The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 Page 16

  Ekhaas pushed back the doubt. After Volaar Draal, if they didn’t have hope of finding something in Suud Anshaar, they had nothing. She had nothing. “Absolutely certain,” she said.

  Tooth shook his head, but then looked at Ekhaas hopefully. “If do you see any treasure, could you bring some back to me? Just to prove that I was here, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Ekhaas.

  The sun rose the next day to the kind of sticky, mist-shrouded morning they’d come to expect in the Khraal. They set off early, Tooth leading them with even more care than he normally did. About mid-morning, with the mist burned away, he paused to sniff the air, then cautiously pulled aside a big fern. Behind it were the gnawed and broken bones of a jungle boar—several boars, Ekhaas realized—all heaped up together. The bones were several days old, but there was a foul tang in the air that had nothing to do with rot.

  “Varags,” said Tooth. “They piss on the remains of their kills.”

  “There’s not much left for a scavenger to pick over,” observed Geth.

  “They don’t piss on the remains to spoil them. They do it to mark their pack’s territory.”

  Geth bared his teeth. “They sound more like animals than goblins.”

  “They are more animal than dar,” Tooth said. He glanced sideways at Ekhaas. “There’s an old legend that the Dhakaani used magic to breed them out of hobgoblins and dire wolves.”

  “That’s just a legend,” said Ekhaas stiffly. “Legends also say that before the rise of Dhakaan, hobgoblins bred bugbears as warriors and goblins as slaves.”

  “Didn’t they?” asked Tenquis. “I’d heard that they did.”

  Ekhaas gave the tiefling a dark look. So did Chetiin.

  Marrow, sniffing around the bones, squatted beside it and sprayed her urine onto the stinking heap. Tooth noticed what she was doing too late to stop her. “No!” he snarled. “Balinor’s blood, if they come this way now, they’ll know we were here.”

  The worg snarled back at him, and Chetiin clarified, “She says that if they mark their territory with scent, they’ll already know we were here when they come this way. Now they’ll also know this pack has a strong female with them.”

  Tooth grimaced. “That isn’t likely to help. Keep going and stay alert. Varags spend most of the day sleeping, but when they hunt, they’re almost silent.”

  The sun rose to its apex, and the stifling heat of the morning became oppressive. They saw and heard nothing more of the varags, though once or twice Ekhaas thought she caught a whiff of varag urine. Tooth’s wariness was contagious. Ekhaas found herself tensing up and frequently had to force her body to relax. Geth didn’t so much walk as prowl, hand never far from Wrath’s hilt, the hair on his neck and forearms as visibly ruffled as Marrow’s coat. Chetiin all but vanished into the undergrowth, invisible unless one knew where to look for him. Tenquis held his wand at the ready, twitching it at every unexpected noise or motion.

  The end of the undergrowth was so sudden, it was startling. One moment they were among trees and ferns, and the next they were stepping out onto the hard surface of an ancient Dhakaani road. Trees grew together overhead, the canopy turning the road into a tunnel. In spite of its age, the road had survived remarkably well. The black paving stones had mostly remained level, and few plants broke through between them.

  “The last landmark,” said Tooth. “Stories said there was a road running through the jungle to Suud Anshaar.” He looked to Geth and Ekhaas. “We can follow it and be there faster, but we’re more visible.”

  “We’re not entirely silent when we have to chop our way through the jungle, either,” Geth pointed out. “Follow the road.”

  Tooth answered with a tight nod and moved off into the gloom.

  “We always seem to walk roads the Dhakaani laid down,” murmured Chetiin as they followed. “Here. On our journey to Darguun as we rode up to the Marguul Pass. In the Seawall Mountains when we sought the Rod of Kings. Even the road to Volaar Draal—built by Kech Volaar in imitation of the Dhakaani. We’re chasing the empire.”

  “Everywhere we go, Dhakaan was there before us,” said Ekhaas. “It stretched from one side of Khorvaire to the other. From ruins in the Endworld Mountains in the east to Yrlag along the Grithic River in the west; from Ja’shaarat, the city that forms the foundations of Sharn, in the south, and north to—” She shrugged. “There are legends that say dar reached the Frostfell during the height of Dhakaan’s power. We live with the ghosts of the empire.”

