The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 Read online

  Something in the middle distance flickered across one of the bars of light.

  Geth’s breath caught in his throat. A bird? An animal? No, the jungle had gone quiet again.

  “Varags,” he growled, tightening his grip on Wrath’s hilt. “They’re pacing us.”

  Tooth cursed quietly, followed Geth’s gaze, then cursed again. Ekhaas looked, too, and her ears flattened back. Tenquis scanned the shadows. “Where?” he demanded, wand already raised.

  Two more beams of sunlight flickered, and the tiefling cursed as well. Chetiin hissed suddenly, however. “They’re letting themselves be seen,” he said. “It’s a distraction. Watch the other side!”

  Geth swung around and peered into the jungle on the other side of the road. With the light playing across them, the trees and ruins were better lit. Nothing moved there. “I don’t see—”

  The attack came from above, launched from one of the lowest branches of the great trees. From the corner of his eye, Geth saw a swinging blur. There was no time to cry out as a varag gripping a long vine hurtled down into their midst. The creature howled just before it struck, a shocking sound. Powerful legs kicked out—at Ekhaas.

  She fell hard, her song ending in a gasp of surprise. The magic faltered so suddenly that it left Geth—left all of them—reeling for an instant. The varag twisted on its vine, swinging around for another howling pass. Geth staggered, fighting to find his balance, and slashed by instinct more than intent. Wrath bit into flesh, the howl rose into a shriek, and the varag lost its grip on the vine. The creature hit the ground and rolled, arms and legs flailing. Marrow snarled and bounded after it.

  Geth left the varag to its end beneath the worg’s jaws and went to Ekhaas. She was struggling to sit up, the heavy leather of her armor torn by the varag’s foot claws. Her breath came harsh. Geth took her hand and helped her up. “Are you—?”

  “It knew what it was doing!” she gasped. “Just run!”

  It knew what it was doing … the varag had deliberately targeted Ekhaas. Geth’s head snapped up and around.

  The varags that had been pacing them in the middle distance were already racing directly toward them. There were more, too, swarming out of hiding places in the deep shadows.

  “Rat!” He released Ekhaas to stand on her own. Tooth, Tenquis, and Chetiin had seen the danger too. Chetiin gestured sharply at a ruined wall, a defensible position that would keep the varags off their backs. Geth nodded and turned to it, but Ekhaas grabbed him.

  “No, run!” she said. She pointed along the road. Geth looked—

  —and saw what she’d seen ahead while he’d been staring into the jungle to the side. Perhaps four long bowshots away, the red-gold sunlight shone where the road emerged from the trees and started to climb the slope of a hill.

  Suud Anshaar? There was no time to wonder. The protection of the ruined wall was dubious, their six no match for the advancing number of varags. “Run!” he ordered and led the way.

  The varags abandoned silence when they saw their prey break. Their howls and shrieks filled the jungle, and once again, Wrath translated the thick words for Geth. Meat! Blood! Flesh! He tried to block them out and concentrate on sprinting for the sunlight ahead.

  The road gave them a slight edge—the varags were forced to contend with the underbrush in their pursuit. Even as thin as it was, it slowed them down just a little. Geth could hear them tearing through bushes, ferns, and clutching vines. He stole a glance over his shoulder and wished he hadn’t. The varags came on in bounding leaps, jumping over obstacles and running like animals on all fours. Marrow barked a challenge at them as she ran, but Chetiin had thrown himself onto her back. He leaned down close to her shoulders, whispering in her ears and keeping her on the road.

  The bright end of the road drew closer. The undergrowth grew thicker at the jungle’s edge, but not so thick that Geth couldn’t see through it. There were ruins out there, big and blocky. Nothing to set them apart from the ruins they’d seen elsewhere in the jungle except that here the trees hadn’t taken hold.

  Between one ragged breath and the next, he wondered what kind of place could exist for centuries in the middle of a jungle but not be taken over by it.

  On his right, Ekhaas ran with long strides; on his left, Tooth had abandoned the stealth he’d shown earlier and charged forward like a bull, eyes fixed on the end of the road. Tenquis …

  Tenquis was slowing, stopping as he fumbled in a pocket of his long vest. Geth spun back and grabbed for him. “Keep up!”

