Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2

by Don Bassingthwaite

  And Aruget, waiting just at the edge of the open space cleared by the panicked crowd, waiting for just such an attempt at escape, lifted Midian up onto his shoulders. In one smooth movement, the agent of Zilargo braced himself, brought down his crossbow, and aimed over the heads of the crowd. Ekhaas stepped in front of the pair, drawing her blade to turn back blundering spectators. The crossbow tracked Tariic for a moment, then Midian squeezed the trigger.

  Ashi couldn’t hear the crack of the bow’s release over the noise of the crowd’s confusion, but she saw Tariic jerk and sprawl backward. The fletching of a crossbow bolt smeared with Midian’s entire remaining supply of strandpine sap protruded from his throat.

  Tariic’s hand spasmed and the Rod of Kings fell from it.

  Still howling, still waving Wrath, Geth sprang for the platform. Ashi and Chetiin stayed close behind him, and the remnants of the crowd parted before them. Before the rod had even stopped rolling, before greedy warlords could do more than stare at the prize before their feet, the three of them had vaulted onto the platform. Chetiin took one side of Geth and Ashi the other, twitching her sword back and forth to keep Aguus of Traakuum and Garaad of Vaniish Kai at bay, as the shifter scooped up the rod.

  Standing close beside Aguus and Garaad, calmer than any other envoy, Vounn stood and stared at her. Ashi drew a breath between her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  Vounn’s eyes opened wide. Her finger came up—and pointed at something behind Ashi. Aguus and Garaad stiffened as well. Ashi heard a soft curse from Chetiin. She threw a fast look over her shoulder. Like Vounn and the warlords, Geth had stopped and was staring. She followed his eyes down to Tariic’s corpse.

  Red-brown flesh seemed to flow and turn dusky gray. Flat, harsh features became round and soft. Brown eyes so bright they were almost red turned white. Short, dark hair grew long and became pale.

  A changeling, returned to his true form in death.

  “Ko!” choked Geth. He flipped the Rod of Kings around to reveal the faint spiral Tenquis had made to mark the false rod.

  Ashi gasped. “Where’s Tariic?”

  “Here!”

  Ashi whirled as those on the platform parted and the real Tariic stepped forward with the rod—the true rod—raised high. Protected by her dragonmark, she couldn’t feel the power of the true rod, but she could see it in the expressions of those around Tariic. It made the effects of the false rod seem as cheap and gaudy as gilded lead. The Darguul warlords who moved aside for Tariic stood straight, ears high, proud in his presence. The ambassadors and dragonmarked envoys looked even more frightened than they already had. A startled silence spread among the crowd as they saw that Lhesh Tariic still lived—and moreover that he stood before them like an emperor returned.

  He swept the Rod of Kings across the platform and his voice almost trembled with eagerness. “Seize them, Darguuls! Seize the assassins!”

  Within the arc that the rod described, every dar head—hobgoblin, bugbear, and goblin—turned to Ashi, Geth, and Chetiin. Those few envoys and ambassadors who hadn’t already retreated looked around in confusion. Vounn, still standing in front of Ashi, opened her mouth as if to speak, but anything she might have said was lost as more than a dozen of the most powerful and important warlords in Darguun surged forward.

  “Run!” shouted Geth.

  Ashi hesitated for an instant, as if she could seize Vounn and drag her free, then she spun and followed him and Chetiin in a desperate leap from the platform.

  Too slow. Arms wrapped around her in a tackle that sent her sword flying from her hand and brought her crashing down.

  “Maabet!” cursed Aruget.

  Midian froze in the act of climbing down from his shoulder. Ekhaas felt a sudden nausea sweep through her.

  The changeling who’d impersonated Geth. The false rod. Tariic had anticipated an attempt to recapture the true rod. He’d prepared for it.

  And they’d failed.

  “Seize them!” Tariic shouted. “Seize the assassins!”

  The command spread from the platform, sweeping over the crowd. Out to the limits of Tariic’s voice, it gripped minds and souls. The crowd that had been scattering in panic turned and rushed back like the turning tide.

  The line of Aruget’s jaw tightened, and he shook Midian off his back. “Ideas?” he said.

