The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3

by Don Bassingthwaite

  And the construct took the bait. It struck like a snake, whipping its entire body forward. Tentacles stabbed at Chetiin. The old goblin tumbled over one, whirled past another, ducked under a third, and spun back to face the construct—just as a fourth tentacle lanced directly at him. Geth’s breath caught.

  The tentacle chipped and skittered against stone. Chetiin was simply … gone.

  A heartbeat later, he burst out of the shadows at the base of the ruined wall and came racing down the hill. Silence fell on the night. Stomach churning, Geth looked back up at the ruin.

  The construct filled the gap, staring down at them, its tentacles calmed to a sluggish, almost inaudible writhing. Then, with an inhuman abruptness, it turned and slithered away as if it knew it couldn’t reach them and that they were therefore unworthy of its attention.

  Geth eased Tooth to the ground, then sank down into a squat himself. It took a long moment before he could do anything but suck in great gulps of the hot night air. Finally he looked up Chetiin. “How—?” he asked.

  “A secret of the shaarat’khesh,” Chetiin said. For the first time Geth could remember, Chetiin sounded winded. “Although that isn’t exactly the way it’s normally used.”

  A shadow broke away from the dark line of the jungle’s edge and came trotting toward them across the barren hill. Marrow gave a soft, excited yip. Chetiin smiled. “The varags are running!” he said. “It sounds like whatever rage they worked up to come back and try to ambush us didn’t survive actually getting a look at the construct. I don’t think they’ll be coming near the ruins again any time soon.”

  “Thank the sorcerer-kings,” groaned Tenquis.

  Geth took another deep breath, then stood up. Or tried to. The muscles in his legs spasmed as he rose, and he almost fell over before he found Tenquis’s shoulder for support. His arms and hands were trembling too—but then again, they’d all risen early that morning, hiked through jungle, fought and fled from the varags, then fled again from the construct of Suud Anshaar. It was small wonder he was trembling and exhausted. And it was probably a good thing the varags had run away. He couldn’t have managed more than a dozen strokes with Wrath before the sword fell from his hands.

  “Geth?” asked Ekhaas.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. He glanced around at the others. They all looked as tired as he felt, even Marrow. His lips twitched and he smiled, then laughed. Tenquis turned to stare at him.

  “Have you snapped?” he asked.

  Geth shook his head, pushed away from the tiefling, and wiped at his eyes with hands that were sticky with blood and dust. “Before we went into the ruins, I asked Tooth if he’d want to sleep here.” He nodded toward the jungle. “Let’s get under cover, then find a place to rest. Even if that construct starts wailing again, I’m going to sleep like the dead.”

  The heat of sunlight on his face drew Geth slowly back toward wakefulness in the little clearing they’d found in the jungle. Vague memories of dreams clung to him—skeletal black serpents that chased after him while notched disks rolled across the night sky in place of moons. He shook the memories off, rising into a place of calm and well-being, where Ekhaas sang lullabies that shook buildings to ruins, Chetiin rode Marrow through shadows, and Tooth swung his grinders with both hands. They’d escaped Suud Anshaar. The varags had fled. It was good. He tried to will himself back down into sleep.

  “Geth.”

  Sleep evaded him. Tenquis was there, mouthing words that Geth couldn’t quite hear. Geth tried to answer, but his words wouldn’t come out either.

  “Geth, wake up.”

  Tenquis slid away. A shadow passed between Geth and the sun. Something cold burned across his throat. Adolan’s collar? No, it was too thin. Too sharp. He felt a sickening sensation of danger.

  Any sense of calm vanished. His eyes opened wide to sunlight filtered through the canopy of the jungle. Instantly a hand pressed against his forehead. “Move,” said a rich, calm voice from somewhere above his head, “and you’ll cut your own throat.”

  Sudden waking blurred his thoughts. He knew that voice, but it was so utterly out of place that he couldn’t identify it. He knew it was telling the truth, though. The cold at his throat was the edge of a knife. Geth forced his body to lie still and rolled his eyes back as far as he could to try and see who held him.

  Midian Mit Davandi leaned into his field of vision. “Good morning,” he said.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  14 Vult

  There was no immediate response from Geth. “I hope you slept well,” Midian added. “It looks like you had an eventful night.”

