rising.

“I’ll agree to that, whether it’s Medala or not—”

Geth snarled at the hobgoblin. “Stop saying that! It has to be her. Who else could it be?”

She gave him a cool stare. “There are many things beneath
the moons of Eberron that are capable of twisting the thoughts in your head, Geth. A
duur’kala
of no great power could make you grovel.” He bared his teeth at her, but she only smiled, showing her own teeth. “A
duur’kala
would have better sense than to try—control often leaves anger behind.” She looked thoughtfully across the camp. “I will admit, though, that I can’t think of any better explanation for what’s happening here than Medala’s influence. Maybe there is something we can do.”

Geth followed her gaze. The night’s celebrations had left his sense of the camp’s layout confused, but he couldn’t forget what lay in the direction Ekhaas stared: Medala’s tent. His rising hair bristled. “Tiger’s blood! I hope you’re going to say we can kill her.”

“She’s allied herself with the Gatekeepers. We can’t kill her.” Ekhaas stood. “But we can talk to her, perhaps confirm our suspicions.”

“I don’t need them confirmed. Ekhaas, did you
listen
to the stories we told you about her? If she does still have her powers, she’s dangerous—and capable of cutting right through Gatekeeper magic.”

“Then it’s fortunate I’m not a Gatekeeper. A
duur’kala
can protect herself. If you want to count a tiger’s teeth, you have to put your head in its mouth.” Ekhaas’s grin turned mocking. “If you want to come with me, my magic can protect you too.”

He growled at her again, guzzled his water, then flung the mug away and climbed to his feet. “I’m coming,” he said. The idea made his stomach twist, though not so much as the thought of doing nothing.

The way to Medala’s tent also led past the tent Batul had assigned to them. Geth ducked inside while Ekhaas waited, dug a shirt that didn’t reek of orcish ale out of his pack and pulled it on, then opened the bundle that contained his great gauntlet. It was the work of only moments to pull on the armored sleeve and adjust the straps that held it in place. He clenched his right fist as he stepped out of the tent, savoring the clash of metal on metal. Ekhaas raised an eyebrow.

“That won’t protect you from psionic attack,” she said.

He bared his teeth. “Maybe not, but it makes me feel better, and it’s a weapon I don’t have to draw if Medala tries something, and
duur’kala
magic turns out to be no better than Gatekeeper magic.”

She gave him a baleful look.

The sight of the black metal gauntlet attracted stares and calls of appreciation for a fine weapon as they crossed the camp. Ekhaas glowered at every call, but Geth felt a certain pride at the attention. It had been a long time since he’d thought of himself as a hero. It felt good.

“You’re swaggering,” Ekhaas observed after a time.

“What about it?”

“I wonder if it could be a symptom of the manipulation. We need to be careful. We need to be aware of what we do.”

Geth’s warm pride vanished in a bitter chill. Batul had something similar, hadn’t he? Geth struggled against the warning. “It’s not all manipulation, is it?” he asked. “You said what’s happening is based on what we already feel.”

Ekhaas glanced at him, and her expression seemed to soften for a moment. “Based on, yes,” she said. “But the best lies have a kernel of truth, even the lies we tell ourselves.”

Before he could begin to puzzle out what she meant by that, she began to sing.

He’d experienced the touch of
duur’kala
magic before. Ekhaas’s songs had an ancient power in them, something that seemed to echo the music of creation. She’d used her magic to heal him, and it felt like his body had been dipped in sunlight. She’d used magic to speed their travel across the Shadow Marches, and he’d felt as though he could have kept pace with the eternal march of the moons.

The song that she sang now was different again. Geth felt it dip down into him and draw up something sharp and clear, like water from a deep well. A dullness he hadn’t even been aware of seemed to slip away. Even when Ekhaas stopped singing, the echoes of her song lingered in his mind. Geth took a deep breath and felt more focused than he ever had before. “Grandmother Wolf! Is this like the power of Ashi’s dragonmark?”