  “One,” said Midian—and Ekhaas heard his crossbow clatter to the stones under their feet. She turned, but the gnome was already sprinting past her and racing into the crowd, darting among a forest of legs. Chaos marked his plunge, but he was fast, using his small size to evade the hands that grabbed for him.

  Aruget looked at Ekhaas and his ears flicked. “We tried,” he said.

  Then he was diving into the crowd, too. Even as he moved, though, Ekhaas saw his face and body shift and start to change. Adult hobgoblin became youthful bugbear. A few hands grabbed for him, there was a flurry of activity, but then nothing. His disappearance was even more complete than Midian’s—and it left an even greater hole in Ekhaas’s gut. She dragged her sword from its sheath and swung it in a wide circle, forcing the advancing crowd back for a moment, but where the blade passed, the crowd pressed in—

  —until the roar of a tiger brought them and Ekhaas around. Above the heads of the crowd, Dagii appeared, his tiger mount leaping through the mob as if through grass. In his wake, led by Keraal, came the soldiers of the Iron Fox Company. Joy and anger warred in Ekhaas. Anger that Dagii had involved himself, opened himself up to Tariic’s retribution. Joy that he’d come to her rescue. The last ranks of the crowd scattered as the tiger came to a snarling stop before her. Ekhaas looked up at Dagii, her heart racing.

  He stared at her with gray eyes as hard as the half-visor of his helmet and as cold as the Rod of Kings. “Ekhaas of Kech Volaar, assassin and traitor,” he said, “by command of Lhesh Tariic, you are my prisoner.”

  The hole in Ekhaas’s gut swallowed her.

  The day in the dungeon, the day he had spared Ko from the arena, came back to Geth. Tariic’s disapproval of his mercy. His own promise to the dungeon keeper—“I’ll be back to talk to him when I can.” But he’d never made it back and his mercy had returned to damn him.

  There was no room in his fury—at Tariic, but especially at himself—even for cursing. He’d thought he was a hero. He was a fool.

  His feet hit the stones of the plaza and he sank into a crouch, Wrath ready, his gauntlet up. Chetiin landed beside him. They were in the clear for the moment, but the crowd, summoned back by Tariic’s command, was swarming in fast.

  “Geth!”

  Ashi. He twisted to face the platform. Ashi lay near the edge of it, struggling desperately but held by half a dozen pairs of hands that tried to drag her back. Two of those pairs belonged to Aguus and Garaad.

  The rest of the warlords caught in the rod’s power were jumping and climbing down from the platform.

  “Geth …” Chetiin said in low warning.

  “Watch the crowd,” Geth growled. “I’m going for Ashi.”

  Before the goblin elder could say anything else, he moved, throwing himself against Tariic’s puppets. Confronted by Wrath, the Darguuls drew weapons, though they didn’t strike to kill—Tariic’s command had been to seize. Geth lashed out with the twilight blade, trying to drive them back while using the false rod, still gripped in gauntleted hand, as a club against those who got close. For a moment, it worked—until Munta the Gray thrust himself between the others. The old warlord’s sword caught Geth’s and held it. Dark eyes in a wrinkled face blazed. “Traitor!”

  The hatred and ferocity in his voice made Geth bare his teeth. “Munta, it’s the rod! Tariic has—”

  Nothing in Munta’s face or posture hinted that he even heard him. “You’re mine,” he snarled. “When I drag you before Tariic, he will know I’m still fit for battle!”

  He threw back Wrath and swung his own sword with a strength and speed that Geth wouldn’t have expected in someone of his age. The shift
er blocked the blow with his gauntlet, then jabbed at Munta with the false rod.

  The old warlord’s sword whirled around and struck the rod at a sharp angle. The edge of the blade bit deep into the byeshk. Geth thought he felt a sting in his hand as the magic Tenquis had woven into the false rod unraveled. Munta must have felt something, too. He hissed and stumbled, dropping hard onto one knee.

  “Sorry, Munta,” Geth growled. He swung the damaged rod down onto his gray head. Munta collapsed like an empty sack.

  Geth let the false rod tumble onto him as he jumped over the old warlord’s sagging body. More hands grabbed for him. He struck them away with his gauntlet. Ashi saw him, and her struggles intensified. She freed a leg and gave Aguus a hard kick in the chest. She freed a fist, but Garaad grabbed it again.