  “What are you doing here?” the shifter growled.

  “Lhesh Tariic sends his greetings,” Midian told him with a smile. “And before you say anything else, shift your eyes to your right.”

  Geth looked—and his eyes widened slightly as he saw Makka with his trident poised over Ekhaas’s chest. The hobgoblin’s eyes were also open and hard. Midian had made a point of waking her first with a very specific warning. Any hint of a song and Makka would push his weapon home.

  Two of their quarry neutralized and with them a third. Geth looked up and found Chetiin on his feet, waiting. The old goblin’s face was blank. His hands were loose at his sides, but Midian didn’t doubt that they could produce hidden blades in an instant. He knew he didn’t have to warn Chetiin that whichever of his friends he tried to save, the other one would die—he and the shaarat’khesh elder were too much alike. That made Chetiin the most dangerous of the group.

  “There’s rope beside Tenquis,” Midian told Chetiin. “Wake him up and have him bind you. Then have him muzzle and bind the worg. Make sure it doesn’t resist him.”

  Chetiin’s eyes narrowed. “Her name is Marrow.”

  “How precious,” said Midian. “Rope.”

  So many weeks of racing after their prey, and it was over surprisingly quickly. Midian almost felt a little disappointed. Tenquis’s face blazed with hatred, but he was quick to bind Chetiin and his worg, then Geth and Ekhaas. The bugbear hunter that the group had hired as a guide proved a little more difficult if only because Tenquis seemed confused on how to tie up someone who had only one arm.

  “Feet together, then just tie his good arm to his side,” Midian advised.

  “Leave Tooth alone, Midian,” Geth said. “Let him go.”

  “Please, I’m no monster.” Midian went over to inspect the knots as Tenquis tied them. He bent down to touch the hunter’s head. His skin was hot, and of all the group he was the only one who had actually resisted waking. Midian stood up. “He’s not getting out of here on his own. Letting him go, that would just be cruel. What happened to him?”

  “Nothing that isn’t going to happen to you!” snarled Geth.

  The butt of Makka’s trident cracked across the shifter’s skull, knocking him back onto the ground. Makka glared at Midian. “I don’t like this,” he said. “We should just start killing them. Tariic wants them dead.”

  “If we were in Volaar Draal, they’d already be dead,” said Midian. “But I think Tariic would also like to know why his enemies traveled across Darguun to risk their lives in a ruin in the middle of the Khraal.” He sheathed his knife and checked the bonds of the others as well, then turned back to Tenquis, still standing beside Tooth. “Strip off their weapons and any pouches. Bring me their packs.”

  The tiefling raised his head defiantly. “If you’re just going to kill us, why should I?”

  There was a reason Midian had chosen to leave him free. “Do you remember having your tail flayed and cut apart while you watched, Tenquis?” Midian asked him. “Tariic’s torturer wasn’t the only one capable of doing that. You only need one hand for what I ask. Don’t make me ask you again.”

  Tenquis trembled and went pale, but he didn’t move. Midian raised an eyebrow in silent challenge.

  “Do it, Tenquis,” said Ekhaas.

  Makka whirled on her. “What did we tell you about keeping qu
iet?” he roared. His trident rose.

  Ekhaas looked up at him calmly. “You didn’t. You told me not to sing.”

  “Let her talk, Makka. One of them is going to have to.” Midian glanced at Tenquis again. The tiefling’s eyes were on Ekhaas. She gave him a slow nod. Tenquis seemed to sag, but he moved to Chetiin and slid the daggers from his forearm sheaths.

  “Watch him,” Midian ordered Makka, then went over to Ekhaas. “You’re trying to think of a way to escape.”

  Her ears flicked. “Of course I am. Wouldn’t you?”

  He studied her for a moment, then smiled. Drawing information out of a subject, matching wit against wit, was a fight to savor. He crouched down in front of her. “Yes, I would,” he said. “And I would start by trying to distract my captors so a friend who is free might have a chance to loosen the bonds of my other friends, but that’s not going to work.”

