Her hands writhed underneath them. Geth heard the tearing of paper.
“Get her up!” Tenquis came hurrying around the table. Geth twisted around, turning Kitaas over. Scraps of paper fluttered away. Tenquis cursed and scooped them up. His face flushed dark. “Mercy of the sorcerer-kings!” he cursed as he bent down to pry the last pieces from Kitaas’s fingers. “Well done, Ekhaas. You couldn’t have just left us alone?”
She looked at him in amazement. “What were you doing?” she asked.
The tiefling’s teeth showed stark white against his skin. “What you couldn’t. Getting an archivist’s help.” He got the last bit of paper away from Geth’s prisoner and stood. “I’m sorry, Kitaas, but she was right.”
Kitaas shrieked into her makeshift gag, thrashing with new energy. Geth tightened his hold on her as he stared up at Tenquis.
“I could tell after your first day with the Register that you weren’t going to get anywhere,” Tenquis said. “It was obvious that Diitesh was playing you. If you were going to find anything, it would be by pure chance, and how long would that take? I’ve done this sort of research before. You needed help. I decided to get it by pretending to search for additional daashor lore.”
The tiefling stood at the table, his back to them in anger as he picked through the scraps of paper Kitaas had shredded and struggled to piece them together. Geth exchanged glances with Ekhaas and Chetiin. They both looked like he felt—stunned at Tenquis’s initiative. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked.
Ekhaas spoke at the same moment. “Why Kitaas?” More properly restrained with rope drawn from one of Tenquis’s magical pockets, her sister squirmed and hissed.
Tenquis raised his head and finally looked around. His eyes went to Geth first, and he looked a little shamed. “Maybe I should have told you,” he said. “But you’ve been spending time with duur’kala digging into your mind. And if I’d told you, Ekhaas, what would you have done?” He dropped the paper scraps and turned fully to face them. “I could have traded some of what I knew about the daashor to any archivist, but that wouldn’t have been enough. Your people are too devoted to their sense of duty. You and Kitaas gave me what I needed. A chance to recover lost lore and steal glory from you was more than she could resist.”
Kitaas gave another muffled curse. Geth watched Ekhaas’s face flush, then go pale, then flush again. Her lips pressed tight together and her ears pulled back. “My sister despises me more deeply than she despises chaat’oor. I am flattered.” Kitaas hissed again. Ekhaas ignored her.
“If she even suspected it was some kind of trick, she would have had us thrown out of Volaar Draal,” said Tenquis.
“She still can. More so, now.” Ekhaas took a deep breath. “Let’s hope it wasn’t all for nothing. I’m sorry we interrupted you, Tenquis. What have you found?”
“Ah.” A smile spread across Tenquis’s face—one that reminded Geth too much of a schoolmaster from his childhood—as he gestured for them to join him around the table. “You’ve been searching the Register for mention of the Rod of Kings. I couldn’t be that direct. If I wanted Kitaas to believe that all I wanted was more information about the daashor, I couldn’t approach the rod directly. So I told her I wanted to start my search with the great Taruuzh. He may have created the Rod of Kings and the Sword of Heroes, but he created other wonders as well.”
“The first grieving trees,” said Ekhaas. “Fortresses. What about them?”
“We’ve been so focused on the rod and the sword that we’ve ignored something else. When you, Geth, and Dagii brought me the rod to study, you told me a story about the creation of it and the sword.”
Ekhaas’s ears flicked and her eyes narrowed. “The Rod of Kings or Guulen—‘Strength’ in the human language—was created by Taruuzh daashor from byeshk ore he mined himself out of a vein he named Khaar Vanon, the Blood of Night. He forged the Sword of Heroes, Aram or ‘Wrath,’ from the same ore. That’s how we were able to find the rod in the first place. Geth recovered the sword from the ghost fortress of Jhegesh Dol and duur’kala songs reawakened its connection to the rod.”
“But that’s not the story you told me that night,” said Tenquis. “You left something out. There was a third artifact, wasn’t there?”
