Ashi waited until they were away from the tomb, away from the remains of the procession and safely anonymous among the crowds of Rhukaan Draal before she spoke. “I had an idea last night. A way to deal with the rod.”
Ekhaas looked at her, ears flicking gently. “How?” she asked.
“As long as I’m in Rhukaan Draal, I can use my power to protect whoever holds the rod from its influence. We tell the new lhesh that it’s dangerous, so he knows he needs my help, but we don’t tell him about the power of command. The protection of my dragonmark lasts for about a day—I could renew it every morning.”
“You’d be trapping yourself in Rhukaan Draal,” said Ekhaas.
“I’m willing to do that,” Ashi said.
Ekhaas’s ears stood up straight. “Why? Ashi, this isn’t your fight. You could leave Darguun any time and forget all about us.”
“Darguun provides mercenaries to House Deneith, but it doesn’t want anything from us except gold. Vounn came to Darguun to find a way to change that balance. If the lhesh needs me to protect him from the rod, that changes the balance.”
The duur’kala stared at her as if she were crazy. Ashi’s confidence in her argument crumbled under that gaze. “It sounded good in my head,” she said.
“Leaving aside the insanity of binding yourself into service,” said Ekhaas, “what if something happened to you? What if you missed renewing the protection? What about when you get old and die—the rod isn’t going to go away.” She grimaced. “It would also mean telling the lords of Deneith about the rod. How do you think they’d react to that news?”
“Not well.” Ashi clenched her jaw tight. “We’re going into battle armed with a spoon and shoe leather, aren’t we?”
“We’ve got five more days. We’ll think of something.”
“My head hurts from thinking about it.” She hesitated, then added, “We should ask Vounn for help. She already suspects something.”
“No.” Ekhaas’s answer was immediate. “Ashi, too many people already know about this. The fewer people who know the rod’s secret, the better—and the less Vounn knows, the better for her.” She glanced sideways at Ashi. “If something happens and this all goes wrong, Vounn will be able to say honestly that she didn’t know anything. Tell her and you could even risk the honor of Deneith.”
“The same for Senen Dhakaan and the Kech Volaar?” Ashi asked her.
Ekhaas’s ears folded back and she made a sour expression, an answer that spoke as loud as words. If she had actually intended to reply, however, her words were lost in the commotion that broke out around them.
The street they followed narrowed at a point where a building pushed out into the street like an overly bold merchant. If the crowd on the street had been moving in two directions, the spot would have been almost impassable, but with everyone heading in the direction of the games, movement was merely slow—at least until someone on the rooftop began throwing stones and debris down onto the milling crowd below. Yelping and cursing, those on the street tried to push through, pull back, or just take cover. The crawl of movement turned to a wall of chaos and more people were still pushing into them from behind.
“Khaavolaar,” muttered Ekhaas. “This way.”
An alley opened off to one side, narrower than the street, but the space at its opposite end seemed wide and open, presumably with another exit. Some people were already turning down it and they showed no sign of returning. Ashi and Ekhaas followed them.
Behind them, the shower of stones shifted as whoever was on the rooftop moved to cut off the escape route. Only a few quickwitted goblins made it into the alley on their heels before the crowd pulled back.
“Children looking for sport,” Ekhaas said. “We should be lucky it was only stones—”
There was an ominous grinding from overhead. Ashi glanced up just in time to see the rough bricks of a chimney tilt and topple into the alley. The bricks fell several paces behind them, but the goblins who had followed them into the alley weren’t so lucky. A couple were down, clutching heads covered in dust, bits of mortar, and blood. Those who had escaped the falling bricks were shaking their fists and shrieking in fury at their unseen tormentors.
A creeping sensation ran along Ashi’s spine. Stones had stopped falling at the mouth of the alley as if those on the rooftop had tired of their game, but with the collapse of the chimney, no one else was venturing down the alley.
“I don’t like this,” she said. She looked at Ekhaas and the hobgoblin nodded. The fallen chimney and injured goblins blocked the way back along the alley. Ekhaas jerked her head and they continued on, moving more quickly, one eye on the bright gap of sky above.
