Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2 Read online

  The announcer raised his speaking trumpet to his mouth. “By tradition, the final match of the games honors both the old warlord and the new with the finest fighters available. Today we honor Lhesh Haruuc”—a cheer from the crowd—“and Lhesh Tariic”—a second cheer—“with the final battle of the only man to fight matches on all five days of the games!”

  A rumble grew in the audience. The announcer gestured with a flourish to one of the gates of the arena. “I give you Keraal!”

  As the gates swung open to reveal a chain-draped figure and an enthusiastic roar leaped from the audience, Ekhaas couldn’t help wondering if the people in the stands remembered that this was the man who had led a rebellion against Haruuc. Who had tried to starve Rhukaan Draal by burning crops and storehouses. She leaned forward to get a better look at him.

  Scars covered much of the one-time warlord’s skin, but Keraal had far fewer visible injuries than she would have expected. Someone must have been giving him magical healing in preparation for his next match. He looked worn and weary, though, anticipation for the battle only a faint flicker in his eyes. His ears were down. He didn’t respond at all to the crowd’s cheering or to the closing of the gates behind him.

  “He looks like a knife that’s been sharpened too many times,” Ashi said in her ear. “I don’t think Tariic likes that he’s still alive.”

  Ekhaas looked up at the warlords’ box. Tariic barely seemed to be watching the arena, but she caught him in a glance, and in that glance was anger fit to kill. She remembered what Geth said about Tariic choosing Keraal’s opponents. “He’s got one more chance to kill him,” she said.

  “He’s fought a tiger, an ettin, bladedancers and berserkers,” said Ashi. “What else can Tariic throw at him?”

  The answer came from the announcer’s speaking trumpet. “Keraal fights the Five Homas, hunters of the Talenta Plains!”

  “The Talenta Plains?” Ashi asked. “Halflings?”

  The gates opposite Keraal shuddered and jerked as something on the other side bumped them in its eagerness for combat. Ekhaas felt her throat clench, partly in amazement, partly in involuntary anticipation of inevitable bloodshed. “No,” she said, her voice feeling thick. “Not just halflings, I think.”

  The gates shuddered again, then were forced wide as Keraal’s opponents emerged. Those gathered in the arena fell into a stunned silence—then shouted even louder than they had for Keraal. “Rond betch!” gasped Ashi.

  “Khaavolaar!” said Ekhaas.

  Halflings, yes. The same size as goblins, though with finer limbs and human-like features. And five of them, dressed in leathers painted in bright pigments, embellished with colored stones, and stitched in elaborate patterns. Their hair, coated with some kind of pale clay, rose in wild ridges and matted clumps above the bone masks that concealed their faces. Their weapons were glaives—wide, sharp blades pointed like a spear, edged like an axe, and set on long, curved poles.

  They were mounted on the great lizards of the Talenta Plains, all of the creatures decorated like their riders so that it was difficult to tell where the shimmering colors of scales ended and vibrant paint began. Four of the halfling hunters rode lizards as tall as a hobgoblin that strode upright on their hind legs, powerful heads balanced by a thick tail. The beasts’ forelegs were small and grasping, their jaws terrifying, but their hind legs were the danger. They were massively muscular and the great toe of each foot carried a heavy claw as sharp as a sickle. The lizards prowled out into the arena, heads darting and nostrils flaring.

  The fifth lizard came out more slowly. It was big, nearly twice the height of a hobgoblin in the length of its body alone, and easily twice that again from the small hook-beaked head on its lowslung neck to the tip of its long, powerful tail. A double row of bony plates rose from its back, but the beast had weapons as well as armor: the massive tail ended in a cluster of four long bony spikes. Its rider, nestled between the plates over its shoulders, used a small hook on the butt of his glaive’s shaft to prod the giant lizard just behind its skull. The creature raised its head as far as its neck would allow and let out a rumbling honk. The other four lizards answered with whistling shrieks imitated by their riders.

  “What are they?” Ashi asked in awe.

  “Clawfoots and a daggertail,” said Ekhaas. “Halflings may not put a lot of imagination into naming things, but they go straight for the important details.”

  “They look hungry!”

  “They likely are—the clawfoots at least. The daggertail eats plants.”

  “Khyberit ghentis.” Ashi shook her head. “Keraal can’t fight all of them, can he?”

