The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3

by Don Bassingthwaite

  This time Diitesh snorted and leaned forward to hiss in Tuura’s ear. “Tuura, this is nonsense! They’re trying to turn us against an ally who could restore the empire!”

  But Tuura’s eyes were on Ekhaas. Her ears, which had been folded back flat against her scalp, rose slowly. “Where does this warning come from?”

  “From our own experience—and from Senen Dhakaan. She aided our escape.”

  “You dragged her into this?” Diitesh said harshly. “Where is your honor, daughter of the dirge?”

  “It was Senen’s suggestion that we come here,” Ekhaas snapped.

  “Then why didn’t she send the warning in one of her reports?” Kitaas leaped into the argument like Diitesh’s echo. “She has used her magic to sing reports to us of your disgrace. Why didn’t she warn us directly?”

  “Maybe because she believed that a warning from our mouths would carry more weight than one sent by magic.”

  Diitesh bared her teeth. “And she said nothing in her reports because she believed the word of traitors would be respected above the word of a trusted emissary?”

  “She said nothing,” Tuura said with unexpected calm, “because she knew that she was being watched.”

  Ekhaas’s gaze darted back to her, a retort to Diitesh’s argument fading on her lips. Tuura sat back in her chair. “Senen’s reports of late have been unusually circumspect,” she said, “but she is adept at hiding brief messages within them. One message said that she was being watched and could not report all that she wanted to.” Tuura rested her chin on her hand and looked again at Ekhaas. “Another said that I would receive advice and would be wise to accept it.”

  Ekhaas felt a burst of elation, but she bent her head humbly. “I urge you to heed her words.”

  “And perhaps,” Tuura added, “you can shed light on another of Senen’s hidden messages. Is there a reason she would feel it was important to tell me that Tariic holds the younger daughter of Deneith?”

  Ekhaas stiffened. The younger daughter of Deneith? Ashi. Ashi was Tariic’s prisoner. But if she was his prisoner, that meant—

  At her side, Geth drew a sharp breath. “Grandmother Wolf, Ashi’s alive!”

  The elation she’d felt before turned into radiant joy. Ekhaas fought to stay calm as she raised her head. “I think that message was meant more for us than you, Tuura Dhakaan. Thank you for it.”

  She watched Tuura consider each of them, even Tenquis. Then the leader of the Kech Volaar turned back to her.

  “If Tariic doesn’t suspect that you are here,” she said, “I see no harm in granting sanctuary to you and your allies, so long as they respect the customs of the Kech Volaar.”

  “Tuura!” Diitesh’s voice rose sharply. “They are chaat’oor. They have no place in—”

  “Remember your place, Diitesh!” Tuura stood up and turned to face the High Archivist. She was nearly a handspan taller than the other woman and in her anger looked even taller. “Your muut is to the archives. My muut is to the clan. If there is a danger to Volaar Draal, it must be examined. I know Senen. She would not do this lightly. You may return to the archives, Diitesh.” Tuura looked to Ekhaas. “We will find a place we cannot easily be overheard, and I will hear your whole story, Ekhaas duur’kala.”

  But Ekhaas’s joy was already turning to a sickening knot in her belly as Diitesh and Kitaas glared at her over Tuura’s shoulder. Geth had suggested that they try to stay on Kitaas’s good side—but it was too late for that with both the High Archivist and her adjunct angry with them, and that wasn’t going to make her next request any easier.

  She swallowed her pride. “Actually, Tuura Dhakaan,” she said, “there is something else …”

  As she made her request, the knot in her stomach grew tighter, Tuura’s expression grew harder—and the smile that grew across Diitesh’s pale face became gloating.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  16 Aryth

  Song, half-heard, surrounded Geth as he returned to himself. Visions, half-remembered, of a distant time and place were already fading in his head. He had a lingering memory of a hobgoblin woman, a duur’kala and an empress. A name came to him: Mekiis Kuun, fourth in the line of heroes who had wielded Wrath in the time of the Dhakaani Empire. At the back of his mind, the sword’s presence tickled him with something that felt like pride in the ancient heroine.

  His throat was dry. “Iinanen,” he croaked in Goblin. Thirsty. There was no response, only a rising chatter of voices that replaced the song. Geth opened his eyes. “Iinanen!”