  “And under the rod’s influence, Tariic would re-create it.” Chetiin walked a few paces in silence before adding, “Do you think such a thing would be so bad?”

  Ekhaas’s ears flicked. “For most of my life,” she said, “I have been devoted to the memory of the empire. As Kech Volaar, I wouldn’t have wanted anything more than the glories of Dhakaan reborn. But the cost?” She spread her hands. “Even with the power of the Rod of Kings behind him, Tariic would face a battle with every other nation of Khorvaire.”

  “The rod pushes him, shows him how an emperor ruled,” said Chetiin. “He doesn’t see the world as it is anymore, only as it was. Without the rod—without Tariic …”

  Geth, walking ahead with Tenquis, looked back at them. “Are you seriously talking about a new empire?” he asked incredulously.

  “A dream doesn’t die so easily, Geth,” Ekhaas said. “Dhakaan is with dar every moment, every day, and”—she stamped the surface of the road—“everywhere we go. The reminders of our past surround us. They are us. The Dhakaani knew muut and atcha. They had duur’kala. They gave birth to the shaarat’khesh. Some records in the vaults of Volaar Draal suggest that the oldest of the lowland Ghaal’dar clans like the Rhukaan Taash, the Gantii Vus, and the Mur Talaan might have origins in companies within the imperial armies.”

  “Six thousand years ago when the empire fell!”

  “It’s hard to break from the traditions of millennia. The legacy of Dhakaan marks our lives in ways we can’t control. Honor and duty bind us. We don’t just live with ghosts—we live under the tyranny of ghosts.” Ekhaas let a crooked smile emerge onto her face. “Just because I don’t believe a return to the Age of Dhakaan is possible doesn’t mean I don’t still dream about it.”

  “Haruuc could have done it,” Tenquis said suddenly. “I’m no goblin, but I would have followed him.”

  “Cho,” agreed Tooth. The bugbear had also slowed to listen to their conversation. “Haruuc could have. If the Last War had ended differently—”

  He didn’t have the chance to finish his speculation. Some change in the rising heat of the afternoon brought a sluggish breeze to stir the leaves along the side of the road. Marrow’s head snapped up and around, her nostrils flaring, a growl rumbling from her throat. Chetiin whirled. “Varags!”

  The wind-stirred bushes behind them exploded.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  13 Vult

  Geth ripped Wrath from his scabbard, but their attackers were already on them. They moved fast. Very fast. He caught only a brief glimpse of hairy brown limbs before the first of the varags was on him. He barely got his gauntlet up in time to block the creature’s strike. A heavy grinder like Tooth’s but much older, the blade worn to a curve by long sharpening, went scraping across the black metal. Geth struck back, but the varag slid aside with frightening speed. His blow found only air.

  Then it was past him and whirling to attack again. Geth turned, keeping it in his sight, and finally got a good look at the creature. The varag’s face resembled a hobgoblin’s, with flat nose and thin lips, but stretched out and thrust forward almost like a muzzle, its teeth sharp and prominent. Flat, heavy horns grew across its brow almost like armor. Its long, powerful legs had the backward bend of an animal’s. Its arms were almost as long as its legs and when the varag turned, it hunched forward to pivot around one clawed hand. Rough leathers wrapped a body that was as tall as a bugbear but much leaner, like a hungry wolf.

  The varag
howled as it lunged a second time—a battle cry, Geth realized as Wrath translated words barely recognizable as thick, guttural Goblin. “Blood and meat! Blood and meat!”

  The ancient grinder battered Geth’s gauntlet again, but this time Geth twisted his hand and grabbed the varag’s arm as the blade skittered away. He stepped into the varag’s charge, ducked, and heaved. The shrieking creature—no matter that it spoke, used a weapon, and wore clothes, Geth couldn’t think of it as anything other than a beast—hurtled over his shoulder and crashed hard into the ancient stones of the road. Its words cut off with a clashing of teeth. The impact would only stun it for a moment. Geth moved in, Wrath raised and ready to chop down.