  Down on the arena floor, the lone warrior seemed to be thinking the same thing. Ears flat back against his head, he watched the halflings and their mounts just as they watched him. The announcer gave the audience a moment longer to drink in the sight of the magnificent lizards, then shouted through his speaking trumpet, “For the honor of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor and the glory of Lhesh Tariic—begin!”

  Keraal let his chain slip down his arms, then whirled it up into a shield of spinning, flashing metal. The clawfoot riders urged their mounts forward with kicks and piercing whistles. They spread out to the sides of the arena as the daggertail lumbered to take a position closer to the center. Its rider prodded at it with his long goad, turning it around so the powerful spiked tail could be brought into play. It looked nervous to Ekhaas. All of the lizards did, in fact. One clawfoot rider even seemed to be struggling with his beast. Keraal shifted a few paces to the left, then back again as if gauging the reactions of his opponents.

  Then he moved, sprinting at the nearest clawfoot on his right. The rider whooped and the clawfoot surged into a long leap, thick leg muscles bunching and releasing to send it high. The crowd in the arena gasped in unison and even Keraal looked startled. The lizard’s terrible claws slashed down, but Keraal dived to the ground, throwing himself away in a spray of bloody sand. The clawfoot missed him, instead landing in a heavy crouch. Another clawfoot leaped, forcing Keraal to scramble across the sand on all fours with his chain dragging behind him. The halfling on the daggertail laughed wildly and his mount’s tail slapped the ground—nowhere near Keraal but enough to intimidate even Ekhaas. They were toying with him, she realized, keeping him off-balance and weak. The other pair of clawfoots stalked closer. The first halfling whooped again and his clawfoot leaped—

  Keraal flung himself aside once more, but this time as he rolled, he whipped out one end of his chain so that it wrapped around the clawfoot’s leg. In the same moment that the lizard landed, Keraal came up to his knees and jerked back hard on the chain. Pulled off balance, the lizard bleated like a sheep and smashed forward. Its rider swayed in the saddle, momentarily stunned—long enough for Keraal to free his chain with a flick of his wrist, turn, and send the chain arcing at another rider. Halfling and lizard both ducked instinctively, but neither was Keraal’s target. His chain tangled around the shaft of the halfling’s glaive and Keraal yanked it out of his hand. Another fast tumble across the sand and Keraal rose with the weapon in his grasp.

  The crowd howled in approval. With a flip and a twist, Keraal wrapped the chain around his torso and gripped the glaive—sized for a halfling but still useable by a hobgoblin—with both hands. Three of the four clawfoot riders were circling him now. It was impossible for Ekhaas to see their expressions behind the bone masks, but they no longer seemed interested in toying with Keraal. The hobgoblin had landed the first blow—the downed clawfoot seemed reluctant to get up in spite of the cajoling and curses of its rider.

  Then the three circling clawfoots broke and moved back. Those in the stands saw what was coming and their reaction may well have saved Keraal, who turned and lurched to one side as the daggertail’s spikes came swinging at him. He didn’t quite manage to get out of the way. The point of one spike gashed his chest.

  But it also caught in the chain wrapped around him and instead of being thrown back to where the clawfo
ots waited, he was dragged along with the tail. As the tail curved back, he flew free, rolling across the sand and ending up near the daggertail’s head. The lizard’s rider stared at him for an instant, then started to goad his mount into a turn, heavy forelegs smashing into the ground, hooked beak snapping, small eyes wild.

  “Plant-eaters?” said Ashi.

  “Just the daggertail,” said Ekhaas. She pointed. “Look there!”

  The rider of the fallen clawfoot had his mount up again. The creature’s pointed tongue licked at a muzzle covered in sand and the clawfoot might even have pressed itself back to the arena floor if the halfling hadn’t vaulted into the saddle and hauled back on the reins that guided it. The lizard shrieked in protest.

  “What’s it doing?” Ashi asked, then her eyes widened as she realized what Ekhaas already had. “The blood out of the sand!”

  “Five days’ worth of blood from the games,” said Ekhaas. To a hungry predator, the smell in the arena must have been intoxicating. No wonder the clawfoots seemed hard to control—and no wonder the daggertail seemed skittish and wild. To a plant-eater, the arena would stink only of death and danger.