  One of the crowd of archivists and duur’kala that packed the room glanced over at him, then picked up a metal cup and thrust it at him without taking her attention off the expanding argument. Shifting Wrath from its position at his side, Geth pushed himself up from the couch where he lay. Cold mushroom tea. He drank it anyway, then scanned the crowd for the yellow face of the High Archivist.

  “Diitesh,” he called, “are we done?”

  Diitesh broke away from a conversation to look at him as if he were a piece of furniture that had inconveniently learned to talk. “There are questions,” she said. “Where was the palace where Emperor Okaat Baaz courted Mekiis Kuun? When did she lay the Sword of Heroes aside—”

  “I’ve told you before. I don’t know. Wrath doesn’t remember things like that.”

  The insolent growl silenced that babbling crowd. Geth glared at them, though mostly at Diitesh, and stood up. His legs felt loose and weak after lying on the couch all day. “We’re done,” he said. He gathered Wrath and walked for the door.

  Behind him, the archivists and duur’kala started talking again, his presence—or lack of it—irrelevant.

  Ekhaas was waiting for him outside. “Who were you today?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He looked at her. Ekhaas’s eyes were red and squinting. “Did you find anything?”

  “What do you think?”

  Geth just grunted and sheathed Wrath.

  Diitesh’s permission for access to the vaults and the records of the archivists had come with a price. Only Ekhaas would be permitted to search the massive Register for references to the Rod of Kings and only if Geth agreed to share the memories of Dhakaan contained within Wrath. An exchange of knowledge for knowledge. Diitesh had presented the proposition as if it were the fairest deal in the world—but then for her, it was. Not even Tuura Dhakaan could have granted them access to the vaults over the High Archivist’s objections.

  For the week since they had arrived in Volaar Draal, Geth had spent his days in a dream as duur’kala songs drew out the nebulous memories, while archivists scribbled down his words. Unlike the Rod of Kings, the touch of the Sword of Heroes was light on his mind, providing inspiration but no more. Not usually, at least. Under the influence of the duur’kala magic, the memories flowed right through him, leaving him with nothing but vague recollections and a headache. At least Diitesh had been true to her word—though perhaps too true. Ekhaas had access to the Register but no one to help her search it. Finding something to help them stop Tariic and the rod could take months. At least, Geth was sure, as long as it would take Diitesh to ransack the memories of the sword.

  He wondered sometimes if they might not have been better off staying on the run in the mountains. And not just because of Diitesh’s antagonism, either. He looked up into the darkness above Volaar Draal as they emerged onto the streets of the city. “I need to get outside, Ekhaas. I need to see the sun and the moons.”

  Ekhaas’s ears twitched. “You know we can’t. Being granted sanctuary doesn’t mean you can come and go whenever you want. By our tradition a host honors her guests, but guests have their muut—their duty—to the host.”

  “I just want to step out of the gates,” he protested. “It’s not like we’d run into Tariic’s patrols.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Tuura has told the gate watch not to let us pass. I think she’s worried we’d go off and try to rescue Ashi.” She looked at him sideways. “Do
n’t pretend you wouldn’t.”

  A growl rose up Geth’s throat, but he bit if off with clenched teeth. Learning Ashi was alive had been a mixed blessing. She was still Tariic’s prisoner—and he felt helpless because there was nothing they could do about it. Rescuing Ashi wouldn’t help them stop Tariic, and it would certainly cost them their access to the lore of the Kech Volaar.

  “No new information from Senen?” he asked. Ekhaas shook her head. Her ears flicked back as she did, and Geth knew she wasn’t thinking just about Ashi. One of Senen’s reports had made a passing reference to Dagii but no more than that. Was he still an ally or was he under Tariic’s power?

  If he was controlled by the Rod, he wouldn’t have been the only one. Senen had also mentioned Midian’s appearance as Tariic’s royal historian. Geth would have expected the gnome to flee for Zilargo. He couldn’t believe Midian remained at Tariic’s side of his own free will. For that matter, they couldn’t even trust that Senen’s will was her own, though her continued warnings that she was being watched at least suggested it.

