Read Online The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III by Don Bassingthwaite - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Don Bassingthwaite
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Virikhad too.” Dandra tried to cover her frustration at herself by going to the cupboard where Tetkashtai and the other kalashtar had kept some towels. Like the apartment, they were musty, but at least they were dry. She passed them around.
“Nevchaned is a weaponsmith,” said Dandra. “He made her … my spear.” She touched the weapon strapped across her back. “He’s also one of the kalashtar elders.”
The wizard’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah,” he said. “So maybe not one of the best people to start off lying to.”
“No,” Dandra agreed. She shook her head. “I’ve fought Dah’mir, Tzaryan Rrac, Hruucan, dolgaunts, dolgrims, and Bonetree hunters—why does facing my own people feel more terrifying than any of them?”
Singe gave her wan smile. “Remind me to tell you about my family some day.”
“The idea of facing House Deneith scares me,” said Ashi. Dandra twisted her head to look at the hunter. “I used to be worried that they wouldn’t accept a hunter of Shadow Marches, or that they would find that I had no Deneith blood at all and I would be left without a clan. Now I worry what will happen when the time comes that they find out about this.” Ashi traced a finger down one cheek and along the line of her jaw, following the vibrant pattern of her dragonmark.
“If you don’t like the way Deneith treats you, you’ll always have a place with us,” said Dandra.
Ashi raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you worry what the kalashtar will think of you?” she asked. “You have a place here too. Aren’t we your people?”
Dandra stared at her.
Aren’t we your people?
She had Tetkashtai’s memories of the kalashtar of Sharn, of Medalashana as her bestfriend and Virikhad as her lover—but she felt closer by far to the men and women who had stood by her side over the last months than she did to any kalashtar. Her mouth twitched and a smile escaped her. “You’re always surprising me when I least suspect it, Ashi. Thank you.”
“The
broshamas
of the Bonetree held the wisdom of the clan,” Ashi said, answering her smile, “but I would have been huntmaster if I hadn’t turned against Dah’mir, and a huntmaster needs her own wisdom to see what’s in the hearts of the clan.”
Singe stepped back from Dandra and shook his head. “Ashi, I think I’ll almost pity House Deneith if they try to tame you. They aren’t going to know what they’re getting.”
Dandra’s smile turned into a laugh, and she struck out at the wizard with a cry of mock outrage. He caught her blow on his arm, but let out a hiss of very real pain. He twisted his arm, and Dandra winced as she saw the pink of rain-diluted blood on his wet sleeve. “Sorry.”
“It’s where Erimelk grabbed me.” Singe loosened the laces at the cuffs of his shirt and pulled back the sleeve. “Twelve moons! Look at that!”
His skin was marked by two red handprints, the skin bruised and broken in innumerable fine pricks, as if someone had beaten him with a bristles of a stiff brush. Singe looked at her. “Was that some kind of psionic power?”
She nodded. “I’ve seen something similar. It’s a little bit like the long step, but used as a weapon—under the psion’s touch, tiny portions of matter or flesh are displaced in space. It’s a weak power, but it can do a lot of damage.”
“It
hurt
a lot,” Singe complained. He wiped at the red marks with a towel, but the rain had washed away all but a tint of blood. There wasn’t even an open wound. Singe cursed again. “Why would a scribe have a power like that?”
Dandra frowned. “I didn’t know he did. When Tetkashtai knew him, he was more interested in his work than in developing the power of his mind.”
“I’ll bet he wasn’t insane and attacking people in the street, either,” said Natrac. “What do you think was wrong with him, and why was Nevchaned covering it up?” He looked up. “Do youthink it could have something to do with Dah’mir?”
No one
“Nevchaned is a weaponsmith,” said Dandra. “He made her … my spear.” She touched the weapon strapped across her back. “He’s also one of the kalashtar elders.”
The wizard’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah,” he said. “So maybe not one of the best people to start off lying to.”
“No,” Dandra agreed. She shook her head. “I’ve fought Dah’mir, Tzaryan Rrac, Hruucan, dolgaunts, dolgrims, and Bonetree hunters—why does facing my own people feel more terrifying than any of them?”
Singe gave her wan smile. “Remind me to tell you about my family some day.”
“The idea of facing House Deneith scares me,” said Ashi. Dandra twisted her head to look at the hunter. “I used to be worried that they wouldn’t accept a hunter of Shadow Marches, or that they would find that I had no Deneith blood at all and I would be left without a clan. Now I worry what will happen when the time comes that they find out about this.” Ashi traced a finger down one cheek and along the line of her jaw, following the vibrant pattern of her dragonmark.
“If you don’t like the way Deneith treats you, you’ll always have a place with us,” said Dandra.
Ashi raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you worry what the kalashtar will think of you?” she asked. “You have a place here too. Aren’t we your people?”
Dandra stared at her.
Aren’t we your people?
She had Tetkashtai’s memories of the kalashtar of Sharn, of Medalashana as her bestfriend and Virikhad as her lover—but she felt closer by far to the men and women who had stood by her side over the last months than she did to any kalashtar. Her mouth twitched and a smile escaped her. “You’re always surprising me when I least suspect it, Ashi. Thank you.”
“The
broshamas
of the Bonetree held the wisdom of the clan,” Ashi said, answering her smile, “but I would have been huntmaster if I hadn’t turned against Dah’mir, and a huntmaster needs her own wisdom to see what’s in the hearts of the clan.”
Singe stepped back from Dandra and shook his head. “Ashi, I think I’ll almost pity House Deneith if they try to tame you. They aren’t going to know what they’re getting.”
Dandra’s smile turned into a laugh, and she struck out at the wizard with a cry of mock outrage. He caught her blow on his arm, but let out a hiss of very real pain. He twisted his arm, and Dandra winced as she saw the pink of rain-diluted blood on his wet sleeve. “Sorry.”
“It’s where Erimelk grabbed me.” Singe loosened the laces at the cuffs of his shirt and pulled back the sleeve. “Twelve moons! Look at that!”
His skin was marked by two red handprints, the skin bruised and broken in innumerable fine pricks, as if someone had beaten him with a bristles of a stiff brush. Singe looked at her. “Was that some kind of psionic power?”
She nodded. “I’ve seen something similar. It’s a little bit like the long step, but used as a weapon—under the psion’s touch, tiny portions of matter or flesh are displaced in space. It’s a weak power, but it can do a lot of damage.”
“It
hurt
a lot,” Singe complained. He wiped at the red marks with a towel, but the rain had washed away all but a tint of blood. There wasn’t even an open wound. Singe cursed again. “Why would a scribe have a power like that?”
Dandra frowned. “I didn’t know he did. When Tetkashtai knew him, he was more interested in his work than in developing the power of his mind.”
“I’ll bet he wasn’t insane and attacking people in the street, either,” said Natrac. “What do you think was wrong with him, and why was Nevchaned covering it up?” He looked up. “Do youthink it could have something to do with Dah’mir?”
No one
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