  Keraal must have realized it too. As the daggertail’s head and forelegs came closer, he pushed himself to his feet and ran—not away from the lizard but at it. The halfling hunter saw him and shifted his grip on his glaive, abandoning efforts to goad his mount in order to defend himself. Sticking between the daggertail’s double row of plates, he darted back along its spine, trying to keep pace with Keraal.

  The hobgoblin was quicker, though. With a shout, he leaped high and thrust the head of his stolen glaive into the daggertail’s side with all of his weight and strength behind it.

  The great lizard let out a terrible honking screech and reared up on its hind legs. The halfling on its back, trying to stab down between the plates at Keraal, had to drop his weapon and hang onto one of the plates with both hands. Keraal just clung to the shaft of his glaive as his weight dragged the sharp blade inexorably through the creature’s flesh. Blood spurted out, spraying him. The daggertail crashed back to all four legs. Its head twisted around to try and bite at the source of its agony and its spiked tail thrashed wildly, but Keraal had chosen well: neither neck nor tail were flexible enough to reach him where he clung. He kept digging with the glaive, forcing the wound deeper and wider.

  The slapping tail kept the clawfoot riders back, too. The half-ling on the daggertail whistled and waved, gesturing for one of them to throw him a glaive, but the other riders were busy trying to control their hungry clawfoots as they caught the scent of fresh blood—and a moment later, the daggertail decided to act on its own. Turning suddenly, it made a lumbering run for the nearest wall of the arena. Spectators sitting in the lower rows fled for higher elevation, even though the spiked tail couldn’t have done more than splinter the wall below them. The clawfoot riders scattered. Keraal seemed to reach into the wound before he flung himself away from the beast, leaving the glaive behind.

  The daggertail’s rider wasn’t fast enough. Yelling at the beast as if he could calm it by voice alone, he hung onto one of the plates along its back right up until the moaning daggertail slammed its side against the wall and began to rub like a cow against a tree. The impact jarred the halfling loose. He screamed as he lost his grip and went sliding down between the great lizard and the wall.

  The audience winced and groaned with one voice.

  Keraal had his chain free again. He let it swing loose in one hand as he stalked closer to the nearest clawfoot, a blue-streaked monster somewhat larger than the others. The halflings were wary now. The others circled as the hobgoblin warrior’s target backed his mount away—but Keraal’s eyes were on the lizard, not the halfling. He stretched out his free hand, in it a big chunk of bloody flesh torn from the body of the daggertail.

  The blue-streaked clawfoot cocked its head like some enormous bird.

  Its rider saw the chunk of flesh and stiffened, then bent over his mount’s neck, maybe trying to whisper to it, to control it. No luck. Keraal took two quick paces forward then flung the meat to one side of the beast.

  The clawfoot whirled and lunged, snapping for the food. So did the next nearest clawfoot as both riders fought to control their mounts. In the moment of chaos, Keraal darted close. His chain snapped up and curled around the throat of the unfortunate halfling whose clawfoot had betrayed him. Keraal stepped back, heaving the struggling rider out of his saddle. The halfling hit the sand of the arena and an instant later, Keraal was on him, one arm around his neck, the opposite hand gripping his skull. The hobgoblin’s shoulders tensed and the halfling’s head twisted around on his shoulders, the snap of his breaking neck completely lost in the roar of the crowd.

  The now-riderless clawfoot turned to stare at Keraal, who froze with the body of the halfling hunter still in his hands. The clawfoot lowered its head, taking a slow stride forward, and even from where she sat, Ekhaas could see a kind of feral intelligence and loyalty on its reptilian face. It knew its rider, knew he was dead, and knew that Keraal had killed him. Behind it, the remaining three riders spread out. Keraal let the corpse slip from his grasp and backed up slowly, swinging his chain.

  It might have been his final act if the daggertail hadn’t at that moment staggered away from the arena wall, honking in pain and distress. It left a long smear of blood on the wall behind it, along with the broken body of its rider and the shattered shaft of the glaive—the head of which, Ekhaas guessed, must have broken off inside the wound, now even larger and uglier than before.

