The next evening Natrac had approached Orshok with a long knife begged from one of the raiders and asked for the young druid’s help. A prayer from Orshok had tapped into nature’s power, shaping and smoothing a piece of wood into a long shape like an oversized drinking cup with the knife blade sticking out of the closed end. Geth had guessed what they were doing and offered suggestions learned from his gauntlet. By the morning, Natrac had a wicked, if crude, weapon to lock over his severed wrist and take the place of his missing hand. “Dol Dorn’s mighty fist,” he’d rumbled with delight, “that’s more like it!”
The way that he strode along, lopping off the nodding heads of grass stalks and thistles, filled Geth with a confidence he hadn’t felt since … since he’d tracked two displacer beasts through the valley beyond Bull Hollow with Adolan. He bared his teeth and let a soft growl loose into the gathering night.
Up ahead, though, the scouting orcs were hunkered down, refusing to move forward. Geth moved forward. “What is it?” he asked. One of the scouts grunted out an answer.
“He says there’s a ghost in the copse ahead,” translated Natrac. “They’ve all heard it. They can’t go on until Batul’s examined it.”
Geth looked at the small cluster of trees maybe a hundred paces ahead that had inspired such fear in the orcs. It didn’t look like there was anything unusual about it, but it stood just below the crest of a low rise from which, Batul said, they would be able to get a good look on the Bonetree encampment. Geth could already smell the smoke of fires. He glanced back-Batul was still a distance behind them-then at Orshok and Krepis. “We need to get to that rise. Do we have to wait for Batul?”
Both looked taken aback at the question. Geth grimaced. Ever since Jhegesh Dol, he’d discovered while orcs could be great warriors and powerful druids, they also tended to be superstitious and skittish about ghosts and spirits. “Wait here then,” the shifter grumbled. “I’ll look myself.”
He jogged past the squatting orcs and toward the copse. Halfway there, he could hear the eerie noise that had frightened the scouts, a soft and almost musical clacking. Geth clenched his fist inside his great-gauntlet and touched Adolan’s collar with his free hand. The stones were as warm as the evening air. He walked on, a little more cautiously. There was no one in the copse and no visible source for the haunting sound-at least not until he was practically under the trees themselves.
Hung up among the branches and hidden by the leaves were dozens of dry bones, most of them human and orc, a few clearly more monstrous. As they stirred in the rising wind, they struck each other like macabre wind chimes.
“The enemies of the Bonetree-”
Geth stifled a yelp of surprise at the sound of a soft voice behind him and whirled around, his gauntlet leaping up protectively. Batul leaned calmly on his hunda stick, looking at him. “And the source of their name,” he finished. He nodded at Geth’s left hand, still in the act of reaching for his waist. “You have two weapons there,” the old orc commented. “Which were you going to draw?”
The shifter glanced down. The ancient Dhakaani blade he’d seized in Jhegesh Dol hung from his belt in a makeshift sheath; the heavy, jagged sword felt good in his grasp and he’d elected to keep it. Batul had approved the choice.
But hanging next to the ancient weapon was the pouch that contained Dandra’s psicrystal and Tetkashtai. The pouch was tightly knotted-there was no way that he could have touched the crystal-but a chill still passed through Geth as he realized that it had been the pouch and not the sword that he had been reaching for. He pulled his hand away, his teeth bared.
“I feel Tetkashtai in there, Batul,” he said. “Ever since I held the crystal in Jhegesh Dol, I’ve been aware of her, slowly going mad from her imprisonment. It’s like a thread of the connection between us is still there.”
“Until you can give the crystal to Dandra,” Batul replied, “you’d do better to remember your other weapons.” He stretched out his hunda and tapped the black metal of the great gauntlet, then the purplish metal of the Dhakaani sword. “That sword is forged from a metal called byeshk. It was made for killing aberrations like the daelkyr and their creations. Use it well tonight and you may live until morning.” The druid turned from the clacking bone trees. “Let’s have a look at what we’re facing.”
They crawled up the rise, stretching themselves out on the ground to avoid making a silhouette against the sky. When they reached the crest, Geth raised his head and looked over. The mound was close, so close he could see the grass on it bend in waves before the wind. To the right was the river and the ugly, rough shelters of the Bonetree clan’s encampment.
All the members of the clan, however, were crowded into the stretch of ground that separated the camp from the mound. A number of tall torches stood in the center of the crowd. The rise was high enough that Geth could tell that they lit a broad, flat open space with the crowd gathered like spectators.
The humans of the Bonetree weren’t the only ones in the crowd, though. He could see the squat, four-armed shapes of dolgrims. clustered with them, especially toward the mound. Like the humans, they were shifting and unsteady with excitement.
“What is this?” Geth growled at Batul. The old orc shook his head.
“They’re waiting for something. A ritual fight maybe.” Geth almost choked. “Singe or Dandra?”
“Not likely Dandra.” Batul’s eyes narrowed. “Singe maybe. Or maybe not.” He gave Geth a hard look. “Don’t let it distract you.”
The shifter drew a harsh breath and nodded. He turned back to the mound and picked out the dark mouth in its side that he recalled from Dandra’s memories. It faced toward the crowd, but wasn’t so close that the crowd was likely to interfere if they were fast and stealthy. In fact, whatever event the humans and dolgrims had assembled for could even serve as a distraction from their approach. He stretched out his arm and pointed. “The mound isn’t all that high. We’ll come in from the west. Orshok, Krepis, Natrac, and the raiders you’ve picked out will come with me around the side of the mound. You and the rest climb the back of the mound. My group will take any guards at the mouth of the mound. Once we’re inside, you attack from the high ground and keep everyone busy.”
Batul nodded. “Dagga. That sounds good. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? You may need my help.”
Geth reached down and rapped his gauntlet against the hilt of the Dhakaani sword. “Tak, but I’ve got all the help I need.” He glanced up as another black heron flew low overhead and circled down toward the river’s edge.
The door-or rather the collection of crudely lashed together timbers that had been placed over the doorway-shuddered and was pulled aside. Voices outside spoke the language of the Bonetree and then Ashi ducked through the low opening-and froze.
“Come in,” said Singe from the other side of the darkened shelter. “I’d offer you something to eat, but the larder’s empty.” He held up his hands, trembling fingers poised and ready to throw a spell. “If you’re cold, though, I could warm things up.”
Ashi didn’t move. Neither did he.
After a long moment, Ashi swallowed. “Dah’mir will know if you use magic,” she said softly. “Medala will come. You can’t escape.”
“I can try,” Singe told her. “If I die, at least it would be better than living like this.” He nodded around the hut. The walls had gaps, the tent-like ceiling had rips. The floor was dirt. The whole place smelled of mice and human sweat. “Especially if Hruucan has his way with me.”
Ashi’s face tightened. “At least you’re not just killing yourself.”
“I considered it. Then I thought, no, what would Ashi think?” His voice cracked.
The hunter took a step forward. “Singe …” she said. His hands tensed. A spell rose on his tongue. She froze again. Singe could feel his chest heaving.