“Vennet! Tzaryan! Come forward and bring the prisoners.” So large that he took up half the space at the great chamber’s end, Dah’mir was a silhouette against a feeble light. The dragon crouched before the narrow mouth of a passage like a cat before a mouse hole. “I’m sure they’d like to say hello their friends.”
Tzaryan settled to the ground and turned around. “General!” he bellowed. “Troops forward! Bring down the prisoners!”
Robrand stiffened and turned back to look at Singe. The anger that had been in his face before had faded; he wore the expression of someone caught between two hard decisions. Singe’s stomach managed to rise again. For the first time since they’d been captured, their enemies had left them-only the ogres remained and they listened to their General. Once they were free, they still faced daunting odds, but they’d have a chance. They might still be able to rescue Ashi and Dandra and escape together. “Now, Robrand!” he hissed. “Help us now!”
The old man hesitated a moment too long.
With a look of desperation on his face, Chain stepped up behind him. Singe saw the flash of a dagger, then Chain had one arm around Robrand’s neck and the other at his back. “Let them go!” he ordered.
Robrand looked startled. The nearest ogres stood straight, their weapons snapping up. Chain wrenched Robrand around so that they could all see the dagger he held. “I can kill him with a thrust,” he said. “I haven’t seen a Deneith dragonmark that could stop a dagger that’s already tasting blood.” He jerked his head at the ogres holding Singe, Natrac, and Orshok. “Let them go now and get out of my way!”
“Chain?” called Vennet. The half-elf froze on the stairs and turned back to stare back up at them. “Storm at dawn, Chain, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Leaving, you bloody lunatic!” Chain snapped. He glared at the ogres. “I said let them go and get out of my way.”
“Chain, no!” Singe choked. “This isn’t what I meant-”
The ogres behind him stirred and parted. Chuut stepped out and faced Chain and his captive. “What do you want us to do, General?” he asked.
Robrand’s gaze darted to Singe, his eyes hard and flat. Singe’s stomach clenched. If Robrand chose, he could order them released. They would be free and his duty to Tzaryan would remain uncompromised. But there would be a price, Singe knew. “No,” he whispered. “Ashi … Dandra …”
Robrand looked back to Chuut. His mouth opened. He drew breath-
He never had the chance to speak. Over the edge of the balcony, a fiery glow like dawn appeared. Tentacles of flame rose up out of the darkness and struck with the speed of serpents, one wrapping Chain’s throat, the other around the arm that held the dagger. They wrenched on Chain, tearing him back away from Robrand. The old man fell forward. Chain stumbled backward and into Hruucan’s arms as the fiery dolgaunt climbed over the edge of the balcony. More tendrils enfolded the bounty hunter. Chain’s eyes opened in pain and a high, thin cry whistled from his constricted throat-then he burst into flames, writhing and struggling in Hruucan’s embrace.
His struggles ceased in only moments and the dolgaunt let him go. Chain’s burned corpse hit the ground in a spray of glowing embers.
Ogres stared in shock. Robrand sat frozen on the ground. Natrac’s face was pale. Orshok was shaking. Singe’s heart simply felt like a lump of stone. He lifted his head and stared at Hruucan. The dolgaunt’s inscrutable, eyeless face stared back at him.
“What was that?” roared Dah’mir from below.
“Mutiny,” Vennet called back. “It’s been dealt with.” He strode across the balcony and hauled Robrand to his feet. “I know you weren’t going to do anything stupid, were you, General? Get your crew moving!”
Robrand tore his eyes away from Chain. “Company forward,” he said, his voice strained.
If Singe had felt subdued before, he felt wretched now. They descended the stairs and crossed the great chamber. As they drew closer to Dah’mir, Singe could see that the passage beside which the dragon crouched opened through the tall statue of Taruuzh. The statue’s legs and the blade of the sword it held had been a cleverly hidden door, though now that door seemed to have been torn off and thrown aside. The ancient bones that had been Marg had been crushed and scattered. Singe couldn’t see more than a few feet into the passage, though; the light that shone out of it came from further inside. Heart beating wildly, he shouted out, “Dandra? Ashi?”
The ogre holding him grunted and gave him a jaw-rattling shake, but there was an answer from inside the passage-though not one he expected. “Singe!” Geth called back. “We’re here!”
“Enough of this,” said Dah’mir. He lifted one foreleg-Singe saw that it bore the long gash of a fresh wound-and pointed at the Grieving Tree. “Bring the prisoners around to face the passage and put them up on the platform.”
The ogres obeyed the dragon without further orders from Robrand. Singe found himself dumped on the broad platform on which the grieving tree stood, Natrac on one side of him, Orshok on the other. The ogres stepped back, leaving only Robrand standing below them like a grim honor guard. Dah’mir moved aside and Singe stared down the passage. Near its end, Dandra stood, one hand holding her spear, the other a fading torch. Her face was slack, her eyes on Dah’mir and Singe choked back a curse. He should have realized that she would have been caught by Dah’mir’s presence.
She had protectors, though. Around her stood Ashi, Ekhaas, and Geth. For just a moment, Singe actually felt buoyed up by the sight of the shifter. “Geth! Twelve bloody moons, you didn’t run!” He glanced down at Robrand-and felt a twist of confusion.
Their old commander’s face was flushed red with rage as he stared into the passage. “Impossible!” he spat. “Impossible!”
Vennet, meanwhile, sauntered up to the mouth of the passage and peered inside. “Well, there you are, Geth!” he said. “We were wondering what had happened to you.”
The shifter only growled at him. Vennet laughed and turned back around. “Tzaryan, what are you waiting for? Get your ogres in there!”
Alarm crossed Tzaryan’s face and he swung around to Dah’mir. “My ogres would be at a disadvantage!” he protested. “The space is too tight. Dah’mir, you can’t make them-”
“At ease, Tzaryan,” said Dah’mir. “No one is going in. Geth is going to come out and give me what I want.”
In the passage, Ekhaas started and leaned over to murmur something to Geth and Ashi. Singe saw Geth’s eyes go wide. “Tiger’s blood!” the shifter cursed.
Dah’mir gave an indulgent chuckle. “The hobgoblin has guessed what will happen. Tzaryan, who is she?”
“Her name is Ekhaas. She’s a duur’kala.”
“Ah.” Dah’mir peered into the tunnel. “Watch closely, duur’kala, and you’ll see something out of your legends.” He sat back and looked to the prisoners on the platform. “Do you know what it is you sit beneath?”
A chill spread through Singe. Ekhaas wasn’t the only one who could guess what would happen. “It’s a Grieving Tree,” he said to Dah’mir. “It’s a Dhakaani execution device.”
“Not just a Grieving Tree, Singe,” Dah’mir said. “The Grieving Tree. The very first one, created by Taruuzh. It’s also more than just a device. The original Grieving Trees were alive in their own way. They grew-that’s one reason why this one is so big. And like any living thing, they needed to be fed.” His acid-green eyes flashed. “This tree hasn’t been fed in a very long time.” He spoke a word that sounded like Goblin.
Singe felt a stirring at his back and twisted around.
The Grieving Tree was moving, the strangely curved stone segments that made up its trunk and limbs grinding as they rotated against each other. They shuddered and dipped as the tree flexed. Singe’s blood ran cold. Natrac choked and tried to squirm away. Dah’mir spoke another word.