  “Ashi, I’m coming!” Geth roared, but the crowd was all around him now. Every step was a battle. Chetiin was fighting at his back, stabbing at knees and legs and chests whenever someone fell.

  Somewhere a tiger roared. “Dagii!” said Chetiin.

  Geth twisted his head around. Across the seething mob that filled the plaza, Dagii had drawn his mount up before Ekhaas—but one glance at the warlord’s face told him that his appearance was no rescue. “Tariic has him. I don’t see Aruget or Midian!”

  Up on the platform, Tariic stood back with a look of supreme confidence on his face. To one side of him, Pradoor’s head turned back and forth, ears twitching as the blind goblin listened to the sounds of the fight. To the other, Makka strained like a dog on a lead, eager to join the battle but held back by his master. Geth grimaced. Tariic didn’t need Makka’s strength to defeat them—the sheer numbers of the crowd would drag them down. Soon.

  Then somewhere behind Geth, hooves beat on stone and a voice rose in a rasping shout—“For the blood and line of Castalla!” Geth turned again, the other way this time.

  Tenquis, mounted and riding at a full gallop, plunged through the crowd, splitting it apart. In one hand, he held a rope gathering together the reins of the other horses; they followed him in a bucking, whinnying wedge of muscle and hooves. The tiefling rode with his head low over his horse’s neck, gaze fixed on the platform.

  Hands dragged at Geth as he turned his head between lhesh and artificer. Tariic raised the Rod of Kings and drew breath. One shouted command would halt the wild charge.

  “Tenquis, watch out!” Geth roared.

  But Tenquis had already released the other horses and pulled back on the reins of his own. The beast reared up on its hind legs. Tenquis’s free hand flicked out. Pale liquid spread out from a vial clutched in his ingers and seemed to evaporate on the air.

  At the same instant, thick greenish vapor burst up in a smoky curtain around Tariic, Pradoor, and Makka. Whatever command Tariic might have issued disappeared in a strangled cough.

  And the anger and energy of the crowd seemed to drain away, as if only Tariic’s concentration had sustained it. The hands that held Geth fell away. The forehooves of Tenquis’s horse clattered back to the ground and he urged the animal around in a tight circle, driving the confused crowd further apart. “Take a horse and mount up!” he shouted at Geth and Chetiin.

  Geth glanced back to the platform. The warlords who had seized Ashi were as confused as the crowd below. Their grips went slack—and Ashi pulled away from them, punching at one, cracking an elbow across Garaad’s face, then twisting to her feet. Her eyes met Geth’s and she gave him a ierce grin. Relief spread through Geth, so sharp it made him feel almost sick. He turned and leaped onto the back of the nearest horse.

  Dagii’s gaze snapped around at Tenquis’s charge, but as the tiefling artificer cast pale liquid on the air and Tariic choked on green smoke, the warlord blinked and his gray eyes cleared. He stared down and Ekhaas saw horror in his face. “Taarka’nu, I didn’t—”

  The hole that had opened in her closed a little, but not all the way. Her legs trembled. Her head spun. Tenquis was already shouting at Geth. On the platform, Ashi was fighting free. Ekhaas looked up at Dagii and cut him off with curt words. “Tariic has the true rod. Ride or he’ll have you again!”

  His ears pressed back. “If I ride, he’ll have you. Take a horse. I’ll cover your retreat.” He whipped up his sword, whirling it around his head. “Iron Fox, forward! Take defensive lines! Protect the lhesh!”

  Soldiers already in motion changed their step with disciplined obedience, rushing toward the platform. Ekhaas stared at Dagii. His eyes narrowed and his mouth curved in a smile that was both fond and hard. “Go, taarka’nu! Fight another day.”

  Her ears rose. “Great glory, ruuska’te,” she said, then raced for Tenquis and the horses. Geth was already in the saddle with Chetiin clinging behind him. Ekhaas’s foot found a stirrup and she mounted.

  The green vapor that burst around Makka seared his nostrils and stung his eyes, but at least he didn’t choke. Tariic, caught mid-breath, sucked the stuff in deep and doubled over in wracking coughs. Pradoor coughed as well, wheezing between gasps “What is this? What’s happening?”

  Makka held his breath, tore the sword from his belt, and leaped through the smoke. Wisps of it caught in his hair and scorched his skin, but he could see again.