  “I hate this,” he said. “There has to be something more we can do.”

  Ekhaas’s ears went even farther back. “I know. If I had an archivist to help me with the Register—or even another duur’kala—I might at least be able to find the right place to start.”

  “No other duur’kala will help you?”

  Ekhaas made a face. “They don’t want to cross Diitesh. And to be honest, they’re all more interested in you right now.”

  “It’s nice to be wanted,” Geth said dryly. “Do you want to duel?”

  One of the discomforts of Volaar Draal was passing the time—he and Tenquis weren’t exactly welcome in the gathering places of the dar city. Ekhaas and Chetiin, of course, blended in with the other goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears, but a tiefling and a shifter stuck out like … well, like chaat’oor. There was no shortage of private dueling circles in the city, however, and Ekhaas had started joining Geth in them, fighting away the tension that gathered during the day. Occasionally Chetiin fought with them as well, though neither of them could land a touch on him unless he permitted it. Tenquis abstained entirely, preferring to sit beside the ring and read. Diitesh might have blocked him from access to the wonders of the vaults, but he’d sought out the smiths and masons of the Kech Volaar. Against all expectations, he’d even managed to make contacts among them and was busy learning what he could of half-remembered daashor traditions from their techniques and borrowed scrolls.

  Ekhaas, though, only shook her head at the invitation to duel. “I can’t keep up with you,” she said. “I need a rest. Let’s go look for Tenquis. He’s probably still with the smiths.”

  “He isn’t.”

  Geth almost jumped at the sound of Chetiin’s scarred voice. His hand went to Wrath, and he whirled around, looking for the goblin. He found him crouched in the shadows below the statue of some unnamed Dhakaani hero, calm and undisturbed. “Boar’s snout,” Geth said. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for you.” Chetiin stood up. “Tenquis hasn’t been visiting the smiths of Volaar Draal.”

  “What’s he been doing then?” asked Ekhaas. “Where did he get those books?” Her ears rose. “Why have you been following him?”

  Chetiin actually looked slightly ashamed for the first time since Geth had known him. “I wasn’t following him. I came across him yesterday when I was coming back into Volaar Draal.”

  “Chetiin!” said Ekhaas in protest.

  “The shaarat’khesh come and go as they please,” the old goblin said stubbornly. “I wanted to speak to Marrow.”

  “Was it nice outside?” Geth asked.

  “The air was as sharp and clear as a knife made of glass.”

  “You still broke the terms of sanctuary.” Ekhaas looked around them as if Diitesh might be lurking nearby, ready to pounce on this violation.

  “Ignore that. As I was coming back into the city, I came across Tenquis. I was mistaken when I said he’d make a good golin’dar. He has no talent for stealth. He wasn’t in the smiths’ quarter of the city, though. Today I followed him to see where he went.”

  “And?”

  “Proof requires more than words,” said Chetiin. “Come with me.”

  Chetiin led them to a building on the other side of Volaar Draal that seemed mostly deserted, with only scattered ghostlights glimmering in the narrow windows. Geth raised an eyebrow to Chetiin, but he just shook his head and ushered them inside. The corridors were empty and smelled mostly of damp stone.

  “What is this place?” Geth asked Ekhaas softly.

  “Unused apartments,” she said. “The clan grows and shrinks. Buildings fall in and out of common use.”

  Chetiin gestured for silence, then pointed up a flight of narrow stone stairs. They moved, the goblin as noiselessly as a shadow, hobgoblin and shifter as quietly as possible. Two floors up, Chetiin pointed around the corner of a landing into another corridor. Geth eased his head around the corner. Light shone around a door, and he could just make out voices. One of them might have been Tenquis’s, but he wasn’t sure. He mimed approaching the door to Chetiin, who nodded. Walking softly, Geth stepped into the corridor and slipped up to the door.

  It was Tenquis, speaking Goblin. From the cadence of his voice, it sounded like he was reading something. Geth gripped Wrath’s hilt, and the words became clear.

