“I hid that I knew you weren’t Tetkashtai all the way from Zarash’ak,” she said after a moment. “I’m sorry for what I did to you, Dandra. Singe has shown me that Dah’mir isn’t what I thought he was. I want a new life and if you’ll let me, I’ll start it by making things right with you.”
Dandra stared at her. “I …”
“Dandra,” Ashi pleaded, “why else would I betray Dah’mir?”
The kalashtar clenched her teeth. “Start with this, then,” she said. “You said it’s too late to save Singe. Save him from what?”
“He’s fighting Hruucan,” Ashi answered. “Hruucan demanded it in revenge for the scars Singe inflicted on him.” She grimaced. “He won’t kill Singe-Dah’mir won’t let him-but he’ll cripple him. The Bonetree and all the children of Khyber are watching the fight. That’s why I was able to get in here. The mound’s empty!”
“It’s empty because Dah’mir’s preparing an ambush,” Dandra told her. “Geth survived Dah’mir’s attack in Zarash’ak and now he’s bringing an orc raid here to rescue Singe and I. They’re already in Bonetree territory but they’re walking into a trap.”
Ashi drew a sharp breath and her fists tightened. “There was no sign of a raid or an ambush laid when I entered the mound-but I heard fighting as I followed the tunnels. I thought it was some echo or ghost.”
Dandra’s throat tightened. “Light of il-Yannah.” It had started. “How quickly can you get me back to the surface?”
“I marked the way.” Ashi reached behind her back and pulled Dandra’s spear free of a harness. “I kept it,” she said. “A trophy at first, but now …” She held out the weapon.
Dandra took it. “Thank you,” she said. Holding the spear brought some of her determination back to her. She looked around Dah’mir’s laboratory, at the strange device with the blue-black shard in its heart, at Virikhad’s violet crystal. Dandra walked over to the crystal and held her hand above it. She could feel the faint spark of Tetkashtai’s old lover inside and for a moment a part of her itched to take up the crystal and make a connection with him. At the same time, though, she knew what even a short imprisonment had done to Tetkashtai and Medala. Virikhad had been locked inside his crystal without access to a body for far longer than either of them ever had. There was no telling how far he had fallen in his desperation.
“Dandra?” asked Ashi. She stood at the door of the laboratory.
“One moment.” Dandra lifted her hand. No matter what his mental state might be, she couldn’t leave Virikhad here. Steeling herself, she went over to the kalashtar’s withered body and tugged a pouch from his belt, then used the head of her spear to tap the violet crystal into it. She looked up at the Dah’mir’s strange device again.
She had tricked Tetkashtai into agreeing to return to Zarash’ak by hinting that perhaps there was a way to undo what Dah’mir had done to them. Now she was almost certain that there wasn’t. She and Tetkashtai were trapped as surely as Virikhad. Why had Dah’mir created such a terrible device? She might still be able to find a way to force the truth from the green-eyed man, but there was one thing she was certain of-the device should never have existed.
She didn’t have the strength or the time to destroy it, but maybe there was something she could do. Focusing her concentration on the dragonshard at the device’s center, she spun vayhatana around it and wrenched the shard free of the brass and crystal that surrounded it. The laboratory had a high ceiling. Dandra lifted the shard all the way up-then brought it crashing down as hard as she could.
It hit the floor of the laboratory with a shattering impact that echoed through the chamber. Dandra stepped forward and examined the deep crack that now ran through its heart with a fierce satisfaction. Ashi stepped up beside her to stare down in amazement.
“Now,” said Dandra, turning away from the ruined shard. “We can go.”
Singe hurt. When Hruucan’s tendrils had burrowed into him in Bull Hollow, it had seemed like the greatest agony of his life. When Medala’s powers had wracked him, he had thought that was a threshold of suffering. But Hruucan’s tendrils had only dug into his skin and Medala’s powers, for all that they felt real enough, had only acted upon his mind. Now Singe really hurt.
He hit the ground again. As he struggled for breath, Hruucan’s tentacles wrapped around his right calf and ripped through the fabric of his trousers to expose the soft flesh underneath. They dug in, making him scream-then they pulled, wrenching on his entire leg so hard that his scream broke. The crowd cheered. Singe kicked feebly at the tentacles with his free leg and Hruucan released him. For the moment.
The magical armor he had conjured was tough, but not impenetrable. Not all of the dolgaunt’s blows pierced its protection, but more than enough had. His arms and legs were blistered from Hruucan’s touch. His ribcage was sore and whenever he breathed deep a sharp pain burst inside him. His sides hurt where Hruucan’s blows had driven deep to bruise tender organs. All of his joints ached. His left shoulder had been dislocated-then cruelly popped back into place. One eye was swollen badly, he could taste dust mingling with blood on his lips, and all he could hear out of one ear was a loud ringing.
Even through the pain though, Singe knew that there were three parts of him that Hruucan hadn’t hurt badly-or at least not too badly. The dolgaunt hadn’t hurt his legs. He could still walk and fight. The dolgaunt hadn’t hurt his hands. He could still grip his rapier. And, except for the blow that still ached through his guts, the dolgaunt hadn’t hurt his groin. He would still be able to father children for the Bonetree clan.
None of his carefully prepared magic had helped him. Hruucan either shattered his spells before he could cast them or dodged the flames with uncanny speed.
Singe forced himself up onto his hands and knees, then groped for his rapier in the dirt and stumbled to his feet once more. “Come on,” he slurred at the waiting dolgaunt. “Give me another!”
Hruucan tensed, ready for another strike.
Before he could even move though, new shouts rose up from the crowd. For one brief, confused moment, Singe wondered if someone out there had finally started to cheer for him. Then it registered in this throbbing mind that the crowd was moving, turning away from the combatants in the ring to stare at something else. He lifted his aching head, trying to see beyond the glare of the high torches. Heat lightning had come to the night. When it flashed he caught a glimpse of fighting up on the top of the mound.
Something was happening below as well. Dah’mir was standing and shouting so loudly that the sound of his voice shuddered in Singe’s head. “The shifter! Bring the shifter to me!”
The crowd around the ring burst like a nest of baby spiders. Singe’s head swam. A shifter? The shifter? Crazy hope soared inside him. Geth had come for them!
Lightning flashed in sudden brilliance, throwing the shape that moved in front of him into stark relief. Singe blinked as thunder rolled. Hruucan still stood in the ring, tentacles streaming and swaying.
“We’re not done,” the dolgaunt rasped.
He leaped into the air and his legs snapped out. Both feet hit Singe’s aching chest, the dolgaunt’s entire weight behind them. Singe flew back to slam into one of the towering torch poles. He slid onto the ground, legs sprawled. Darkness swirled around him, threatening to draw him down.
No, he told himself, fighting to resist that pull. No! Not now!
Somewhere lightning flashed again. Singe’s head fell back against the pole, staring up at a sky that tossed in growing agitation-and at a long oil-soaked rag that had come loose from the torch above. It swayed back and forth in the wind, fat drops of flaming oil shaking off it and dripping down. Singe watched one splatter against his hand, the magic of his ring sucking the flame away before it burned him. A desperate plan formed in his head.