  Ekhaas inclined her head. “It’s so obvious I wouldn’t have tried.” She looked back at him. “Senen Dhakaan mentioned in a report to Volaar Draal that you’d popped back up at Tariic’s side. The last time I saw you, you were trying to get away from his mob. Now you and Makka are working together and hunting his enemies. You were captured, weren’t you, Midian? Tariic used the Rod of Kings on you.”

  The memories that had haunted him at Senen Dhakaan’s punishment came creeping back like roaches in the dark. He could see Tariic in them, holding out the Rod of Kings. He could hear Tariic’s voice. He could hear a screaming worse than the wails of the creature that haunted Suud Anshaar. His screaming.

  He ground his teeth together. “I serve Tariic,” he said.

  “You serve Zilargo.”

  “I. Serve. Tariic,” the gnome said, biting off each word. He rose so that he stood over Ekhaas. “And Senen won’t be spreading lies anymore.”

  That struck at Ekhaas. Her ears pulled back, and her eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”

  “I didn’t do anything, but when Tariic discovered that the Kech Volaar had been hiding you, he punished Senen as any traitor should be punished.” He pinched his tongue between thumb and forefinger, stretching it out and miming a slicing action. Ekhaas’s ears went all the way back. Midian rubbed saliva from his fingers and smiled again, all the dark memories banished once more.

  “But let’s talk about what you’re doing here,” he said. He gestured to the shriveled scalp that still hung from Makka’s belt. “We happened to run into one of the Kech Volaar scouts who escorted you out of their territory. He was very helpful—told us about your disgrace, the incident in the vaults of Volaar Draal, which way you went when you were shown the gate of the city. We picked up your trail and missed you by just this much”—he held two fingers together—“in Arthuun. And now we find you here exploring some fascinating Dhakaani ruins.” He folded his arms and propped his chin on his fist. “Let’s start with something easy. Does this place have a name?”

  He could see her weighing the wisdom of answering with the truth or with a lie. After a few moments, she said, “Suud Anshaar.”

  It was the truth. He knew it not just from her voice but from the hiss and groan that Geth made. Midian glanced over at the shifter. “You’re not helping,” he said.

  Geth glared at him around Tenquis as the tiefling removed his sword belt. “You’re a bastard, Midian.”

  “And the only reason you’re not dead already is because I convinced Makka you might have something useful to tell us, so close your mouth before I decide I was wrong.”

  Makka snorted at that and set the tines of his trident against the back of the shifter’s neck. Geth glowered and tried to twitch away, but Makka pressed the points close, following his movements and slowly forcing him forward until Geth bent over with his face almost in the dirt.

  “Midian, stop him,” said Ekhaas. Her voice was strained. “Please.”

  Midian glanced at Makka. “Let him be.”

  “The Fury has promised me my vengeance,” the bugbear said.

  “Your vengeance can wait a little bit longer,” said Midian.

  Makka scowled but pulled back his trident and stepped away. Geth sat up slowly, his face hard. From where he sat, trussed up like a goose ready for the oven, Chetiin said, “You’ll regret this, Midian.”

  “I doubt that.” Midian turned back to Ekhaas. “So—Suud Anshaar.” He had to search his memory for the reference, but he dredged it up. “The fortress of Tasaam Draet, grand inquisitor of the Puulta after the Rebellion of Lords, abandoned as cursed after its population vanished. Dare I guess that the thing that chased you out of the ruins had something to do with the alleged curse?”

  Tenquis stood nearby, head down, waiting his turn to take Ekhaas’s weapon and gear. Midian flicked a finger for him to proceed. The tiefling move to her side and removed her sword belt, then started unbuckling the belt that held her pouches. Ekhaas kept her head raised, ignoring him and focusing on Midian.

  “It was some sort of daelkyr construct,” she said. “Possibly the original one that destroyed Suud Anshaar. The population didn’t vanish. They died after their bones were turned to stone.”

  The scholar in him perked up. “Fascinating. But I don’t think that’s why you came here is it? What really brought you to Suud Ansh—”

  If he hadn’t been watching, he might not have caught Tenquis’s sudden start as Ekhaas’s belt came off. The tiefling grabbed for the largest pouch as though it contained something particularly heavy. Tenquis glanced at Ekhaas and Midian saw her eyes dart to the tiefling’s for an instant before returning to him.