“Similar, but not so powerful,” Ekhaas told him. “It’s probably
more akin to the magic in your collar, but without the vulnerability of Gatekeeper magic.”

Geth looked around, marveling at the sense of clarity the song had brought with it, then stopped sharply. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “You had an audience.”

Up ahead was Medala’s isolated tent, its flap folded open against its painted walls. Medala stood in the gap. By daylight, she looked even thinner and more wretched than before. When Dandra had first shared her story with him and Singe, she had drawn them into the mental link of
kesh
and shown them memories of the woman Medala had been before falling prey to Dah’mir. Medalashana had been a studious, slightly plump woman with a sharp and curious mind. There seemed little of her left in Medala, Geth thought.

Her piercing eyes were fixed on them. As soon as Ekhaas looked up, the kalashtar smiled and vanished back into the tent.

Ekhaas’s ears lay back.
“Khaavolaar.”

Geth shrugged. “We couldn’t exactly have surprised her anyway,” he said. He braced himself and marched forward.

The warriors standing guard over Medala’s tent were not the same ones as had been there the night before, but they wore identical expressions of frustration with the duty. They watched Geth and Ekhaas approach, but made no move to stop them as they passed. Geth stopped at the flap of the tent. “Medala!” he called.

There was no response.

“Medala!” he said again. “We’re here to talk to you.”

“Then come in and talk.” Medala’s response emerged from the tent like a dry breeze. “Unless you’re too frightened of me.”

Geth glanced at Ekhaas. She jerked her head at the flap, and he ducked his head and entered the tent. Medala was once again seated on her sleeping platform, her eyes dead as she watched them. Geth watched her in return. Was it his imagination, or did her eyes flicker with annoyance as Ekhaas followed him inside? He didn’t have a chance to ask any further. Medala glared at both of them.

“You shield yourselves,” she said. “You suspect me.”

Ekhaas’s cedar smoke voice was calm. “You’re mistaken, kalashtar. The spell I sang was meant only to clear the fog of ale from Geth’s thick mind.”

Geth’s back stiffened at the comment. If Ekhaas had hoped that insulting him would earn approval from Medala, though, her plan failed completely. Medala gave her a withering look. “Don’t try to trick me,
hobgoblin
. I know more of the mind than you could ever learn.” This time, Ekhaas stiffened. Medala’s dark eyes glittered in the gloom of the tent. “Why should my enemies come before me with their thoughts armored like knights of Thrane? Why should they fear someone who has lost her powers?” She sat forward. “Answer me those questions, Ekhaas
duur’kala.”

Geth flinched and bared his teeth. Batul hadn’t introduced the hobgoblin when he’d shown Medala to them the night before. He was certain of it. Ekhaas just drew herself up and met Medala’s eyes. “You know my name. How?”

“You already know or you wouldn’t have shielded yourself.” Medala settled back like a queen on a throne. “The minds of the Gatekeepers aren’t so well-protected or disciplined as they believe.”

“Grandmother Wolf!” Even with Ekhaas’s magic echoing in him, cold dread filled Geth. He ripped Wrath from his scabbard and held the sword tight. “You admit it? You still have your powers?”

She looked at him and his twilight-purple blade without even blinking. “Why should I hide the truth from those who see it?” she asked. Her lips twisted in a bitter grimace. “No one fears the weak—or those they believe to be weak. But who would have trusted Medala if they knew she was strong? This prison the druids have created couldn’t hold me if I chose to leave. The only chains on me are the ones I forge from my own need. I cannot take my revenge on Dah’mir and the Master of Silence alone.
I must have allies!”

Foamy spittle flecked her lips. Her fingers clenched the orc clothing she wore and gouged at the flesh beneath. Muscles stood out beneath the fine skin of her neck and face. The memory of what she had once done to him—pierced him through with pain and stopped his breath with her will
alone—forced Geth back a step and brought Wrath a little higher, ready to fall.

