Ekhaas’s ears flicked. The daashor had been the artificers of the Empire of Dhakaan—and more. Wizard-smiths of astounding ability, they had forged wonders that were the stuff of legend even before Dhakaan’s fall. The Sword of Heroes and the Rod of Kings were the creations of just one daashor, the legendary Taruuzh. In many ways, the daashor were the counterparts of the duur’kala. The magical music of the dirge-singers manifested almost entirely in women of the goblin races; the craft of the wizard-smiths in men. Ultimately, music had proved more lasting than craft—the traditions of the duur’kala had survived the Desperate Times, while the lore of the daashor had faded away, scattered in crumbling tomes and ancient carvings that the dirge-singers could not access. Some knowledge persisted, handed down among masons and smiths, but such magic was less than the shadow of what the daashor had practiced.
Until he had agreed to help them, Tenquis’s life had been devoted to the rediscovery of the lost lore. Who knew? Perhaps a modern artificer, even one who was not a dar, could find more meaning in the ancient writings than a duur’kala could. But … “The vaults are vast, Tenquis. The Kech Volaar have been collecting the lore and artifacts of Dhakaan for thousands of years. The archivists who tend the vaults maintain a list—the Register—of everything placed in them, but even it’s massive.”
“Even better.”
Ekhaas sighed and urged her horse back into a walk up the road toward the great gates. “Just don’t do anything stupid. The vaults contain the treasures of my clan, and the Kech Volaar don’t like trespassers.”
Three ranks of guards stood before the gates, all dressed in armor that had not changed since the days of Dhakaan. Linked plates provided strength and mobility. Spikes at strategic points provided weapons even if a warrior should be unarmed. Flared helmets protected vulnerable necks while still allowing openings for large and expressive ears. A Dhakaani legion on the attack would have looked like a wave of steel. As the travelers approached, the guards moved in response to some unseen signal, their ranks splitting to open the way into Volaar Draal.
One of the guards, a red insignia of rank on his helmet, stepped forward and thumped his chest in salute. “Ekhaas duur’kala,” he said in Goblin, “you are expected. Tuura Dhakaan summons you. An escort comes for you and your … companions.”
It was impossible to miss the dip in his ears or the way his eyes flicked over Geth and Tenquis as he said it. Ekhaas knew exactly what he was thinking: chaat’oor. It was the Goblin word for humans and the races descended from them, like shifters and tieflings, that had come to Khorvaire after the fall of Dhakaan. Loosely translated, it meant “outsider.” More specifically, it meant “defiler.” Ekhaas’s own ears went back. “Treat them with respect, lhurusk. Their names will be sung alongside the heroes of the dar.”
“Then you move in honored circles,” said a familiar voice from the shadows of the gate. “Walking with heroes and summoned by the leader of our clan. Perhaps a humble lorekeeper isn’t enough of an escort for you,” A hobgoblin woman dressed in a black wool robe and a red leather girdle tooled with angular designs walked out between the parted ranks of the gate guards. “Saa, Ekhaas.”
Ekhaas felt her face flush hot. “Kitaas,” she said. She bit the name off, hating the sound of it. “You’re our escort?”
Kitaas inclined her head, ears twitching. She looked at Chetiin and Geth, ignoring Tenquis. “Chetiin of the Silent Blades, and Geth, wielder of Aram, the Sword of Heroes. I am honored to greet you.”
Chetiin returned her nod. So did Geth, although a little more slowly. Ekhaas saw the stirring of curiosity, then a flash of recognition in his eyes. Kitaas turned to lead them into the gate and as they rode after her, the shifter leaned close to Ekhaas and whispered in the human language. “I recognize that girdle. In Rhukaan Draal, you used an illusion to disguise me as a woman—you said you had to choose someone familiar.” He nodded toward Kitaas’s back. “She’s your sister!”
“In the way that a dagger is sister to a sword,” she told him.
Inside the gate, goblin stablehands came to take their mounts. One approached Marrow, but the worg snapped at him. Chetiin slid to the ground and she ran back out the gate, drawing yelps of surprise from the guards as she slipped among them.
“She will remain outside to find her own shelter and prey,” Chetiin said to Ekhaas.
“As she wishes,” said the archivist.
The others dismounted as well and unloaded their meager gear. Tenquis looked at Kitaas with interest. “You’re one of the keepers of the vaults of Volaar Draal?” he asked.
Kitaas glanced at him with the same disdain the gate guards had. “I understood that tieflings had tails.”