  “What brought us to Suud Anshaar?” she asked, a little too quickly. “That’s a long story—”

  Midian ignored her and thrust out his hand. “Tenquis, give me that pouch.”

  Tenquis hesitated. His arm tensed, and he looked to the jungle as if he were considering hurling the belt and the pouch away into the undergrowth. Midian jumped and snatched it from him. Tenquis yelped and tried to grab it back, but Midian simply twisted away and kicked him hard in the back of one knee. The tiefling fell forward.

  “Makka, keep him down.” The large pouch on the belt was indeed strangely heavy. Something inside strained the leather. Midian pulled the pouch open.

  Purple byeshk winked at him.

  He drew the notched disk out and threw the pouch aside. “Makka.”

  The bugbear looked over and snorted. “That’s a poor weapon.”

  “It’s not a weapon. It’s a symbol of Dhakaan, a shaari’mal.” His instincts as a scholar had truly come alive. The disk was unquestionably of original Dhakaani craftsmanship, far finer than anything even the modern Dhakaani clans produced, but it was also remarkably preserved for something so ancient. He held it up before Ekhaas. “What is this?”

  Her ears flicked rapidly. “We found it in the ruins. We don’t know what it is.”

  “Liar.” He caressed the metallic surface of the disk and turned it into the sunlight to examine the symbols carved on it. “A shaari’mal forged from byeshk—when the Sword of Heroes and the Rod of Kings also happen to be forged from byeshk.”

  Ekhaas bared her teeth at him. “That’s just a coincidence. It has nothing to do with the sword or the rod.”

  “And yet the markings are similar.” Midian felt giddy. Tariic was going to want to see this.

  “They’re not,” Ekhaas insisted. There was a tension in her voice that she was trying hard to conceal. The others were reacting too. Geth was cursing. Chetiin had sat up sharply. Tenquis had squirmed around so he could see what was happening. Even Marrow’s red eyes were darting around.

  Midian smiled at the duur’kala. “Well, it’s fortunate we have something to compare them against, isn’t it?” He turned to where Geth’s sword lay waiting on the ground. “The Sword of Heroes, conveniently to hand.” He went to the sword and reached for it—then paused and stood up again.

  Geth growled at him. “Go ahead, Midian. Pick it up. Draw it.”

  “Close your mouth!” barked Makka. T
he bugbear glared at Midian. “What’s the problem?”

  Midian chewed his lip for a moment. “The Sword of Heroes won’t bear the touch of a coward,” he said. He might have dismissed such a warning as an absurdity, a myth that had grown up around the ancient sword, except that he’d seen it himself. He looked down at Tenquis. “You. Draw the sword. Makka, let him up.”

  Tenquis’s eyes went to Geth, then to Ekhaas, then he started to sit up.

  “Maabet!” Makka said. The bugbear planted a foot in the middle of Tenquis’s chest and shoved him back down. “You don’t need him. Give me that.”

  A sense of danger ran along Midian’s limbs. “Makka, don’t be—”

  But two quick strides brought Makka to the sword. He jabbed his trident into the ground, scooped up the blade, and yanked it from its sheath.

  The crack of thunder split the air the instant Makka’s hand closed on the hilt. Lightning writhed up his arm. He howled in shock and pain, the sudden contraction of his muscles more than anything completing the action of drawing the weapon. Geth’s sword flew from his hand to land blade down in the jungle soil.

  Midian snatched his knife from his belt and whirled on Ekhaas.

  He was too slow. The air itself seemed to tremble as the duur’kala opened her mouth and sang a single harsh note—

  Ekhaas felt the weight in her belt pouch shift the moment she sat up after Tenquis had finished tying her. At first, she cursed herself for cramming the lone shaari’mal into the pouch the night before, when the others were safe in Tenquis’s hidden pocket. Then she cursed the shaari’mal for being a mysterious, useless piece of … whatever it was … instead of the fragment of the Shield of Nobles that they’d come looking for.

  And then, as Makka bashed Geth without a second thought and Midian strode around like a bully, ordering Tenquis to take their weapons and pouches, she thought of a use for the thing.