  The tiefling wrenched his arm away. His golden eyes were blazing. “I can buy us time!”

  The first varags were drawing closer. Geth could see the spittle that flecked their lips. He cursed and readied himself for a fight, but Tenquis had his clenched fist out of his pocket. Silvery dust, a whole handful, glittered as he flung it into the air. Tenquis gestured with his wand and the dust streamed away to spread into a thin, sparkling cloud.

  The lead varag raced into it, two more of his pack close behind him.

  Lightning flashed as if Tenquis had conjured a storm cloud. It danced from silvery dust to the first varag to the second and the third, then back again, leaving the creatures twisting and yelping. A fourth varag entered the cloud and was jolted as well. Others following behind slowed warily.

  “Now run!” Tenquis said and leaped into motion. Geth stayed with him. The varags let out another howl as they saw their prey fleeing, and Geth heard their crashing progress resume, but the charge had been broken. Up ahead, the others had reached the edge of the trees and stood outlined by sunset’s light. Ekhaas stepped forward, and her song swelled. Geth almost felt the bright and rippling notes wash over him, touching him as they passed. Once again, the varags howled. He risked a glance back.

  Glittering golden motes drifted on the air, settling slowly to cover the ground, plants, and at least one of their pursuers. The varag was scrubbing at its eyes and shrieking in confusion. “Bright!” Wrath translated. “Too bright!”

  The other varags knew better than to enter another sparkling cloud. They were already flowing around it, but again they slowed. Geth put his head down and ran hard for the end of the road. He could hear the varags’ rapid footfalls. He thought he could hear their breathing. He didn’t turn around again. Ahead, Ekhaas and Chetiin were shouting encouragement, even as they stepped back into the fading light. Marrow was howling intimidation. Tooth had both of his grinders ready. Thirty paces … twenty … ten …

  A varag shrieked with triumph directly behind him. The sound was like a knife. Geth clenched his teeth and whirled, lashing out with Wrath even before he’d locked eyes on his enemy. A lucky strike—the twilight blade slashed across an outstretched arm. It caught on bone, pulling the varag off balance and dragging a scream of pain from the creature. There were more varags close behind though. Geth met their howls with a roar of defiance and raised Wrath again. Somewhere at his back, Tenquis shouted his name—

  Roar, howl, scream, and shout were all lost in the wail that rolled through the gathering night. There was an eternity of agony in that wail. It was high and weirdly echoing, the tones of it clashing with every other sound like the edge of a blade scraping against armor. It sent a shiver along Geth’s back and raised every hair on his neck and arms. Conflicting instincts fought inside him—turn and face the source, or flee instantly without looking back.

  The varags’ howls turned to short-lived screeches. They slid to a stop, claws digging into the ground and scrabbling across stones. The creatures seemed to freeze for a moment—then the wail came again and they were turning as fast as they could, fleeing silent back into the night. Even the one Geth had wounded and the one Ekhaas’s song-conjured dust had blinded fled as best as they were able, stumbling and hobbling, mewling like pups.

  The wail faded and did not come again.

  Geth turned around slowly. The others were standing and staring silently up the road beyond the jungle wall. Without speaking, Geth went to join them.
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  Suud Anshaar—there could be no doubting the identity of the ruins that rose above them like a crown set on top of a low hill. The bloody light of the setting sun washed over the ancient fortress, and for a moment Geth could imagine it had been constructed not of stone, but bones. The ruined walls had the curve of hips and femurs, the fragmented towers the broken appearance of ribs, cracked and smashed to extract the marrow. On the surrounding slope lay massive tumbled stones, fallen over time from the hilltop and rolled downhill by their own weight, as if they sought to escape this haunted place.

  Just as he’d seen while running, no trees adorned the naked ruins, only a few hardy vines and dry, scrubby bushes. Even those faded before they got anywhere near the broken walls of the fortress.

  “The wail,” he asked Ekhaas quietly, “a ghost? Many ghosts?”

  “I don’t know what it was. It doesn’t matter.” Her ears went back, and her jaw tightened. “We’re going in.”

  Geth looked to Tooth. “Do you want to wait for us here?”

