Read Online The Binding Stone (The Dragon Below, Book 1) by Don Bassingthwaite - Free Book Online
Authors: Don Bassingthwaite
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Dandra yielded to the pull of the man who grasped her spear; a hard push shoved him off balance. As he fought to regain his balance, she wrenched her weapon from his hand, reversed it, and, with a grim expression, jabbed the glittering head deep into his chest.
Her last ally dead, the tattooed woman flung herself away, limping for the safety of the forest.
A short, heavy sword--already slick with blood--whirled around and chopped deep into her torso. She slumped forward, her body seeming to fold over the blade.
Geth stepped back into the circle of Singe's light, sliding his weapon free and allowing the woman's corpse to collapse onto the ground. He raised his eyes and met the wizard's gaze with a simple, brutal directness.
Abruptly, Singe felt as though he had fallen through time nine years into the past. The backcountry hunter he had confronted on the common of Bull Hollow had barely seemed like the warrior he remembered. That warrior stood before him now. Geth still wore the clothes he had before, but in his left hand, he held his sword, a product of the smoke-belching war forges of Karrnath.
His right hand and arm were covered in an armor sleeve of blackened, magewrought steel. Flat spikes protruded from the knuckles of the great gauntlet and three low, hooked blades swept forward from the back. More spikes lined the ridge of his forearm. Interlocking strips of metal bulged around his upper arm, running all the way up to the plates of the wide, heavy shoulder guard.
Slowly, Singe lifted his rapier once more and braced himself for the shifter's attack.
"Stop."
From the direction that Geth had come, another man moved into the light. His only weapon was a spear with a cluster of dried leaves bound to its shaft and his only armor a jerkin of heavy, paint-daubed hide, but he carried himself with authority. A druid, guessed Singe--he had seen men and women with a similar look throughout the Eldeen Reaches. He had never, however, seen one with such a clear confidence and sense of purpose as this man. Under the weight of the nature-priest's gaze, he let his rapier drop. The druid gave him a measured look as he paced closer.
"You must be Singe," he said. "My name is Adolan." He turned and glanced at Dandra. To Singe's surprise, the kalashtar shrank back slightly and her feet settled to the ground. Adolan knelt to examine one of the fallen warriors. "Human," he muttered. He looked back up at Dandra. "I have the feeling you know who these people are."
Tension passed over Dandra's face, as if she was struggling with her response. Then she drew a breath and met Adolan's eyes. "They're the hunters of a clan called Drumasaz," she said. "In their language, it means 'the Bonetree.' They come from deep in the Shadow Marches."
"The Shadow Marches?" the druid said sharply. His eyes narrowed. "What gods do they follow?" he demanded. "Do you know?"
"No gods," Dandra whispered so quietly Singe could barely hear her. "They worship the dark powers of Khyber."
Singe couldn't hold back a nervous chuckle. "A cult of the Dragon Below? Are you serious?"
Adolan gave him unnerving stare. "The Shadow Marches breed many foul things--degenerate ideas and desperate beliefs among them." He prodded one of the bodies with the toe of his boot and rose slowly. "What would a Marcher clan be doing--"
Singe felt a prickling across the back of his neck. His eyes darted up into the darkness overhead. Geth must have felt something, too, because he hissed, "In the trees, Ado!"
The druid glanced up, then folded his lower lip under his teeth and gave an ear-splitting whistle.
A hunting bird's screech cut the night. Branches and leaves crashed above them as something struck from out of the sky--and something else sought to escape. Singe flinched instinctively. Wings cracked through the air, then the hunting bird screeched again.
A moment later, a big eagle with red-gold plumage settled onto the path. Clutched in its talons was a massive
Her last ally dead, the tattooed woman flung herself away, limping for the safety of the forest.
A short, heavy sword--already slick with blood--whirled around and chopped deep into her torso. She slumped forward, her body seeming to fold over the blade.
Geth stepped back into the circle of Singe's light, sliding his weapon free and allowing the woman's corpse to collapse onto the ground. He raised his eyes and met the wizard's gaze with a simple, brutal directness.
Abruptly, Singe felt as though he had fallen through time nine years into the past. The backcountry hunter he had confronted on the common of Bull Hollow had barely seemed like the warrior he remembered. That warrior stood before him now. Geth still wore the clothes he had before, but in his left hand, he held his sword, a product of the smoke-belching war forges of Karrnath.
His right hand and arm were covered in an armor sleeve of blackened, magewrought steel. Flat spikes protruded from the knuckles of the great gauntlet and three low, hooked blades swept forward from the back. More spikes lined the ridge of his forearm. Interlocking strips of metal bulged around his upper arm, running all the way up to the plates of the wide, heavy shoulder guard.
Slowly, Singe lifted his rapier once more and braced himself for the shifter's attack.
"Stop."
From the direction that Geth had come, another man moved into the light. His only weapon was a spear with a cluster of dried leaves bound to its shaft and his only armor a jerkin of heavy, paint-daubed hide, but he carried himself with authority. A druid, guessed Singe--he had seen men and women with a similar look throughout the Eldeen Reaches. He had never, however, seen one with such a clear confidence and sense of purpose as this man. Under the weight of the nature-priest's gaze, he let his rapier drop. The druid gave him a measured look as he paced closer.
"You must be Singe," he said. "My name is Adolan." He turned and glanced at Dandra. To Singe's surprise, the kalashtar shrank back slightly and her feet settled to the ground. Adolan knelt to examine one of the fallen warriors. "Human," he muttered. He looked back up at Dandra. "I have the feeling you know who these people are."
Tension passed over Dandra's face, as if she was struggling with her response. Then she drew a breath and met Adolan's eyes. "They're the hunters of a clan called Drumasaz," she said. "In their language, it means 'the Bonetree.' They come from deep in the Shadow Marches."
"The Shadow Marches?" the druid said sharply. His eyes narrowed. "What gods do they follow?" he demanded. "Do you know?"
"No gods," Dandra whispered so quietly Singe could barely hear her. "They worship the dark powers of Khyber."
Singe couldn't hold back a nervous chuckle. "A cult of the Dragon Below? Are you serious?"
Adolan gave him unnerving stare. "The Shadow Marches breed many foul things--degenerate ideas and desperate beliefs among them." He prodded one of the bodies with the toe of his boot and rose slowly. "What would a Marcher clan be doing--"
Singe felt a prickling across the back of his neck. His eyes darted up into the darkness overhead. Geth must have felt something, too, because he hissed, "In the trees, Ado!"
The druid glanced up, then folded his lower lip under his teeth and gave an ear-splitting whistle.
A hunting bird's screech cut the night. Branches and leaves crashed above them as something struck from out of the sky--and something else sought to escape. Singe flinched instinctively. Wings cracked through the air, then the hunting bird screeched again.
A moment later, a big eagle with red-gold plumage settled onto the path. Clutched in its talons was a massive
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