The alley opened into a yard of packed earth. Aside from some chickens clucking with dim curiosity and three hobgoblin children, too young to have possibly climbed up to the roofs, staring from a patch of mud in one corner, the yard was empty. Those who had entered the alley before Ashi and Ekhaas were gone, down a second alley that gaped at the other end of the yard. Ashi’s neck prickled again. They were in the open. She whirled, running backward so she could look up at the rooftops.
And just in time. A mighty roar split the air as the bulky silhouette of a bugbear came swinging out of the sunlight, the trident clenched in one massive fist stabbing down at her.
Ashi flung herself aside. Their attacker drew his legs under himself and landed in a crouch, soaking up the hard impact and pushing off again to lunge at Ashi. She rolled, and the trident stabbed packed earth. He kept after her, thrusting again and again as she scrambled away. Chickens flapped and leaped around the clear space. The hobgoblin children were pressed up into a corner, screaming.
The bugbear spun the trident in his grip and swiped at her with the butt of the shaft. It caught her across the face and blood sprayed from her mouth as she went sprawling sideways. She twisted, catching herself, and stared up at him, anger at the unprovoked attack flooding through her—then giving way to shock.
She knew the bugbear. She recognized the bear hide vest, the trident, his face, his sneer.
Makka.
She didn’t have a chance to say anything though. “Ashi!” shouted Ekhaas. “Move!”
The warning might have been intended for her, but Makka understood it too. Even as Ashi sprang away, he spun to face Ekhaas.
The duur’kala stood at a distance, sword drawn but held low. Ashi saw Makka blink with confusion. Then Ekhaas drew a breath—and sang.
Dust jumped from the ground in a thin yellow cloud as waves of battering sound burst around Makka. Ashi caught the very edge of the magical attack and it was as if all of the noise that the crowd had made in cheering Haruuc’s funeral procession were focused on her.
Makka reeled under the assault of the song, then roared defiance and charged Ekhaas on unsteady legs.
Ashi ripped her sword from its scabbard and leaped to meet him, knocking aside the trident before he could reach Ekhaas. Makka jumped away from the follow-through and dropped into a crouch, weapon at the ready.
Ashi crouched across from him, every hard breath sending a little spray of blood from a broken lip. “You!” she panted.
Ekhaas recognized him, too. “Makka,” she said. She moved in cautiously, trying to flank him. Makka moved the trident between them, pointing the weapon first at one, then the other, as he shifted backward to stay clear. Chickens and children had both settled into frightened silence along the walls. Ashi watched his feet. Ekhaas watched his face. “What are you doing here?” the duur’kala asked in Goblin.
Makka didn’t answer. Instead, he surged forward with a howl. Ekhaas brought her sword up, but he batted it aside with a swing of the trident’s shaft, the same swing that caught Ekhaas across her shoulder on the down stroke. She staggered and went to her knees.
Ashi hissed and darted around her, launching a flurry of blows to drive Makka back before he could strike a second time. He tried to hold her at the length of his trident, but she twisted like a weasel, slipped inside his
reach, and slashed at him. His heavy bear hide vest turned the blow. He kicked and managed to catch her. Ashi stumbled back, sucking breath through her teeth—and saw him draw a sword from a sheath at his belt.
The sword he had taken from her. Kagan d’Deneith’s bright honor blade.
Her eyes went wide and Makka grinned, exposing sharp teeth. “This sword will kill you,” he snarled in Goblin. “This is my vengeance!”
Maybe he mistook what he saw in her face for fear, but if he thought the threat or the sight of the stolen sword could frighten her, he was wrong.
A tremble ran through her. The world seemed to sharpen as blood roared in her ears. Her lips twisted to expose teeth stained red with her own blood. Goblin words tore themselves out of her, starting as a snarl and ending as a scream. “Give. That. Back!”
Ashi had moved like a weasel before. She moved like a tiger now, attacking with a ferocity that put Makka on the defensive. The bugbear stood a full head taller than her. He weighed probably twice as much as she did. She still forced him back. Her attacks fell with such speed and force that it was all he could do to block them, first with the bright Deneith sword, then with the shaft of the trident. Desperation started to show on his face—vengeance seemed forgotten and all of his attention was focused on Ashi as she pushed him step by step across the space between the buildings.