Ekhaas stood firm, though her ears were pressed back and Geth could see that her hands weren’t far from her own sword. “So you pull on the emotions of the orcs,” she said. “You push at the Gatekeepers. You send the horde dreams of glorious battle.”

Medala’s neck almost creaked as she turned her head to look at the hobgoblin. “Dreams are forbidden to kalashtar—we are the exiles of Dal Quor—but that doesn’t mean we don’t understand the power of dreams. I may not be able to see into the dreams of others, but I can whisper in their ears.” The tension seemed to drain out of her as she talked until she seemed almost calm again. “I make the horde stronger. My powers bring the orcs a unity greater than they have known since the time of the Daelkyr War. The Gatekeepers have fallen far in ten thousand years. I don’t know that they could bring together a force capable of dealing with a daelkyr, even one still bound by the magics of the ancestors, on their own.”

She drew a deep breath and met Geth’s eyes over his sword. “Will you strike down an ally who can turn the coming battle in your favor?”

Geth ground his teeth together. His sword trembled. “You? Yes,” he growled. “We brought the same warning you did. The Gatekeepers know about the danger from the Master of Silence. If you die, the horde will still march!”

Medala lifted her head. “But will it march in time?”

Her fearless, arrogant face brought out all of Geth’s fury at being forced to stand and talk with a woman who deserved to be dead. Wrath snapped back and flashed forward.

Ekhaas’s sword flashed as well. In less than a heartbeat, she drew the weapon and thrust it forward—across Wrath. Though the two swords had been forged thousands of years apart, they were both of Dhakaani design, with one edge smooth and the other jagged. The jagged edges locked, and Ekhaas forced Geth’s killing blow aside.

“Kravait!”
she barked in Goblin. With Wrath in his hand, Geth understood the command.
“Stand down now!”

It was hard thing not to pull his sword free and strike again,
but he managed it. Ekhaas thought more quickly than he did. The words that might have been Medala’s last rolled in the pit of his stomach. He stared at Medala. “What are you talking about? Why does it matter when the horde marches?”

The mad kalashtar hadn’t moved. Her expression hadn’t even changed. “Batul claims to see the future, but his gift is weak. I’ve seen the future too, but I looked on it with both eyes. When I said that Virikhad’s struggles to take control of me flung us into a place that was elsewhere, I kept some secrets to myself. Time moved differently in the place that he took us. We saw things there while we struggled. Events. Possibilities. Certainties.”

The pupils of Medala’s eyes had shrunk as if she stared into a bright light, and they seemed fixed on something very far in the distance. Her voice was soft. Geth felt the pressure from Ekhaas’s sword ease as she let her weapon fall away, but he didn’t try to raise Wrath again. He just listened.

“We saw,” she said, “Dah’mir’s wounding at your hand. We saw his weakness and his escape, your fear and your escape. Not everything was clear to us—only the entwined paths of those we hated. We saw when you and Dah’mir came together in Zarash’ak, but not what happened when you parted. We saw what happened in Taruuzh Kraat after a fashion. We saw Dah’mir’s seizing of the ancient binding stones. We saw the power of the dragonmark break Dah’mir’s hold on Dandra. We saw him flee, and we knew that he fled to Sharn—but that was when our struggled ended, and I was returned to the Bonetree mound.”

Pin-prick eyes shifted to focus on him. “All those things were possibilities that became certainties, but there were more possibilities that remained and three that I saw most clear. First, that my enemies would meet Dah’mir in Sharn. Second, that my enemies would meet me in this place, the Sharvat Vvaraak. Third—” She blinked and stopped.

“What?” asked Geth. “What was third?”

Medala looked at him. Her pupils had resumed a normal size and when she spoke, her voice was once again as harsh as sand. “Third, that Dah’mir might return to the Master of Silence.”