  “—rebellion among the nobles ultimately cost Saabak Puulta, marhu of Dhakaan, fifth lord of the Second Puulta dynasty, his life, but many of the nobility of the empire died along with him. Though Saabak Puulta’s successor, Giis Puulta, lavished favor on a chosen few, the empire would never be strong again. On the Stela of Rewards that he erected before his fortress of Zaal Piik, it is recorded that this was the time when muut was broken.” Tenquis paused, his voice thin with amazement. “Horns of Ohr Kaluun.”

  “Indeed,” answered another voice. “Records from the era of the Rebellion of Lords are sparse. It was a shameful time, but the Stelae of Rewards that emperors and generals of Dhakaan erected as memorials to those they deemed heroes are a rich source of information. Here is the final piece of the puzzle, though—and if you ever doubted your decision to approach me, then don’t, because I am the only one who could have brought you this.”

  The second voice was familiar. It belonged to a woman, probably a hobgoblin, and Geth had a feeling that with just a few more words, he would recognize her. Ekhaas, apparently, needed no time at all. Her ears went back flat. Her skin flushed dark. In three swift steps, she spun around Geth and kicked the door. It slammed open.

  From over a table covered in books and scrolls and loose pieces of age-darkened paper, two faces stared back at them in surprise. One was Tenquis. The other was—

  “Kitaas!” snarled Ekhaas. “What are you doing here?”

  For an instant, both the artificer and the archivist simply looked startled. Then Kitaas rose imperiously. “I, my sister, am recovering the heritage of Dhakaan while you seem intent on denying it!”

  Ekhaas bared her teeth. “What are you talking about?”

  Geth felt a whirl of confusion. After Kitaas’s greeting when they had arrived in Volaar Draal, he wouldn’t have expected that she and Tenquis would exchange polite words, let alone meet in secret. The only thing he could really understand was why Chetiin had insisted they see this for themselves. He wouldn’t have believed it.

  A scowl flitted across Tenquis’s face, and he stood as well. “Get out!” he said. “Just get out and leave us alone.”

  Ekhaas and Kitaas had locked eyes, however. “You travel with a store of knowledge you don’t even recognize,” said Kitaas. “This one understands the lore of the daashor better than our own smiths”—she pointed at Tenquis—“and archivists will record Kitaas as the one who bargained to bring it back.”

  “You called him chaat’oor,” Ekhaas said. “Which is he, then? A defiler of Dhakaan or a guardian of its lore?”

  Geth looked to Tenq
uis in surprise. The tiefling’s face was taut with frustration. “I traded some of my knowledge for access to records from the vault,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Records from the vaults?” Ekhaas strode up to the table and snatched up a scroll. “Kitaas, you took records from the vaults?”

  Kitaas’s ears flicked. “Don’t question my muut. I am adjunct to the High Archivist. The secrets of the daashor are worth showing a few minor histories to a chaat’oor.”

  “We can talk about this later,” said Tenquis. He turned golden eyes to Geth. “Please just go now!”

  The hair on Geth’s arms and the back of his neck rose. There was more than just frustration and anger in Tenquis’s voice. There was anxiety too. Maybe even outright fear. He genuinely needed them out of there. “Ekhaas,” Geth said, “we should go. This isn’t the right time—”

  The duur’kala wasn’t swayed. She looked at the scroll in her hands. “The life of Taruuzh?” Her glare moved from Kitaas to Tenquis. “I’ve been struggling on my own to learn about the Rod of Kings and you’ve been here learning about the rod’s maker with her.” Ekhaas flung down the scroll. “Is all of this about Taruuzh?”

  Kitaas froze. Her eyes darted to Tenquis, and her ears went all the way back.

  “No,” said Tenquis. His voice was soothing, but he took a step away from her and held out his hands. “No, Kitaas. This isn’t what you think.”

  “Isn’t it?” asked Kitaas, baring her teeth—then she grabbed a curl of paper from the table and bolted for the door.

  “No!” Tenquis spat. “Stop her!”

  Geth leaped. Kitaas tried to duck past him, but he got his arms around her and wrestled her to the ground. She drew breath, ready to shout. Geth freed one hand and slapped it over her mouth, then yanked it away with a hiss as she sank sharp teeth into his fingers. He grabbed a fold of her black robe, forcing it into her mouth and holding it there as a makeshift gag. Kitaas’s eyes blazed at him.