The Binding Stone (The Dragon Below, Book 1) by Don Bassingthwaite Page A
Authors: Don Bassingthwaite
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Hollow once more--then he bared his teeth and slapped his hand down to grasp the druid's forearm. Adolan's hand closed tight on his forearm in return.
"You have Grandmother Wolf's own honor," he said.
"I have Cousin Boar's own stupidity," Geth grunted.
He released Adolan's arm and turned to the chest against the wall. Digging down into its depths, he came up with a large, blanket-wrapped bundle that clanked as he set it on the cabin floor. Adolan stared at him in amazement. Geth responded with a glower, daring him to say anything.
Something lurked in the trees overhead, peering down out of the darkness. Singe prayed that it wasn't Geth. Half blind from the light that shone from his rapier, he could see little enough, but in the course of more than a decade of serving with the Blademarks, he had learned to recognize the feeling of being watched. He continued along the path that he had finally stumbled onto a short while earlier. The strange bellows still rolled out across the valley from somewhere ahead. If whatever was in the trees made any sound, the bellow drowned it out.
Singe kept his eyes on the ground or on the shadows ahead, anywhere but up. With every step, awareness of the thing in the treesprickled across the back of his neck. He forced himself to remain calm, to stay relaxed as he moved closer to the thing. It didn't seem to move, but he could feel it still watching him. Closer ...
Directly underneath it, he stopped sharply, glanced up, and, flinging an arm over his eyes, snapped out a brittle word.
Up among the leaves, light burst in dazzling flash. There was a harsh croak and something crashed through the branches toward a clear patch of sky. Even with his eyes shaded against the flare, Singe only caught a glimpse of a big, ungainly bird flapping away. Scraggly legs trailed through the air behind it and a long neck curved back on itself. Singe's eyes widened slightly.
A heron, he thought. Twelve moons, what's a heron doing in the forest?
There was a soft rustle behind him.
Singe's heart leaped into his throat as he whirled around, sword outstretched, another spell smoldering on his lips and at his fingertips.
At the edge of the path, as if emerging from a hiding place, a woman crouched in a virtually identical pose. Her right hand held a short, pale spear at the ready. Her left was pointed at him in a gesture very much like a wizard prepared to unleash a spell. Her feet, he realized, didn't touch the ground. Instead, she hovered with no apparent effort.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Singe studied the woman--he was certain she was doing the same to him--without moving his eyes. To judge by her sharp features and exotic clothing, she was a kalashtar.
And a kalashtar deep in the Eldeen was even stranger than a heron in the forest.
Very slowly, the woman uncoiled. Spear and hand both remained pointing at him as she drifted out onto the path and slid the length of a pace along it in the same direction Singe had been heading. He turned with her, keeping her boxed between the edge of his rapier and his own waiting spell. The woman slid another pace, spear and hand still rock steady--
The tension between them shattered as a lean figure leaped screaming out of the darkness. Singe didn't understand a wordthat it uttered, if they were words, and caught only a glimpse of the crude axe that it swung. He simply snapped around and spat the word of his spell.
The kalashtar woman's pointing fingers shifted at the same moment. A droning chorus of sound beat against Singe's ears, the sound of her race's weird power.
Twin blasts of churning energy caught the screaming figure and wrapped it in flame--red-orange from Singe's hand, white from the woman's. Its battle cry changed into a shriek of pain, then broke sharply as the figure spun around and fell to the ground. For a moment, the only sound in the forest was the soft crackle of fire.
Singe edged closer and peered through the burning
"You have Grandmother Wolf's own honor," he said.
"I have Cousin Boar's own stupidity," Geth grunted.
He released Adolan's arm and turned to the chest against the wall. Digging down into its depths, he came up with a large, blanket-wrapped bundle that clanked as he set it on the cabin floor. Adolan stared at him in amazement. Geth responded with a glower, daring him to say anything.
Something lurked in the trees overhead, peering down out of the darkness. Singe prayed that it wasn't Geth. Half blind from the light that shone from his rapier, he could see little enough, but in the course of more than a decade of serving with the Blademarks, he had learned to recognize the feeling of being watched. He continued along the path that he had finally stumbled onto a short while earlier. The strange bellows still rolled out across the valley from somewhere ahead. If whatever was in the trees made any sound, the bellow drowned it out.
Singe kept his eyes on the ground or on the shadows ahead, anywhere but up. With every step, awareness of the thing in the treesprickled across the back of his neck. He forced himself to remain calm, to stay relaxed as he moved closer to the thing. It didn't seem to move, but he could feel it still watching him. Closer ...
Directly underneath it, he stopped sharply, glanced up, and, flinging an arm over his eyes, snapped out a brittle word.
Up among the leaves, light burst in dazzling flash. There was a harsh croak and something crashed through the branches toward a clear patch of sky. Even with his eyes shaded against the flare, Singe only caught a glimpse of a big, ungainly bird flapping away. Scraggly legs trailed through the air behind it and a long neck curved back on itself. Singe's eyes widened slightly.
A heron, he thought. Twelve moons, what's a heron doing in the forest?
There was a soft rustle behind him.
Singe's heart leaped into his throat as he whirled around, sword outstretched, another spell smoldering on his lips and at his fingertips.
At the edge of the path, as if emerging from a hiding place, a woman crouched in a virtually identical pose. Her right hand held a short, pale spear at the ready. Her left was pointed at him in a gesture very much like a wizard prepared to unleash a spell. Her feet, he realized, didn't touch the ground. Instead, she hovered with no apparent effort.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Singe studied the woman--he was certain she was doing the same to him--without moving his eyes. To judge by her sharp features and exotic clothing, she was a kalashtar.
And a kalashtar deep in the Eldeen was even stranger than a heron in the forest.
Very slowly, the woman uncoiled. Spear and hand both remained pointing at him as she drifted out onto the path and slid the length of a pace along it in the same direction Singe had been heading. He turned with her, keeping her boxed between the edge of his rapier and his own waiting spell. The woman slid another pace, spear and hand still rock steady--
The tension between them shattered as a lean figure leaped screaming out of the darkness. Singe didn't understand a wordthat it uttered, if they were words, and caught only a glimpse of the crude axe that it swung. He simply snapped around and spat the word of his spell.
The kalashtar woman's pointing fingers shifted at the same moment. A droning chorus of sound beat against Singe's ears, the sound of her race's weird power.
Twin blasts of churning energy caught the screaming figure and wrapped it in flame--red-orange from Singe's hand, white from the woman's. Its battle cry changed into a shriek of pain, then broke sharply as the figure spun around and fell to the ground. For a moment, the only sound in the forest was the soft crackle of fire.
Singe edged closer and peered through the burning
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