Tenquis’s face went hard, and he self-consciously twitched the back of his long vest to cover the mutilated stump. Ekhaas bared her teeth and snapped back at her sister before he could. “Don’t antagonize my friends, Kitaas.”
“Ban,” said Kitaas. She gave Tenquis a haughty look. “I am adjunct to Diiteshm the High Archivist of Kech Volaar.”
“It means that she may call herself a ‘humble lorekeeper,’ but she isn’t,” Ekhaas said. She met Kitaas’s glare with one of her own. “You recognized Geth and Chetiin.”
“Senen Dhakaan makes regular reports. We are not isolated from events in Rhukaan Draal.” Kitaas folded her hands across her girdle, but her ears stirred languidly, and the ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “Those events are what Tuura Dhakaan wishes to speak to you about.”
Beyond the inner gate stretched the echoing length of the Great Passage, the final approach to the City of the Word. Kitaas didn’t slow her stride for the weary travelers. Soon she was a dozen paces ahead of them. Geth moved closer to Ekhaas. “What’s between you and Kitaas?” he asked quietly.
Ekhaas kept her eyes on her sister’s back. “That’s not your concern.”
“You don’t think it might be? She’s the assistant—”
“Adjunct,” Ekhaas snarled.
“I don’t even know what that means. Is this High Archivist she works for in charge of the vaults? Maybe we want to stay on her good side.”
“It’s years too late for that,” she said curtly.
Geth took the hint and fell back a pace to let her walk in silence. Distant sounds flowed through the shadows—the clash of weapons and the stamp of boots as warriors trained, the haunting song of a far-off duur’kala, the rhythmic ringing of hammers against anvils—and again Ekhaas felt a pang that Dagii wasn’t with them. She would have liked to introduce him to the sounds of Volaar Draal. And to the sight of the city, gleaming in the darkness as they emerged from the Great Passage.
But Geth, Tenquis, and Chetiin paused in awe, and at least that was something.
Close-packed ranks of homes, halls, and workshops filled the floor and crept up the walls of the vast cavern where early Kech Volaar had once sought refuge. From windows and posts, sparks of dim white-green ghostlight glimmered. Against the shadows of the cavern, the lights resembled the dense brilliance of the Ring of Siberys in the night sky. Monuments rose in silhouette, and the sounds of life filled the still air. Ekhaas felt a rush of pride in the hidden beauty and grandeur of Volaar Draal.
Kitaas didn’t even slow down. While not quite so chaotic as the streets of Rhukaan Draal, the way through the Home Cavern was twisting, narrow, and filled with dar going about their business. Ekhaas gestured for the others to keep up and hurried after Kitaas, who said nothing to her and just kept walking. Ekhaas couldn’t help noticing that the way opened up before her sister.
“Do they respect you or the robe of an archivist?” she asked boldly. Kitaas didn’t answer, but her ears went back a little. For a moment, the satisfaction of a well-struck blow warmed Ekhaas—then Geth nudged her.
“We’re attracting attention,” he muttered.
Ekhaas glanced over her shoulder. Where they had passed, ugly expressions and flattened ears followed as Kech Volaar stared after Geth and Tenquis. Kitaas, she realized, had deliberately taken t
hem along one of the city’s busiest streets. “Ignore them,” she said. She thought she heard a satisfied chuckle from Kitaas.
“Is this going to make it difficult to keep our being here secret from Tariic?” asked Geth.
“Most Kech Volaar never leave sight of Volaar Draal,” said Ekhaas. “Those who do don’t talk much about clan matters. We’re safe.”
“What about them?” asked Chetiin. He pointed ahead with a slight, concealed gesture. Ekhaas looked.
The blocky shape of the Shrine of Glories, the seat of the Kech Volaar’s leadership, rose before them. Clustered at the foot of the stairs that swept up to the entrance was a group of six armored hobgoblins. An outsider less knowledgeable than Chetiin might have mistaken them for Kech Volaar, but Ekhaas saw instantly that they weren’t. The armor they wore was even heavier and more archaic than that of the guards at the city gate—and here in the heart of the city, they were the only hobgoblins wearing armor at all. The emblem of a sword was displayed on their helmets, and Ekhaas knew that if they got close enough, she’d see the emblem repeated in brands on their cheeks.
Kech Shaarat.
Ekhaas grabbed Kitaas and shoved her into the cover of an alley. Her sister let out a curse, but Ekhaas put a hand over her mouth. “What are the Blade Bearers doing here?”
