The Killing Song: The Dragon Below Book III by Don Bassingthwaite Page B

tent had been painted with symbols, and the ring of empty ground planted with carved poles bearing strings of bones, stones, and feathers. Some of the symbols on the tent and poles were similar to those on the stones of his collar. Symbols to repel or contain the power of the Gatekeepers’ enemies.
    Unlike other tents and huts in the camp, a lamp burned inside the painted tent, casting a glow on the walls. Whoever was inside needed light to see.
    Batul passed by the guards and lifted the tent flap. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said through the gap, “but there are people you must see.” He gestured for Geth to enter. The shifter ducked past the flap—and cursed, tearing Wrath free of its sheath and trying to fling himself back so fast he stumbled into Ekhaas.
    Seated on a low sleeping platform, a kalashtar woman looked up at him with empty eyes. Her face was worn and thin, its angles as sharp as an over ground knife blade. Her hair, shot through with gray, was bound back and she wore an orc’s rough clothes. The last time Geth had seen her, she had been wearing the filthy remains of a fine dress and her hair been matted and wild—and she had been wracking him with pain using nothing more than the power of her mind.
    “Medala!”
he snarled. He pulled himself away from Ekhaas and dropped into a defensive crouch, Wrath pointed at Dah’mir’s mad servant. His heart was thundering in his chest. He heard Orshok cry out as well and managed to find words in a dry throat. “This isn’t possible. You’re dead.”
    “I wish I were,” Medala said. Her voice, though grating and hoarse, was as empty as her eyes.
    Batul put a hand on Geth’s shoulder. “She’s the one who warned us about the Master of Silence. A little less than a month ago, hunters from Fat Tusk found her wandering the marshes, starving. They brought her to me.”
    “She’s dangerous, Batul! She almost killed both of us.”
    “The symbols around the tent hold what’s left of her power in check, Geth,” Batul said calmly.
    Medala gave a bitter laugh. “Be at ease, shifter. I could nomore touch your mind now than I could touch the Ring of Siberys.”
    She rose. Geth tensed, but she made no further move. Medala had been a tall woman, but her frame had become gaunt and hunched. “When Dandra unleashed Virikhad’s mad mind against me, he and I fought for control of my body the only way we could.” She touched her forehead. “With our wills and our psionic powers. You saw us vanish and thought us dead, but that was Virikhad’s doing. He had powers over space and he flung us … elsewhere.”
    A shudder shook her body, but she smiled grimly. “My powers are over the mind. I was stronger. I was returned to the place where I had been—the Bonetree mound, though your battle with Dah’mir was long over. My battle with Virikhad, however, had broken Dah’mir’s hold over me. I fled with one thought in my shattered mind: revenge on Dah’mir and his master.” She was trembling and her voice rose. “Would you deny me that, Geth? I know from Dandra’s mind that revenge was what you sought when you came to the Shadow Marches. Will you not let me take
my
revenge on the evil that broke me?”
    Geth stared at her trembling form in shock. Batul touched his shoulder, pushing him toward the flap and out of the tent. “Sit,” the old orc said to Medala. “Be at ease. You’ll have your revenge. The Master of Silence will be stopped.”
    Eyes focused on nothing visible, Medala nodded and folded back down onto the sleeping platform. Geth didn’t look away from her until Batul had herded Orshok and Ekhaas out of the tent as well and pulled the tent flap closed after himself—then Geth swallowed. “She’s still mad, isn’t she?”
    Batul gestured for them to follow him away from the tent. “I don’t think she could ever be sane again,” he said, “but when she told me about the Master of Silence, how could I ignore her? I summoned other