Free The Binding Stone (The Dragon Below, Book 1) by Don Bassingthwaite

of those eyes was distorted, but Dandra could picture them as well as Tetkashtai. They were bright, acid green. Like those of the black heron that Breek hadbrought down. When Adolan's eagle had first brought down the strange bird, the sight of those unnaturally bright eyes had stirred emotions in her. Fascination. Fear. Horror.

    Tetkashtai's wails struck a fever pitch. She clawed at Dandra's mind as if she could rake the image and the memories away. No! No! No!

    Dandra's head slammed back against the rock as her body stiffened. Bright sparks of pain popped in her vision. Tetkashtai, be quiet! she shouted, thrusting back against the terrified presence. Keening incoherently, Tetkashtai withdrew into the crystal, leaving Dandra gasping and clutching her temples.

    "Twelve moons!" cursed Singe. He hauled himself up beside her, leaning his back against the stone and gulping air. He glanced at her, his face blotched red and white from their flight. "Dandra, are you all right?"

    She nodded weakly. His hand scrambled for his rapier. The light that the blade shed seemed cold and feeble, as if the shadows of the stones were sucking it up.

    "Rest," said Adolan. The druid was crouched behind a leaning stone to their left.

    "Are you insane?" Singe's voice broke. "As soon as they're finished--"

    The rain of crossbow bolts stopped. Singe tensed. "Here they come!"

    "No," said Adolan.

    Singe stared at the druid with astonished disbelief, but a moment later--when no attack had come--he stood up and peered over the top of the stone. Dandra heard breath hiss between his teeth. On their right, Geth moved as well. The metal of the strange armored sleeve that he wore scraped against rock as he moved, bending his neck to look out into the clearing. "They've stopped, Adolan," he reported.

    "Twelve moons," Singe whispered. "What are those things?"

    "Dolgrims," Adolan answered. There was a raw tension in the druid's voice. He was crouched behind a leaning stone to their left. "Aberrations, a blight on Eberron."

    Dandra saw Singe's throat work as he swallowed hard. "Those are dolgrims?" he asked. "I've read about them. They're ... not what I expected."

    Dandra forced her limbs to move. Slowly and carefully, she leaned over and peered past the side of the stone. Perhaps halfway between the stones and the edge of the clearing, the dolgrims milled about in confusion. Moans and growls of frustration sputtered out of their double mouths. A few tried to move closer to the stones. They looked almost like they were attempting to walk into a strong wind. Behind them, the Bonetree hunters squatted down on the ground with an unsettling patience.

    One of the dolgrims squealed and seemed to point directly at her. Half a dozen of the creatures swung around sharply, raising one or a pair of arms to fire off a new volley of crossbow bolts. Dandra, Singe, and Geth ducked back under cover. Even Tetkashtai seemed to take notice, gibbering out another wail of terror.

    "What's holding them back?" asked Singe. "What is this place--?"

    His question was drowned out by another of the rolling bellows, this one so loud that Dandra pressed her hands to her ears. She glimpsed movement as Adolan reached up and pressed his palm against the stone above him. His mouth moved in an invocation and the deafening roar ended. Out in the clearing, a frightened babble broke out among the dolgrims.

    "We're safe here for the time being," said Adolan. "You can relax. They can't get any closer."

    "Why not?" Singe asked.

    Adolan settled back. "The Bull Hole is sacred to my sect. Our lore holds that our traditions began thousands of years ago as a defense against an invasion from a realm of madness. The leaders of that invasion were powerful creatures called daelkyr. They brought lesser creatures with them from their realm--and created others from the beings they found on Eberron. All of them are anathema to nature. The war that followed took place in the Shadow Marches, spilling