Ekhaas blinked. “Muut, Duty, the Shield of Nobles, but legends say it was shattered as the Empire of Dhakaan slid toward the Desperate Times—”
Her ears rose sharply. Geth felt his belly twist as he saw the same thing she must have. Even Chetiin’s wrinkled face stretched tight with surprise. On the floor, Kitaas’s shrieks and curses faded into silence. Tenquis nodded at all of them and spoke what they were all thinking. “I said once that artifacts like the rod aren’t destroyed easily, but if the Shield of Nobles could be shattered—”
“So can the rod!” Geth growled. “How?”
Tenquis grimaced. “I don’t know.”
Hope bled out of Geth, but the tiefling shook his head. “I don’t know yet,” he said quickly, “but that’s what I was working with Kitaas to try and figure out. She thought I was just trying to track down the history of another of Taruuzh’s creations.”
Kitaas let out another screech, this one descending into deep choking noises. For a moment, Geth thought she had sucked the gag into her mouth in her struggles. When he checked on her, though, he found her weeping with helpless rage. He looked at Ekhaas but she turned her face away and said to Tenquis, “But Taruuzh has been studied for generations. What did Kitaas bring you? We heard something about a Stela of Rewards and the Rebellion of Lords during the Second Puulta dynasty.”
“Taruuzh has been studied by duur’kala and archivists,” Tenquis said, “not by artificers. You talk about things in metaphors of song and music. We talk about things in metaphors of crafting and alchemy. So did daashor.” He picked up a brittle scroll. “This is an account of Taruuzh’s creations written by a later daashor. ‘And the shield of Taruuzh was sundered by the golden ones of Dhakaan when they fell in the fifth great transformation of thunder returned. The second of the artifacts of the Blood of Night passed beyond this sphere, marking the beginning of the end of Dhakaan.’” Golden eyes looked up. “Does that make any sense to you, Ekhaas?”
Her face twisted. “Some of it. The artifacts of the Blood of Night would be the rod, the sword, and the shield. And the shield was shattered as Dhakaan collapsed.”
“Although when this was written, the author believed that the shattering of the shield was the beginning of the end, not just a part of it.” Tenquis traced the lines of faded text with a fingernail. “The important bit is what he says about who broke the shield and when they did it. In alchemy, gold is the highest state of common being, a state as close to perfect as possible without magic or divinity. ‘Golden ones’ are people of a perfect state. Today we might say they were great thinkers, but among the Dhakaan, they were more likely to be nobility.”
“Not the emperor?” asked Geth.
“Emperors were more than common beings,” Ekhaas said, her ears flicking rapidly. “In legends they’re compared to gems or metals even more precious than gold.”
Tenquis nodded. “So nobles broke the shield as they fell, which Kitaas”—there was a moan from their prisoner—“identified as a reference to the Rebellion of Lords when the nobles of Dhakaan rose up against Saabak, the fifth emperor of the Second Puulta dynasty for a brief time during the late empire. The passing of power from one emperor to another could be seen as a great transformation.”
“And puulta is an old word for the noise of an army on the march, like thunder,” said Chetiin. “The fifth transformation of thunder returned—the fifth succession of the Second Puulta dynasty.”
“Which led us to what you heard when you broke in. Kitaas knew of a history of the late empire that had a very specific reference to Saabak Puulta. She brought it to me today.” He tapped an open book with the end of the scroll. “It confirms what’s in the scroll!”
Ekhaas’s face tightened. “Do
n’t be so certain. Let me see that.” She picked up the book and, marking the page with her finger, looked at the title and author. Her expression turned grim. “Shaardat the Elder. No wonder Kitaas knew it. Archivists adore Shaardat’s interpretations.”
“So?”
“Duur’kala might cling to tradition, but Shaardat wallowed in it.” Ekhaas set the book down. “I knew I’d heard the expression ‘the time when muut was broken’ before. It survived Shaardat, and it means the nobles rebelled against their duty—their muut—to the emperor and to the people of the empire.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Tenquis. Whatever is written on Giis Puulta’s Stela of Rewards, it’s talking about the breakdown in social order, not literally about the Shield of Nobles.”
Geth watched Tenquis’s mouth open and close as he tried to find a counter-argument, but Chetiin answered before he could. “What if it isn’t?” the old goblin asked thoughtfully. “Stories can contain mistakes that are transmitted across generations. The scroll talks about the shield. Shaardat may have misinterpreted what was written on the stela.”