  Long feet with claws even heavier than those on the varag’s fingers raked at him. Geth jumped back, but the claws still caught him a blow across the belly, shredding his shirt and tearing into his skin. The wounds were shallow—deeper and it would have been his guts instead of shreds of cloth sagging to the ground.

  Geth wanted to look and see how the others were doing. He could hear the sounds of their fighting, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off his attacker. The varag was too fast. As it twisted to its feet and grabbed for its grinder, Geth reached into himself—and shifted.

  Some shifters manifested claws or fangs or a burst of speed when they drew on the power of their lycanthrope ancestors. Geth’s gift was sheer toughness. He felt the sense of invulnerability that shifting brought burning in his blood, toughening his skin, making his already thick, coarse hair even thicker. The gashes across his belly closed themselves into angry scars. He sank back into a crouch, sword and gauntlet raised.

  The varag hesitated, as if it could sense the change in him. As if it knew that he had become a little more like it. The creature paced back and forth, hunched over on three limbs, its nostrils flaring as it breathed in his scent. Geth peeled back his lips and snarled at it. The varag growled in return and came at him.

  Geth leaped to meet it. They came together hard, but this time Geth caught the grinder on the back of Wrath. He twisted the twilight blade, and the deep teeth on the sword’s back caught the grinder, locking it in place. The varag howled and raked at him with the claws of its other hand, but all they did was add to the shreds that hung from Geth’s shirt and vest. Geth drew back his right arm, curled his gauntleted hand into a fist, and drove it hard into the varag’s face.

  Bones crunched and the varag staggered back, blood welling up from the imprint of Geth’s knuckles. Geth didn’t let up. He stayed on top of the varag, holding the lock on its grinder, pounding away with his metal-encased fist. The thing’s howl of anger turned to one of pain and confusion. It let go of the grinder and turned to run.

  Geth lunged and slashed with Wrath. The edge of the sword sliced into the meat of the varag’s leg. It folded instantly. The varag pitched forward, arms flailing. Geth didn’t give it a chance to recover. He struck hard and fast. Wrath bit deep into its shoulder and halfway through its neck.

  A savage growl and a terrible, short scream brought him around, fear for his friends rising in him. The growl was Marrow, though, and the scream a varag—she had it on the ground, her massive jaws around its throat. As he watched, she twisted her head and ripped. The varag’s throat tore out in a spray of gore. Marrow threw her bloody muzzle back and howled her triumph.

  Geth raised Wrath to the sky and howled with her.

  Around Ekhaas and the others, the last two varags hesitated in their whirling, blurring attacks. One was already bleeding from a deep wound; the other bore the smoking scars of acidic fumes—one of Tenquis’s spells. Geth caught the glance that passed between them.

  They were going to break, he realized, and if they ran, there would be no catching up to them. They would escape, and all the varags in the area would know there was two-legged prey to be had—if they didn’t already.

  “Stop them!” he spat, but Tooth was already moving. With a stationary target, he swung his grinders as easily as if he were chopping jungle growth. The wounded varag was caught off guard. One arm came off at the elbow and went flying into the undergrowth. The other came off at the shoulder and hit the ground with a meaty thump. A third stroke of Tooth’s grinders took off the creature’s head.

  The final varag turned and ran. Tenquis flicked his wand at it with one hand, hurling a small metal sphere with the other—in the same moment that Ekhaas’s voice rose in song.

  The sphere burst against the varag’s back. Thin yellow-green vapors, churned by the dissonance of Ekhaas’s song, billowed up around the fleeing creature. The varag wailed, clapping hands to its ears while squeezing its eyes shut, but it was too late. It stumbled away from the vapors and crashed to its knees, then slumped over. Its hair was already curled and black from the acid, the skin underneath already burned raw. Blood trickled between the fingers that still clutched its ears.

  “Four of them,” said Chetiin. “Four of them against six of us. They don’t hold back.”