Kitaas pushed her hand away. “They come under compact of peace to speak with Tuura Dhakaan. It’s no business of yours.”
“We can’t let them see us.” It was possible that the warriors of the rival clan wouldn’t recognize the significance of Geth’s presence in Volaar Draal, but they were far more likely to tell stories of what they’d seen to someone who might. “We’ll go in the slaves’ door.”
Kitaas’s ears went back at the suggestion. “You go too—”
A flash of anger broke over Ekhaas. Seizing her sister’s wrist, she twisted her around with an arm behind her back, and Kitaas’s words broke off in a soft cry. Ekhaas pushed her bent arm higher. “The slaves’ door,” she ordered and pushed Kitaas deeper into the alley.
Kitaas hissed but marched on.
The slaves’ door of the Shrine of Glories was far less grand than the front entrance, but there was no one here to see them except for a startled old bugbear who bent low as they passed. Once they were inside, Ekhaas released Kitaas. “Where’s Tuura?”
“The Hall of Song.”
Ekhaas flicked her ears. “We’ll have cover at least.” Geth glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “It was designed after the audience chamber of the Dhakaani emperor,” Ekhaas added. “There are pillars everywhere.”
Pillars, she realized when they reached the hall, that reminded her uncomfortably of the woods where Tariic’s men had ambushed them. Like trees, the thick columns of stone gave them cover but also blocked their line of sight. Functionaries and petitioners lurked in the shadows like thieves. Ekhaas wished they still had Marrow with them.
She heard the flowing water of Tuura Dhakaan’s voice before she saw her. “The truth of the matter is that Ruus Dhakaan wishes to exploit the connections that the Kech Volaar have made with the leaders of Darguun.”
Ekhaas’s ears flicked upright. She saw Chetiin’s big ears twitch as well and knew he’d recognized the name too. Ruus Dhakaan, leader of the Kech Shaarat. Ekhaas caught Kitaas’s arm. The archivist scowled but held her position.
The voice that answered Tuura was also a woman’s though not so musical—the speaker had not undergone training as a duur’kala. “The Kech Volaar’s connections were with Haruuc Shaarat’kor. You have no connection with Tariic Kurar’taarn yet. In fact, we have heard that you delayed negotiations of your alliance with Darguun.”
Tuura sounded irritated as she answered, “A matter of tradition and prudence, Riila Dhakaan, not a sign of weakness. We respected the period of mourning for Haruuc, and while there was still competition among his potential heirs, approaching one of them would have been foolish. Even now, Tariic may hold the throne of Darguun, but he has yet to prove himself.”
“Prove himself? Does such a thing matter?” A man’s voice this time. Ekhaas’s ears rose higher. She leaned forward and saw the speaker between the pillars. He was big, even for a hobgoblin. The steel breastplate of his armor had been hammered into the visage of a snarling demon, and the hilt of a massive sword projected over his shoulders. His features—long ears, flat nose, square chin, and angular cheeks beneath branded swords—had a sharpness that spoke of an ancient and closely bred bloodline.
The woman, Riila, who stood just slightly ahead of him, also carried the sword brand of the Kech Shaarat on her forehead. Her features were so similar to the warrior’s that they might have been brother and sister. She didn’t wear heavy plate armor, but instead a suit of light scale mail beneath the blue-edged mantle of a diplomat traveling under a compact of peace. Though her ears flicked in anger at her companion’s outburst, she recovered quickly.
“Through his choice of a general, Tariic won a victory over the elves of the Valaes Tairn, ancient enemies of Dhakaan. If that does not prove his ability, at least it shows he has potential. Through cunning, he also survived an attempted assassination.” Riila’s ears flicked again. “An assassination we are told one of the Kech Volaar was involved in.”
Ekhaas would have shrunk back into the shadows, but Geth put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. A figure previously hidden by a pillar leaned forward in a raised chair, and Ekhaas caught a glimpse of Tuura Dhakaan. The leader of the Kech Volaar carried more lines in her face than the two envoys combined. Her eyes, however, were as keen as a hunting bird’s, and her words were just as sharp. “The actions of one are not the actions of the clan. If they were, the Kech Shaarat would not be here. We meet under ancient oaths of honor. I’d advise you not to break them.”