Tenquis’s eyebrows rose. Ekhaas answered grudgingly. “It’s possible. But even if she did, what does it tell us other than when the Shield of Nobles was shattered?”
“Perhaps there’s more written on the Stela of Rewards.”
“I’ve never heard of the fortress of Zaal Piik before. I have no idea where it would have been located.”
An idea burst over Geth. “But maybe Kitaas did.” He turned back to the paper that Kitaas had tried to destroy. “Tenquis, when Kitaas said she’d brought you the final piece of the puzzle, is this what—?”
He didn’t need to finish the question, and Tenquis didn’t need to answer, because Kitaas went mad with fury. Shrieking behind her gag and writhing against her bonds, she threw her body across the floor like some grotesque worm. Geth and Chetiin hopped out of the way. Kitaas hit the legs of the table hard enough to send books sliding around. One fell onto the scroll—the brittle rolls cracked and split. Another threatened the torn page, but Tenquis caught it. Geth reached down and grabbed Kitaas by the back of her robe, ready to drag her to a safe distance.
Ekhaas stopped him. “No, keep her close,” she said coldly. “She might be useful.” She bent over the bits of paper.
Restraining the still struggling archivist with one arm, Geth looked too. Although Kitaas had done severe damage to the page, a few large pieces were still intact. Tenquis had managed to piece several more sections together. The entire page was covered in the dark, angular characters of Goblin script. Geth gripped Wrath’s hilt with his free hand. Show me, he willed the sword.
Wrath translated spoken Goblin for him with no special command, but Geth had discovered early in his possession of the blade that it could also allow him to read the language. The characters on the page didn’t change to his eyes, but in his mind they shifted suddenly from meaningless scribbles to real words.
The page was a list of artifacts. A Tome Bound in Dragonhide. The Reliquary of Waroot Gar. Seven Blades of Shaarat Kol. A Talon Found in Aarlak. Each was accompanied by a description, some longer, some shorter.
“This is a page from the Register,” said Ekhaas in amazement. She stared at her sister. “You stole a page from the Register and were willing to destroy it rather than let me see it.”
Kitaas’s ears went back. Her eyes blazed rage. A shiver ran through Geth. He almost pushed Kitaas away from him, but just then Tenquis gave a gasp. “Horns of Ohr Kaluun!” He laid several scraps of paper together and lifted his hands away. “It doesn’t matter where Zaal Piik is, Ekhaas. The stela is here in Volaar Draal!”
Kitaas hissed again and kicked out at the table. Geth wrapped both arms around her again and dragged her back. Ekhaas looked between the torn page and her sister. Tenquis ignored them, studying the paper with a fascinated intensity. “‘The Reward Stela of Giis Puulta,’” he read aloud. “‘Carved of white stone and commemorating the allies of Giis Puulta in his ascension as the sixth marhu of the Second Puulta dynasty. Collected by Baaen Dhakaan in ruins below the Hammerfist Mountains in the years 2310 since the fall and 1246 since the founding. Transported to Volaar Draal. Displayed before the Shrine of Glories until the years 3675 and 2619, then placed by the Gallery of Dogs in the Vault of the Eye.’” He looked up, his face fallen. “The stela is in the vaults.”
Frustration rose in Geth. “Grandfather Rat is laughing at us. We find a possible clue to stopping Tariic, and we can’t get to it.” He glanced at Ekhaas. “Diitesh isn’t going to let us enter the vaults.”
“Then we won’t ask her permission.” Ekhaas raised her head, expression grim but ears standing tall. “We don’t have a choice. We’ve already broken sanctuary. When Tuura Dhakaan finds out what’s happened here, she’ll be bound by honor and duty to throw us out of Volaar Draal. If we don’t act now, we’re never going to get a chance to examine the stela.”
“And how do we get into the vaults?”
Ekhaas turned to face Kitaas. Geth felt the archivist stiffen in his arms, her anger becoming alarm at the icy distance in Ekhaas’s eyes. “My dear sister will help us,” she said.
