It had been Fause who’d let mention of their mysterious ally slip to the green-eyed man. Singe had glimpsed anger in Dah’mir’s face at mention of the orc’s interference, though he’d acted as if it was nothing. The wizard looked up at Ashi. “Why are you holding back?”
Ashi glared at him. “Perhaps it makes me happy to know something that they do not,” she said. “We are taught that Dah’mir is all-knowing and infallible, one of the favored servants of the great powers of the Dragon Below-even speaking his name out loud is forbidden among the clan. But when he set Medala, an outclanner, above his people, I doubted. As I doubted when he set Hruucan to lead the hunters after I was sent to follow you.”
“So you know that Dah’mir isn’t infallible,” said Singe. He leaned forward. “And if he wrong about one thing, it might be that he was wrong about something else.”
Ashi’s eyes narrowed. “I may not like Medala, outclanner,” she said, “but if you’re trying to turn me against my clan, you will fail. And Dah’mir is the heart of the Bonetree clan. I may doubt, but from the day we’re born, we’re taught to revere him!”
“From the day you’re born?” Singe blinked and twisted to look at Dah’mir. The man had a strangely ageless quality about him, but he was no more than decade older than Singe was himself. “Ashi,” he said in mocking disbelief, “maybe you were taught that way, but think-your parents wouldn’t have known Dah’mir as anything but a young man!”
Ashi snorted. “Now you’re the one who’s wrong about something. Did you think Dah’mir was some trickster-priest taking advantage of our beliefs?” She rose. “He created the Bonetree. He has shaped and guided the clan for more than ten generations.”
For a moment, Singe gaped at her. “What-? How?”
“He’s favored by the Dragon Below,” said Ashi. “Do you need to know more?”
She turned away as Singe sat back, stunned, his nascent plan of exploiting her dislike for Medala shaken. Ten generations, he thought in wonder. Elves lived that long, and dwarves sometimes too, but even they carried their years in their face and eyes. Dah’mir was neither elf nor dwarf, and his acid-green eyes were as bright as a youth’s. One of the undead might exist unchanging for so long, but the undead didn’t bask in the light of day as Dah’mir did.
“Twelve bloody moons,” he breathed. In all that Dandra had described, he had never thought that they might be facing someone so ancient! Was that the secret of his unnatural presence and his power over the kalashtar? What other secrets, he wondered, lay behind those acid-green eyes? He looked around Ashi.
She was standing less than a pace away, her eyes raised to the sky and the rising moons. Singe followed her gaze-and drew a sharp breath.
Silhouetted against the silver glow of the night sky, circling down to land near the campsite, was a heron, its legs dangling and its long neck folded back on itself. The bird landed beyond the firelight, but he could see that its feathers were black and greasy, When it cocked its head, its eyes flashed green. Singe saw Dah’mir glance toward the bird and give an almost imperceptible nod.
Ashi took a fast step back to Singe and Dandra. “Don’t move, outclanner. As you value your life, don’t move!”
Bonetree hunters burst out of the night all around the campsite, screaming and howling their battle cries. Knives, spears, and clubs flashed. The cultists who had come from Zarash’ak leaped to their feet instantly, stumbling over each other in frightened surprise. They weren’t unarmed, though, and they snatched up weapons quickly. Confusion surged across the campsite as they met the hunters’ unexpected attack.
Singe looked up at Ashi, standing in front of them, her arms spread wide to let the attackers know that he and Dandra were her prisoners. His rapier and Dandra’s spear were strapped across her back. For two days the weapons had been tantalizingly close, but Ashi had never been so distracted as this before! For a moment, Singe gauged his chances of seizing his rapier and making a break for the boats the cultists had drawn up at the river’s marshy edge beyond the camp.
Then he looked at the attacking hunters again and let the idea fall away. Five of the eight cultists were already down, skulls smashed in, throats slit, or chests run through. Seeing Dah’mir and Medala still seated calmly by the fireside, one of the cultists attempted to surrender, dropping her weapon and throwing up her hands.
A long knife opened a gash from her chest to her belly. Another cultist went down to the combined attack of two hunters, their clubs rising and falling in horrible rhythm. Fause and the final cultist spun around, back to back, facing the closing ring of hunters.
“Dah’mir!” Fause called desperately as recognition seemed to finally sink into him. “These are your followers! Call them off!”
The green-eyed man shrugged. “I only need one escort, Fause-and unfortunately, the Bonetree tend to be jealous folk.”
The cult-leader cursed and raised his hands, trying to cast a prayer to the foul powers he followed. A club spun out of the ring and hit his head with a hard, hollow sound. He staggered-then straightened as another hunter thrust a spear into his body. The last cultist screamed, but the hunters closed in and dragged him to the ground. His screams ended in an ugly, bloody bubbling noise.
Dah’mir rose at last, holding out his hands in blessing. The hunters broke away from their victims to kneel before him. Singe stared.
They were all children, gangling and awkward adolescents-though there was nothing awkward in the way they had wielded their weapons. All displayed tattoos and piercings, just as the adult hunters had. All looked lean and tough. Ashi glanced down at Singe and gave him a thin grin. “The elder hunters were sent in pursuit of Tetkashtai,” she said. “The next generation takes their place while they are gone.”
Some of the young hunters turned toward him and Singe shivered at the intensity in their blood-spattered faces. Ashi drew her sword and raised it before them. “Su Drumas!” she called.
“Su Darasvhir!” the hunters shouted back. They spun away from Ashi to raise their weapons to Dah’mir-and to Medala. “Su Darasvhir!”
Singe saw Ashi stiffen. He leaned closer toward her. “What is it?” he asked her.
“They’ve changed since I’ve been gone,” Ashi said. She stared at the hunters as Dah’mir dismissed them. The young men and women moved swiftly, hauling up the bodies of the cultists and dragging them away from the campsite.
“You said Dah’mir has shaped the Bonetree clan,” Singe pointed out. “What do you think he’s shaping it into?”
“Close your mouth!” the big hunter snapped. She squatted down, her face troubled. Singe hesitated, then shifted a little closer.
“Maybe they’re not the ones who’ve changed,” he murmured. Ashi tensed and Singe flinched back in anticipation of a blow, but Ashi didn’t move. He slid back again. “While you tracked us to Yrlag and while we were on Vennet’s ship-was that the first time you’d been away from the clan?”
“I said close your mouth.” Ashi stood. She glared down at him. “You should start to learn the ways of the Bonetree,” she said. “You’ll need to.”
“What are you talking about?” Singe demanded-but a vile suspicion was already growing in him. “Twelve moons,” he cursed in disbelief. “Dah’mir’s plans for me … he wants to bring me into the clan?”
“How did you think he shapes the Bonetree?” growled Ashi. She stalked away, leaving Singe to turn and stare at the savage youths of the clan.
Geth’s eyes twitched open to a hot white light that stabbed all the way through into his brain. He whined and squeezed them shut again, but the light pierced his eyelids. He tried to fling up an arm to cover his face, but he couldn’t move. Something held his arms at his side. Every muscle and joint in his body ached; every inch of his skin burned. Under the metal of his gauntlet, his right arm felt like it was itching and crawling. His whine rose into an uncontrollable howl. He twisted desperately-and the twisting seemed to shake his entire world.