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

  “Don’t touch me!” he snarled. “Nobody touches me!”

  “Midian!”

  “Ashi?” His stance softened, and he actually looked at her with recognition in his eyes. “Sage’s quill, Ashi. They won’t let me rest. They’re always pulling at me.”

  “They? You mean, Tariic?”

  Midian tensed up again. “Tariic. Zilargo. Darguun. Dhakaan. They all say I serve them, but I’m not going to play their game anymore. I’m not!” His eyes went wide, and his mouth spread into a mad, savage grin. “I’m going to kill them. They want me to kill. That’s what I’m going to do. Let them see where my loyalty lies!”

  The tearing influence of the Rod of Kings had unhinged his mind. Ashi stood and took a step back, then glanced down into the arena and the chaos there. At Tariic and Pradoor, safely raised above the battle on the sands.

  An idea came to her. Even if he had slipped into madness, there was one thing she thought she could count on from Midian. One of the fleeing guards had dropped his sword. She picked it up. “Come with me,” she said to Midian. “I know where to start.”

  The disciplined Kech Shaarat formed themselves into wedges as they charged. The rod-driven warlords who came streaming into the arena from the other side simply rushed the lines of the Iron Fox. In either case, the result was the same. With some of Dagii’s men pulled out of place by Tariic’s killing command, the shield wall was weakened. It buckled on both sides simultaneously.

  “Back!” shouted Dagii. “Iron Fox, encampment formation!”

  On the periphery of his vision, Geth saw the Iron Fox’s shattered lines convulse and try to pull together, but he had his own problems. The warlords who’d been so caught up in Tariic’s command that they simply dropped over the wall of the raised box were already inside the broken lines.

  The shifter turned as Garaad of Vaniish Kai stalked around him, keeping the hobgoblin in his sight. He knew the warlord—lean and nasty as the spear he carried. And unlike Makka with his trident, Garaad wasn’t going to sacrifice the reach of his weapon for the bloody joy of close combat. He stayed back, spearhead dancing and shifting.

  “Geth,” said Tenquis from his back, the tiefling turning as Geth turned. “More coming from this side!”

  “Do what you can,” Geth said tightly. He felt Tenquis move, arms rising as he worked his magic, and caught a whiff of acrid fumes. A warlord gasped, choked, and fell back. Geth kept his eyes on Garaad’s, waiting for the telltale shift that came before a strike …

  Garaad’s eyes twitched. His spear darted in. Geth met it with an upward sweep of Wrath, turning the blow aside, then spun along the length of the spear faster than Garaad could pull back. The warlord rocked away from Wrath’s blade—right into the path of Geth’s great gauntlet. He dropped like a pair of trousers trying to stand on their own. Geth raised his sword to finish him.

  Dagii’s voice rang across the arena. “No! Bring the warlords down, but don’t kill them! They are our allies!”

  The spectators still watching from the stands above jeered. Geth remembered something Haruuc had once told him. Darguun wants blood. The people always want blood.

  It hadn’t mattered if that blood had flowed from defeated rebels or the lhesh himself. It wouldn’t matter if it came from Dagii or one of the warlords. Kings, traitors, nobles, heroes—they were all the same in the end. Geth ground his teeth together, gave Garaad a hard kick to make sure he stayed down, then turned away.

  Tenquis fought ferociously, a shimmering field of force around him throwing back the blows of warlords with a sound like thunder, while the tiefling’s wand spit short, crackling bolts of lightning. Nearby, Ekhaas fought with a grim determination, shaari’mal still in her hand, sword clashing with the weapon of a Kech Shaarat warrior, a song of determination and encouragement pouring from her throat. Chetiin darted across the field, his dagger flashing wherever an outthrust leg or exposed back presented itself. Keraal stood among the Iron Fox, swinging his chain to keep more warlords back.

  They were holding their own. Barely.

  Another warlord came at Geth. He met the hobgoblin with a snarl. Sword met sword in a bone-jarring crash. Across the arena, he heard Taak Dhakaan’s voice rise in challenge.

  “Dagii of Mur Talaan, fight me! The Kech Shaarat are no allies of yours!”

  Dagii’s answer was a roar of fury. New clashing added to the clamor of battle. As Geth turned in his own fight, he caught glimpses of Dagii and Taak’s duel. The young warlord charged and beat the Kech Shaarat warrior back a pace. Taak countered with a rain of blows that drove Dagii away. The armored figures closed again, struggling back and forth.

  Geth smashed Wrath against his opponent’s chest. The warlord’s breastplate, bright steel chased with bright brass, creased under the blow. His face turned suddenly red as the bent metal crushed in against him, and he struggled to draw breath. Geth knocked his sword away and swept his legs out from under him, leaving the hobgoblin to struggle like an overturned turtle. He whirled back to Taak and Dagii—

  —in time to see Taak break free and swing his sword around with all of his weight and strength behind it. He bellowed as he swung, his face as contorted as the demon visage on his armor.

  Dagii rocked away. Taak’s great blow passed just beyond his belly, dragging Taak around. Ears back, the warlord of the Mur Talaan stepped up and swept his own blade across Taak’s shoulders with precision and control.

  Taak Dhakaan’s body fell to the sand, still tumbling from the power of his last blow. His head rolled free to stare up at Dagii.

  “No!” Tariic’s voice rang across the arena. “Pradoor! Stop them!”

  Pradoor raised her head, and her milky eyes caught the light. “I call the teeth of the Devourer!”