CHAPTER
FIVE
16 Aryth
The entrance to the vaults of Volaar Draal was a wide maw, cast into shadow by pale ghostlights hung beneath deep eaves. It was an unfriendly building, jealously guarding the secrets it had swallowed over the centuries.
No guards stood beneath the ghostlights, though. None lurked in the shadows. From the cover of the nearest building—a good fifteen paces across a dark-flagged plaza—Ekhaas stood with Geth and Tenquis and watched the massive doors.
“I can’t believe it isn’t guarded,” murmured Tenquis. His quiet words were at odds with his appearance. Disguised by illusion with her magic, he wore the face and body of a bugbear.
“There are always archivists inside,” Ekhaas told him, “but they don’t need guards outside. Intruders would need to pass the gates of Volaar Draal and then the entire city if they wanted to reach the vaults. And none of the Kech Volaar would dare to trespass without permission.”
“You’re going to.”
The words were a twisting knife. Ekhaas scowled at him.
“Quiet,” said Geth. Cloaked, like Tenquis in the illusion of a bugbear, he didn’t take his eyes off the doorway. “I think I saw Chetiin.” He pointed. “There was movement just below the light on the left.”
“There’s a bat lurking there. You saw it.” Chetiin’s voice emerged from the shadow just at Geth’s elbow. The shifter jumped, and even Ekhaas felt her heart leap. Chetiin gave a wry half-grin of amusement at his own stealth. “There are no traps, no warning magic,” he said. “Nothing to stop us entering.”
Ekhaas nodded. “Remember to walk like bugbears until we’re past the archivists inside,” she told Geth and Tenquis. Two shaggy heads bobbed. Chetiin simply faded back into the shadows once more. Ekhaas braced herself for what she was about to do and stepped out into the plaza.
The unfamiliar length of Kitaas’s black robe tangled around her legs almost immediately. She twitched it free and strode on with as much arrogance as she could muster. How her sister managed to walk in the garment every day was beyond her, but at least it was bulky enough to conceal her own clothes underneath.
Kitaas slept beneath the table in the room where they had confronted her and Tenquis. Her towering anger had been no match for Ekhaas’s song. Soothed by the magic, she would sleep through the night. She’d been frightened at the end of their confrontation. Ekhaas could only imagine what Kitaas had thought she might do, but all she’d really wanted was her robe. Kitaas would have enough to worry about when she woke in the morning. The thought of Kitaas trying to explaining her actions to Diitesh gave Ekhaas a warm, satisfied feeling.
It was almost enough to quiet the doubt that pulled at her.
When did I stop feeling what she feels? Ekhaas wondered. When did I stop defending the sanctity of the vaults and the h
onor of the Kech Volaar?
Not so long before she would have been beside Kitaas in challenging any suggestion of chaat’oor entering the vaults, the one thing they might have agreed on. Instead she stood with the defilers. What they did was bigger than honor or family, she told herself. It was a duty to the future of the goblin people. Her muut to the dar.
And yet a small part of her could only think one thing. Kapaa’taat. Lowest of the low. Traitor.
Ekhaas clenched her jaw and marched on across the plaza.
Beneath the eaves of the building, it was possible to better appreciate just how massive the doors of the vaults were. Three times as tall as a hobgoblin and solid stone—yet when Ekhaas laid a hand on one, it swung open as easily as the door of a cottage.
She passed into the hall beyond with her head up and her stride brisk, concentrating on projecting an air that she belonged there. It worked—or perhaps the archivists they passed were really as absorbed in their own thoughts and conversations as it seemed. In any case, they ignored her and her shambling “bugbear” escort. Ekhaas allowed herself a thin breath of relief as she reached the inner doors—wood this time—at the far end of the hall and glanced back at Geth and Tenquis.
“Whatever happens,” she said, “don’t say anything. Chetiin, are you ready?”
His answer seemed to come from out of nowhere. “I’ll be where you need me if anything goes wrong.”
The hinges on the inner doors were as perfectly balanced as those on the outer door. They made no noise as Ekhaas pushed the door open and stepped through into a round room with a towering ceiling and walls lined with books. Massive books, as tall as Ekhaas’s forearm was long, on shelves that rose up into the shadowed heights. The Register of the vaults. Ekhaas wondered which of the volumes was missing a page.
The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 Page 7