She chopped down with her sword. Makka raised his trident to block it—and the stout wooden shaft, already deeply gouged, snapped. Deflected, the sword nicked his arm. They staggered apart, but rage surged in Ashi and she lunged. This time her blade cut across his side. She felt it grate along Makka’s ribs, then catch flesh and plunge deep. He howled and dropped the broken trident to lash out blindly with a fist.
The blow was lucky. It caught her on the shoulder and threw her to one side, breaking her attack.
But Ekhaas was there. In the instant that Ashi fell, she heard the duur’kala’s song swell. The music was different this time though, not hard and battering, but strangely thick. Ashi saw Makka struggle, his movements slow and dragging as if he were underwater. For a moment, it seemed as if his muscles would lock, betraying him—
“No!” he roared—and smashed his arm into his wounded side.
Ashi saw pain cross his face and his limbs moved freely again, magic’s grip broken by the sudden agony. Ekhaas scowled and let her song fade, but raised her sword. Ashi rolled to her feet and faced Makka, ready to carry on the fight. The bugbear’s small eyes narrowed and his ears curled. Ashi slid close, blade ready.
Makka spun around and took two long strides to the corner where the hobgoblin children huddled and cried. He grabbed the first one his fingers found and dragged it up in front of him, the Deneith sword held across its squirming body. At the touch of the steel, the child went still and silent.
Ashi stopped. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ekhaas freeze, too.
Makka didn’t say anything. Moving slowly and leaving a bloody trail behind him, he slid sideway across the wall. The alley leading out of the yard was close. Ashi started to shadow him, but he pulled the bright blade tighter and the child whimpered.
She stopped. He would kill the child. She knew it in her gut.
Makka stepped into the alley, walking backward until he was out of sight. A moment later, the hobgoblin child came running out of the alley, face taut with terror.
Ashi was waiting for that. She leaped to the alley mouth, but the shadowed passage was empty. A swirling crowd filled the street at its far end.
The only signs of Makka were the drops of blood that ended where the crowd began, treading feet wiping away the trail as surely as flowing water. Ashi bit off a curse.
CHAPTER
FOUR
19 Sypheros
Tradition dictated the opening battle of Haruuc’s games—two junior warriors of the warlord’s clan fighting each other to honor the departed chief. Now one of the junior warriors of the Rhukaan Taash lay with his life’s blood soaking into the sand of the arena floor, while the other faced the raised box where Geth sat and thumped a trembling fist against his chest in the hobgoblin salute. Geth stood, raising the Rod of Kings, and slowly the cheers that filled the three tiers of the arena subsided.
“Faalo of Rhukaan Taash, you honor Haruuc Shaarat’kor,” Geth called into the quiet. “Name your reward.” The Goblin words weren’t as elaborate as tradition demanded, but they were what he could manage. It had taken all of his concentration just to get the responses of Haruuc’s funeral right.
The young hobgoblin lowered his head for a moment, then looked up, his ears standing tall. Wrath translated his answer: “I want to lead a squad in battle against the Valenar!”
The crowd erupted again, but Geth felt his belly flip. “Boar and Bear!” he growled quietly in the human tongue.
Seated beside him as the new warlord of the Rhukaan Taash, Tariic leaned a little closer. “Geth—”
Geth glanced down at him. “There’s not going to be a war!”
Tariic’s jaw tightened. “I was going to say give him a rank and be done,” he said. “Make no promises about elves if you don’t want to. If there’s no war, he’ll lead border patrols.”
It was good advice. Geth felt heat flood his face. “What rank?”
Tariic’s ears flicked as he thought, then said, “Lhikor.”
Geth raised his voice against the noise of the crowd, speaking Goblin once more. “In the name of Haruuc, Faalo of Rhukaan Taash, you will be lhikorl”
The crowd answered with a wall of sound. A smile spread against Faalo’s face and the young warrior thumped his chest once more, then turned to face the crowd, raising his arms in victory. A pair of honor guards appeared to escort him through one of the arena’s two gates. From the other, a troop of goblins appeared, throwing down fresh sand and dragging off the body of the warrior who had not been so fortunate. From a raised platform, an announcer using a speaking trumpet called out descriptions of the spectacles that would follow through the first day of the games. Geth dropped back into his seat and didn’t listen.