  He could see revenge slipping away from him.

  Geth and Chetiin were already on horseback. Ekhaas of Kech Volaar was mounting. Dagii was rushing forward as if eager to meet his death. Ashi of Deneith—

  —was still on the platform and the way between them was open.

  The rage of the Fury fell over him. Tariic had denied him his vengeance for too long! Howling the anger that had seethed in him since these taat had destroyed his tribe’s camp and his power with it, Makka charged. The sword of Deneith flashed in his grip. Ashi turned. She was unarmed. Defenseless.

  Good.

  He lunged.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  3 Aryth

  Ekhaas saw it happen.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, Makka burst through the veil of green vapor and charged with a roar like wind in the mountains. Ashi turned but the bugbear’s sword—the bright blade that he had stolen from her—was already thrusting at her belly.

  Then, darting from among warlords clustered on the platform, Vounn threw herself between sword and victim.

  There was a rippling in the air around her, and Ekhaas recognized the shield of force conjured by Vounn’s dragonmark. Ashi’s mentor twisted as she moved, using her phantom armor to deflect the blade.

  It didn’t work. Makka’s mighty blow plunged his sword through the rippling shield into Vounn’s body—and through her into Ashi. The force of it slammed both women back so hard that Ashi’s arms seemed to wrap around Vounn.

  Makka held them there for a long moment, then released the hilt of the sword. Vounn and Ashi fell together, joined by the honor blade of Deneith, hitting the platform with a hard impact that drove a cry of pain from Ashi. Ekhaas thought she saw Vounn turn her head to look at Ashi, thought she saw the lady-seneschal’s lips move before blood oozed from them and her body went limp. Ashi shuddered once, then her head fell back against the rough wood of the platform.

  At the side of the platform, Pater d’Orien’s eyes went wide. He glanced up and met Ekhaas’s gaze, then his lips pressed together and his eyes lost focus as if he was gazing into the far distance. He took a small step—and vanished.

  Somewhere far away, someone would learn very shortly of the murder of Vounn and Ashi d’Deneith.

  And Ekhaas knew she wasn’t the only one to witness Pater’s disappearance. As the curtain of green vapor faded into drifting wisps, she saw Tariic staring with shock and dismay at the place where House Orien’s envoy had been.

  Makka threw his head back and howled a second time, then spun to face Ekhaas and Geth. His body tensed, ready to leap—

  Tariic’s voice cracked like thunder. “Makka, be still!”

  The bugbear froze. Instantly. Completely.

  Thought broke through Ekhaas’s sho
ck. Their chance at escape was passing. She turned her horse sharply and reached out to grab the bridle of Geth’s horse, pulling it after her. The shifter was still staring at Ashi’s body, trembling with a rage so great it seemed he might shatter.

  “Ride, Geth!” she ordered, but it was Chetiin who slid around Geth’s shaking body and snatched the reins from his hands. Tenquis slapped the horse on its hindquarters, then they were all galloping across the plaza, heading back the way they had come.

  Ekhaas clutched her reins tight, expecting at any moment to hear the command from Tariic that would summon them all—or at least her and Tenquis—back, but it didn’t come. She heard Dagii shouting, ordering his men to protect Tariic. She heard more shouts as other warlords, knowing only that an attempt had been made on the lhesh’s life, tried to break free of the defensive lines and pursue them. She heard calls from the confused crowd.

  And finally, just as they’d almost reached the edge of the plaza, she heard Tariic’s voice rise in a command that made her stomach lurch as if he’d called to her directly. “Dagii of Mur Talaan, stop them!”

  She twisted her head and looked back over her shoulder to see Dagii turning his tiger after them, his face once more hard and cold. The rapidly thinning crowd that remained in the plaza scattered at the great cat took two huge bounds, closing at least a third of the distance between them.

  Then they were around a corner onto an empty street and the plaza was out of sight. Ekhaas’s ears pressed back flat against her scalp. A horse could outpace the tiger in a distance race, but their horses had already run halfway across Rhukaan Draal. Dagii’s tiger was fresh. She looked at Tenquis, hunched over his horse’s neck, then at Chetiin and Geth. The shifter seemed to have come back to himself—he’d taken the reins from Chetiin, though his face was still twisted with rage and grief.