  All four clawfoots turned to look at it. All of the surviving riders tried to rein in their mounts and control them just as the dead rider had tried to control his, but with no greater success. The distraction that Keraal had set up by wounding the daggertail was too strong. The halflings had left their clawfoots hungry before the battle. The sight and smell of the injured daggertail—natural prey for such predators—was too powerful.

  The clawfoot that Keraal had initially brought down was the first to break. Twitching its head against the pull of the reins, it stalked out to confront the daggertail. The wounded lizard’s eyes fixed on it. The fearsome tail swung back and forth, but the clawfoot stayed well back. The other clawfoots moved in, forcing the daggertail to try and watch all of them. Ekhaas saw one of the lizards turn its head and fix its rider with an ugly stare. The halfling stiffened and whistled to the other halflings before he leaped to the ground to let his mount hunt. The other two hunters followed his example and the clawfoots, all riderless now, circled the daggertail.

  The blue-streaked clawfoot looked once more at Keraal and threw back its head to let out a bone-chilling shriek. The daggertail swung toward the sound—and the other clawfoots pounced on it. The big spiked tail caught one in mid-air, bashing it to the ground with deep wounds in its flank, but the others were on it, trying to find a grip in its flesh with their claws and their teeth. The blue-streaked clawfoot shrieked again and leaped join in.

  Keraal picked up a lost glaive, snapped the shaft over his knees to create a weapon that he could wield in one hand, and went after the three surviving halflings.

  For a warrior who had defeated a tiger, a two-headed ettin, three Kech Shaarat bladedancers, and four Marguul berserkers armed only with the chains that had once bound him, they were no challenge. The clawfoots fought their own battle and the deaths of the hunters of the Talenta Plains were accompanied first by the screams of the daggertail and then by the sounds of the feasting clawfoots.

  And by the roar of the cheering crowd, a roar that died away only when Keraal stood below the warlords’ box and let the head of the last halfling fall to the sand.

  Tariic rose slowly and glared down. His face was dark and tight with anger, but somehow it didn’t reach his voice. “Keraal, who was warlord of the Gan’duur,” he called out—and if there was no anger in his voice, there was at least malice. “Who defied Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor. Who led his clan to defeat and watche
d it die. Who is now Keraal of nothing.” He paused, his ears trembling, before continuing. “You have fought in the arena and you have triumphed. By the tradition of the People, you have won your freedom.”

  He gestured and one of the gates of the arena, the one farthest from the still feasting clawfoots, opened just a crack. Ekhaas was fairly certain that whoever stood on the other side was keeping a very close watch on the great beasts. Keraal, however, ignored both lizards and gate. He just looked up at Haruuc’s successor as Tariic pointed and said, “Go.”

  “No,” said Keraal.

  Except for the tearing and gulping of flesh, the silence in the arena was complete. “No?” asked Tariic, a hint of fury finally creeping into his voice.

  “No,” Keraal repeated. He stood tall. “Where is Dagii of Mur Talaan?”

  Partway along the box, just behind a wide-eyed Geth, Dagii rose and came forward. “I’m here.”

  Keraal looked up at him. “You ride to war against the Valenar?”

  “Yes.” Dagii glanced at Tariic, then back at the fallen warlord. “I leave Rhukaan Draal before twilight. I wait only for the blessing of the lhesh.”

  Down on the blood-soaked sand, Keraal bowed his head, “You taught me the meaning of muut, Dagii of Mur Talaan. You defeated me in battle, but gave me respect. When my warriors were to be hung in trees, you bound them there yourself. When I would have died in shame, you forced me to fight and live.” He raised his chains in one hand and the broken glaive in the other. “If you will have me, I pledge myself to your service, to follow you and obey your commands. On blood and graves, I swear it.”

  For a moment, Dagii just stared at him, then he drew his sword and held it high. “Keraal, I accept your service!”

  The applause began with the thumping of a single fist against a single chest—and Ekhaas was surprised to see that it came from Senen Dhakaan. She was alone for only a moment, though. Up in the warlords’ box, Munta the Gray began to applaud. Then Garaad of Vaniish Kai. And Aguus of Traakuum. And Geth. And abruptly the applause was taken up all around the arena, no shouts, no cheers, only the beating of fists on chests so loud that even the clawfoots took notice and looked up from their grisly meal. Dagii lowered his sword and gave Keraal a curt nod. The warrior let his weapons fall and walked out of the arena with his ears held high.