“I would have thought you’d enjoy this,” said Tariic, sitting down as well.
“If I was sitting out there”—Geth gestured around the arena—“instead of up here, I probably would.”
Tariic laughed. “Geth, you realize that if the king of Breland had chosen to attend Haruuc’s funeral, he would be here beside you right now? You’ve put yourself on a level with monarchs and you’d rather be sitting with the people.” He stopped laughing when he realized Geth wasn’t smiling. “This isn’t where you thought you’d find yourself, is it?”
“No.” There was no point in lying about that.
“You did an honorable thing. It confused me at first, but then I realized that if you hadn’t claimed the duty of a shava, Darguun might have fallen into civil war. And after the chaos of the Gan’duur raids, with just one clan in rebellion, I don’t know if we could have survived. You’ve given us a chance to calm down.” Tariic considered him with a serious expression. “You think quickly.”
“Not quickly enough.” The words slipped out and Geth tried not to wince. “This isn’t my place,” he said. “I’m a fighter, not a talker.”
“That’s to be expected. You wield the Sword of Heroes, not the Rod of Kings.” On Tariic’s other side, another hobgoblin leaned forward so he could look at Geth. “But seizing control was the act of a hero. You’ll be remembered after you leave us.”
The first time Geth had encountered Daavn of Marhaan, the warlord had been trying to persuade Haruuc to allow his clan to raid into Breland. Haruuc had embarrassed him before his allies with a clever ruse, but since then, Daavn had found new favor with Tariic. Even before Haruuc’s death, the two had become close, as Tariic, confident his uncle would eventually name him as heir, looked for supporters. Vounn d’Deneith had suspicions that Daavn was even more ambitious than Tariic—and more ruthless. She believed Daavn might have been behind an attempt to kidnap her from Khaar Mba
r’ost—an attempt that had been widely blamed on Keraal of the Gan’duur and that would have shamed Haruuc had it succeeded. They had no proof to confront Daavn with, however, and so Vounn’s suspicions remained just that.
Whenever Daavn spoke, though, his words left Geth with a sense that he was up to something. The shifter had fallen into a habit of turning them over in his mind, trying to find the hidden danger. “I … hadn’t thought about leaving yet,” he said cautiously.
“You hadn’t?” Daavn asked. “Then you’re a true friend to Darguun. A lesser man would have left at the first opportunity. But when your duty as a shava ends, what reason will there be for you to stay?”
“Don’t pressure him, Daavn,” said Tariic. His ears twitched as he smiled again. “As you say, Geth is a hero. He’ll always have a place of honor in Khaar Mbar’ost.” He rose. “But you have other duties to see to, don’t you, Geth?”
He did, but he raised his eyebrows and looked at Tariic. “How did you know—?”
“I asked Razu. These games honor my uncle. I want to know what’s happening. Lead on. I’ll come with you.” He gestured for Geth to go ahead of him.
“You’re not going to stay for the games?” asked Geth. “I thought you’d want to be seen.”
Tariic bent his head. “My presence isn’t strictly necessary. Daavn will be here.”
The gates of the arena opened and two bugbears advanced across the sands in the second bout of the games. “Pesh of Ghaal Cave and Riil of Thunder Gap fight open-handed,” called the announcer. “To the victor of this match, Tariic of Rhukaan Taash promises a chalice of gold from his own table! Hail to Tariic, nephew of Haruuc Shaarat’kor!”
The crowd bellowed its approval as Daavn produced a shining goblet. Tariic turned and waved. The bugbears looked up at him, then at each other—then roared and came together like twin juggernauts.
Khaar Mbar’ost was less than thirty years old. Built by the humans of House Cannith under commission from Haruuc, it was a blend of human and dar styles. It was also the tallest building in Rhukaan Draal. A mighty fist of a structure, it rose against the sky in a demonstration, to both Darguun and other nations, of the strength of the lhesh.
Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2 Page 5