While her warrior companion fumed in silence at the rebuke, Riila bent her head. “As you say, Tuura Dhakaan. Still, this is not the time for the Dhakaani clans to stand alone or apart. Tariic respects the past, perhaps even more than Haruuc did. He wields Guulen, the Rod of Kings, with confidence. Ruus Dhakaan believes that the Kech Shaarat and the Kech Volaar together—our strength and numbers combined with your lore—could help Tariic bring about a new era of empire.”
“Riila Dhakaan and Taak Dhakaan speak the truth,” added a dusty voice, and Ekhaas saw the movement of a black wool robe behind Tuura. She recognized the voice—Diitesh, the High Archivist whom Kitaas served. “An alliance with Haruuc offered us the chance to spread the lore and tales of Dhakaan across Darguun. Joining with Tariic and the Kech Shaarat could see the glory of Dhakaan spread across—”
“I have matched wits with Ruus many times,” said Tuura, cutting off the archivist. “I didn’t realize he had become such an optimist.” She looked down on Riila. “Ruus Dhakaan guides your clan with aggression. He has conquered two lesser clans by force. He knows he can’t take the Kech Volaar by the same means, so he pursues a strategy of friendship. Perhaps he will attempt the same with the lhesh of Darguun. My answer is no. The Kech Volaar will not ally with the Kech Shaarat in this—or any other—matter. If Ruus truly wishes to find favor with Tariic, let him do it himself.”
The warrior of the Kech Shaarat, Taak, twisted his face and started to speak, but Riila silenced him with a gesture. She gave Tuura a cold look. “You put your clan in the path of the Kech Shaarat.”
“The path of the Kech Shaarat is not so wide as Ruus thinks it is.” Tuura sat back and disappeared from Ekhaas’s sight. “You may go.”
Riila inclined her head, though there was nothing of deference in her bearing. Without another word, she turned and walked away. Taak didn’t even bend his neck to the leader of the Kech Volaar but whirled and stalked after Riila.
“That was ill-considered, chib,” said Diitesh, almost too softly for Ekhaas to hear. “We might have turned this to our advantage.”
“Whose advantage, Diitesh?” Tuura asked. “When Ruus Dhakaan pours wine, I check for poison. You might want to remember that.” She rai
sed her voice. “I know you’ve returned, Kitaas. Bring them forward.”
There was no hiding from an elder of the duur’kala in her own court. Ekhaas straightened and started forward, but Kitaas pulled her back and went ahead of her, bending her head low. “Diitesh Dhakaan, Tuura Dhakaan, I obey your commands. Here are the travelers recently arrived at the gates of Volaar Draal.”
Ekhaas ground her teeth at her sister’s manner, then moved forward with Geth, Chetiin, and Tenquis at her back. Tuura’s face was impassive as they approached. Behind her, though, Diitesh gaped in open shock at the sight of outsiders brought into the heart of Volaar Draal. The High Archivist had a pale complexion, yellow like the dust of Rhukaan Draal, and the flush that rose in her face turned it the color of mud. She glanced at Kitaas as she took a place beside her, then leaned close to Tuura again. The leader of the Kech Volaar silenced her with a flick of her fingers.
Ekhaas bent her head in a deep nod before meeting Tuura’s gaze. “Mother of the dirge, I claim sanctuary—” she began.
“Do not speak, Ekhaas.” Tuura looked down at her with eyes that were suddenly filled with anger. Shock shivered through Ekhaas, and she closed her mouth sharply. Tuura ignored her discomfort. “You heard my conversation with the emissaries of the Kech Shaarat. I do not like being placed in a position to defend attempts by members of this clan to assassinate potential allies. Do you understand that?”
Ekhaas nodded again. Tuura sat forward, and her voice dropped into a whisper more terrible than any shout. “Then why did you do it? And why by the blood of the Six Kings did you bring your fellow assassins to Volaar Draal?”
Diitesh made a noise like a boiling kettle. “Sanctuary!” she spat. “For chaat’oor!”
“Diitesh!” said Tuura. The High Archivist fell silent. Tuura looked back to Ekhaas and the others. “Just by coming here you put the Kech Volaar in danger.”
Anger at the accusation rose inside Ekhaas, pushing aside shock and dismay. She raised her head to look Tuura in the eye. “Tariic thinks we’ve run for Breland. Kech Volaar would be in greater danger if we hadn’t come. Mother of the dirge, we carry a warning for you.” Ekhaas stood straight. “Tariic cannot be trusted. Make an alliance with him and the Kech Volaar will be dragged down along with Darguun under Tariic’s rulership.”
The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 Page 5