  The bugbear’s eyes flicked between the bony ruins and the dense fringe of the jungle. “Maybe I’ll wait under the walls instead.”

  This time, Geth couldn’t help smiling as they followed Ekhaas up the last stretch of ancient road.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  27 Aryth

  Tariic’s summons came more than a week after Senen’s mutilation and exile. Ashi had been expecting it, and she told herself that it was just coincidence that it came at a time when Oraan was not her guard. Tariic couldn’t know the changeling’s identity—could he?

  Woshaar was the guard who delivered her to the throne room of Khaar Mbar’ost. He saluted his lhesh, then retreated. The great door of the chamber, a titanic slab of dark wood, slid down behind him, sealing Ashi in.

  Tariic looked down on her from the blocky throne of Darguun, the Rod of Kings in his hand, a look of distaste on his face. “You’re a scab, Ashi. You itch, you’re ugly, and I want to tear you off and be rid of you.”

  She remembered the first time she’d entered the throne room. It had been her and Vounn’s formal presentation to Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor. The hall had been crowded with Darguun’s warlords and clan chiefs, the walls hung with banners depicting their many crests. It had been night, and a mantle of shadows, emphasized rather than dispelled by scattered everbright lanterns, had rendered Haruuc powerful, proud, majestic, and mysterious.

  Tariic had chosen to summon her by day. The sunlight that streamed through the tall windows behind the throne glowed around him—his presence was blinding. There were no warlords or emissaries today, only Pradoor beside him on the dais and his three deaf-mute bugbear guards to the side.

  The crests of the clans, Ashi realized, had been removed. The only banner that remained showed the black silhouette of a spiky crown above a purple bar. The crown of Darguun over the Rod of Kings. The symbol Tariic had taken as his own.

  Ashi raised her chin and met Tariic’s gaze. For the last week, Tariic’s actions and Midian’s parting words—a surprise visit to some old friends—had eaten at her, yet without Senen’s aid, she’d had no way of warning Geth and Ekhaas that the gnome was on their trail. Oraan had kept her in her chambers, partly to avoid additional suspicion from Tariic, partly, she was certain, to give her rage time to cool. It hadn’t.

  “If I’m a scab,” she said, “that makes you a bleeding wound.”

  Tariic’s ears went back. He slammed the rod down onto the arm of the throne. “I am lhesh! You owe me respect!”

  Ashi didn’t flinch. “I owe you nothing,” she said. She raised her hands, letting the sunlight flash on the silver wrist cuffs. “Feel free to take back these beautiful trinkets, if you want.”

  His ears went back even farther, and he hissed a word between his teeth. The bracelets grew chill, then cold. Ashi kept her face hard and her eyes fixed on Tariic. If Oraan had been there, she knew, he would have counseled patience, a smile, dissembling words. Senen and Vounn would have done the same, but where had dissembling gotten them?

  The skin around the cuffs turned white. Pain tingled in Ashi’s fingertips and climbed her arms. She kept her eyes on Tariic even as cold tears blurred her vision. When she could taste ice in the back of her mouth, she finally bent her head.

  “Atcha’rhu,” she said in Goblin. Your honor is great. It was a fight to keep her voice from trembling.

  Tariic smiled benevolently and whispered again. The cold ebbed immediately. The fire in Ashi’s belly only burned hotter. “You are merciful, lhesh,” she said.

  The bite of the comment seemed lost on Tariic, but maybe he believed he was. He sat back and gestured with the rod. “I have questions,” he said. It was a command, not a request, but Ashi spread her aching hands in silent invitation. Tariic snapped his fingers. “Pradoor.”

  The old goblin priestess crouched down beside the throne. Craning her neck, Ashi could see that a rough arc of symbols had been drawn on the floor around her. Pradoor reached out and, with a certainty that was eerily at odds with her clouded eyes, let a handful of powder sift over coals in a metal bowl. Smoke rose around. Pradoor breathed it in and began chanting the words of a prayer calling on the gods of the Dark Six to separate lies from truth. Ashi felt Pradoor’s magic brush against her, a sensation like questing hands on her mind.