  “I told you they’re not afraid of anything,” Tooth said hoarsely. “We were lucky it was only four. Maabet, we’re in trouble. Other varags will find the corpses. They’ll track us. If we can get out of their territory, we might be safe.”

  Geth grabbed his arm. “We can’t turn back now.”

  “You saw how fast varags move. Once they start tracking you, there’s no outrunning them. Even leaving their territory may not stop them, but it gives us a chance. We can let them quiet down, then come back.”

  “Then Suud Anshaar is safer,” said Ekhaas. “You said varags don’t go near it.”

  “That only makes it safe from varags,” Tooth growled. He pulled free from Geth and pointed up the old Dhakaani road. “That will take you right to the Wailing Hill. Or at least it’s supposed to. We’ve got a deal. I’ll wait for you at the other end of the road at noon, when the varags are mostly asleep, for three days. If you don’t come back, I’m heading back to Arthuun.”

  “You’ll be on your own,” Geth said.

  “Might be better.” Tooth turned and started trotting down the road, moving with surprising silence for someone as big as he.

  The sudden shrieks of varags from that direction—not close but not so distant either, and not hunting calls, but more like a pack skirmish—made him pause. Marrow growled something.

  “She says,” called Chetiin, “that if she was hunting, she’d follow prey on its own before she followed prey in a group.”

  Tooth looked down the road, then back up at them. “Blood,” he grumbled—then came back to them. “But I’m not going into the ruins, just waiting for you outside them.”

  Geth could have smiled at that, but the knot of fear that the howls produced in his own belly wouldn’t let him. “Done,” he said and started along the old road again.

  The others fell in alongside him. Tooth looked at Ekhaas and Tenquis. “Any magic you have that might slow them down would be helpful.”

  The duur’kala and the artificer glanced at each other, then Ekhaas shook her head. “No,” she said, “but I can help us move faster.”

  She started to sing again, the song low but rhythmic. The magic caught at Geth’s feet, strengthened his legs, and eased the breath in his throat. Soon they were moving at a running pace, even though they still seemed only to be walking. He wasn’t sure they’d be able to outrun varags if the creatures gave chase, but at least they wouldn’t be as easy to catch.

  He kept Wrath in his hand and ready.

  The sun had moved a double handspan across the sky when shrieks and howls broke out behind them. The varags had become more active as the heat of the day had passed and Geth had almost gotten used to the distant barks and short screams. The sound that rose from behind them was different, though. It was angry. It was vengeful. It was hungry.

  Geth knew what it meant—and he knew he didn’t have to say it to the others. The bodies of the varags they’d fought had been found. In unspoken agreement, they all picked up their already magically enhanced pace. The a
ngry howls faded, and the only sound on the thick, hot air was Ekhaas’s song. Slowly the jungle birds found their voices again, and soon her song blended into theirs.

  Tooth looked grim. “They’ll hunt in silence now,” he said. “Some will come up the road behind. Others will come through the trees. Those are the ones we’ll have to watch out for.”

  The growth around them had changed. They’d entered a region of tall trees with a thick canopy that shaded and stunted smaller plants. The landscape was more open, and they could see a greater distance into the jungle. If varags did approach them through the trees, they’d be able to see them coming—hopefully. Plants weren’t the only things on the jungle floor. Here and there, vine-choked ruins rose out of centuries’ worth of fallen vegetation. Crumbling walls, heaps of squared stones, the shapes of buildings, all of them with the familiar designs of Dhakaani style.

  “Are we there?” Geth asked Tooth. “Is this Suud Anshaar?”

  “No,” the bugbear said. “These ruins have no name. There are places like this everywhere in the Khraal. But we’re getting close. The land is rising.” He grimaced. “And the sun is setting.”

  Geth looked up to the canopy. Under the gloom of the trees, it was easy to lose track of the day. The green-tinged bright spot that was the sun had actually vanished from among the leaves, dipping down below the branches to throw irregular beams of brightness among the tree trunks. Where the light failed, shadows were deep; where it penetrated, the brilliance was dazzling.