  They found no grip, though—the power of her dragonmark protected her against more than just Tariic’s commands. While it shielded her, her mind was a blank page to all forms of divination and magical domination. Tariic had underestimated her. The fire in her belly grew a little more.

  Pradoor didn’t seem to notice anything amiss in her spell. The chant faded. “Ask your questions, lhesh,” she croaked.

  Tariic’s gaze hadn’t turned from Ashi. “How long have you known Geth and the others were in Volaar Draal?”

  She thought quickly. “I found out when you did—when Senen confirmed it.” She let hate fill her voice, disguising the secret triumph she felt.

  “Nu kuur doovol,” said Pradoor. “She speaks the truth.”

  Tariic’s eyes narrowed. “Does she?”

  Ashi wrinkled her nose and spat, “I do! How was I supposed to find out, Tariic? I haven’t had any contact with Senen. Your guards saw to that.”

  “She speaks the truth.”

  “Senen sang messages to Volaar Draal,” said Tariic. “If she could do that, she could sing a message anywhere in Khaar Mbar’ost.”

  “She didn’t sing one to me,” Ashi snapped back. She folded her frost-numbed arms across her chest.

  “She speaks the—”

  “Just tell me if she lies, Pradoor!” roared Tariic. The old goblin’s blind eyes opened wide. She froze for an instant, then slowly bent her head. Tariic’s gaze came back to Ashi.

  “Have you had contact with Dagii of Mur Talaan, then?”

  “No.” A shiver of real fear crept across Ashi’s shoulders. If Tariic suspected Dagii, if he questioned him, he’d learn everything. She kept her voice firm. “Why would I jeopardize a friend after what you did to Senen?”

  “Maybe you had contact with him before Senen’s treachery was revealed and punished.”

  Ashi offered a silent prayer for the warlord’s safety. “I didn’t.”

  Tariic’s eyes darted to Pradoor, but the priestess remained still and silent. He rested his chin on his fist and stared at Ashi. “The changeling who posed as Aruget?”

  “I don’t know where he is.” The questions were too close. Her dragonmark might foil Pradoor’s spell, but Tariic was no fool. If he saw through her lies, they would all unravel. She had to turn the conversation back on him.

  “I want to ask you a question,” she said. “In the hall of honor, when you tortured”—she put a hard emphasis on the word, but Tariic made no reaction—“Senen, Midian told me you were sending him on an errand. I think you sent him to try and kill Geth and the others.” She drew himself up. “Did he succeed?”

  Tariic flicked his ea
rs lazily, prolonging the answer. A fear that she hadn’t expected built in Ashi. Midian couldn’t actually have done it, could he?

  “Yes,” said Tariic finally.

  Her heart dropped. No …

  Beside the throne, Pradoor’s expression tightened, and her face turned toward Tariic for an instant. The lhesh didn’t notice, but Ashi did. Tariic was lying—Pradoor’s spell had caught him! She felt her heart start beating again.

  No, Ashi. She could almost hear Vounn’s voice. Tariic told that lie for a reason. Show people what they want to see, and they’ll believe it. Ashi swallowed her hope. She seized her despair and held onto it. She dredged up all her memories of loss—Vounn’s death, the death of her father, the realization that she was nothing more to House Deneith than an asset to be traded on—and hugged them close. Under such a burden, it was easy to crumble. Her shoulders went slack. Her breath stopped, then returned fast and shallow. Tears rose in her eyes.

  She blinked them away—she’d never let Tariic see her cry, not for any reason.

  And he was watching her, measuring her reaction. She found it easier than ever to hate him. “Do you have any more questions?” she asked harshly.

  Again he paused before answering. “Those are all—for now.” He had the thin smile of a merchant who’d just come out on the better end of a bargain.

  “Then if I may leave you,” Ashi said, taking refuge in formality, “I have duties to House Deneith that I must see to.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, just bent her head once, then turned and marched to the throne room door. It was still closed, but she stood facing it, staring at the dark wood with her back to Tariic. After a long while, she heard the lhesh shout, “Open the throne room!”

  As soon as the creaking door had risen high enough, she ducked under so quickly her appearance startled Woshaar, and the guard had to run after her. Ashi didn’t look back at him. She walked to her chambers with her head high and her expression hard, a mask to hide the racing energy inside.