  Only a few paces from Geth, whirling white blades burst out of the air in the midst of a knot of Iron Fox warriors. The warriors screamed and broke formation, blood streaming from flesh that looked as if it hadn’t been so much slashed as chewed. The Kech Shaarat they had been fighting cheered and fell on the scattered warriors.

  Geth turned to Tenquis. “We have to get up there. Follow me!”

  “Wait.” The tiefling dug into a pouch and produced what looked like tiny glass rods. He flicked the rods into the air.

  They vanished, but light streaked across the arena. In front of the raised box, the air shimmered, and stairs formed from planes of barely visible force.

  Geth bared his teeth in a grin. Drawing Tenquis after him, he sprinted for the phantom stairs, bashing at anyone who tried to get in his way. Above, Tariic slammed the Rod of Kings down on the rail of the box. “Again, Pradoor. Call down the wrath of the Six. My enemies are their enemies!”

  Anger crossed Pradoor’s blind face. “The Six are not your lackeys, Tariic.”

  “Yes, they are.” He thrust the rod at her. “Do it!”

  Almost at the foot of the stairs, Geth froze as Pradoor’s anger evaporated under the direct power of the Rod of Kings. Her arms rose stiffly. “Lords of the Dark Star!” she called, and Geth saw a kind of writhing darkness take shape around her as she spoke. “I invoke your—”

  She never finished. A blur seemed to launch itself from the back of the box and smash into her. Pradoor hit the rail of the box. Her prayer ended in a moan, the writhing darkness vanishing. The blur became Midian. Putting one arm around the old goblin priestess’s bony chest, he wrapped the other across her head and twisted with brutal efficiency.

  As she came through the back of the box, Ashi heard Pradoor’s neck snap and part of her felt a rush of joy at the goblin’s death. But Pradoor hadn’t been their target.

  She watched Midian drop Pradoor’s body and turn to Tariic with death in his eyes.

  Tariic brought up the rod. “Midian, stand where you are!”

  The gnome stopped—for a moment. His face twisted. His hands squeezed tight, then spread into claws reaching for Tariic.

  And he took a heavy step forward. “I,” he said between his teeth, “
will not … be … controlled … again!”

  Shock and rage flashed across Tariic’s face. Ashi felt a sense of triumph. She lifted her sword and stepped forward, a demand for Tariic’s surrender on her lips.

  Then Tariic took two quick steps and slammed the Rod of Kings down on Midian’s skull. Bone cracked. Midian staggered, and Tariic did it again. Midian went down, his head broken in.

  The entire arena fell silent. The spectators who had cheered for blood stopped moving. Combat on the sands came to a halt. Tariic turned to the rail and glared out at those below and above him. “Who will defy the lhesh of Darguun? Who will challenge the emperor of Dhakaan Reborn?”

  Mouth suddenly dry, Ashi moved forward and spoke. “Surrender Tariic. You’re alone. This is over.”

  He looked at her with disdain. His free hand went to his belt and drew his sword. “Alone? I’m not alone. I command the largest army in Khorvaire.” He looked back to the arena and raised the Rod of Kings, Midian’s blood and hair dripping off it.

  “Darguun,” he shouted, “rise and destroy my enemies!”

  “Darguun, rise and destroy my enemies!”

  Fear stabbed through Ekhaas. Instantly, she thrust the shaari’mal into the air, concentrating all of her will on blocking Tariic’s command. She saw Chetiin, his wrinkled face pale, do the same thing.

  They might as well have tried to stop the tide with a bucket.

  The power of the rod blasted through her, too strong to be held back. The shield of Muut muted some of it, but not enough. On the floor of the arena, Kech Shaarat, Iron Fox, and warlords alike staggered and fell, the shield allowing them to fight—if not entirely resist—Tariic’s command. Above the arena floor, though … She twisted to look up into the stands.

  All those who had remained in the arena to watch violence unfold were on their feet, eyes strangely blank. Ekhaas felt a crush of despair. Muut had failed them. Was this what had happened after the nobles of Dhakaan had abandoned their duty and the shaari’mal had been forgotten—

  Hope sprang up inside her. She whirled around. Geth, protected by Wrath, still stood, his face twisting in anger as he stared at those writhing on the ground. One of them, right beside him, was Tenquis. Ekhaas saw Geth’s fist tighten on his sword, saw him put his foot on the first step of the phantom stairs Tenquis had conjured.

  “No!” she yelled. “Geth, the third shaari’mal! Get it to Dagii!”

  From the raised box came the fluting battle cry of the Bonetree Clan as Ashi rushed at Tariic. The lhesh caught her blow on his sword, though, and slid past her easily. Ekhaas’s gut twisted. Ashi might be able to prevail over Tariic, but if she didn’t do it quickly, none of them would be able to take on Tariic’s army.

  She watched Geth look up at the sound of clashing swords, then down at Tenquis.

  Every instinct told Geth to join Ashi against Tariic. Together, they’d be able to beat him.

  In his hand, though, Wrath stirred with a life Geth had only felt a few times before. Memories of hobgoblin heroes, dead for thousands of years, flickered through his head. Memories of them performing great feats and defeating strange monsters, the tales of their exploits inspiring generations. The very reason that the Sword of Heroes had been created.

  It was Wrath’s way of telling him that this wasn’t his fight. It belonged to someone else.

  Geth bent down and reached into the pocket—fortunately still unsealed—where Tenquis had hidden the third shaari’mal. The tiefling’s hand grabbed his wrist as he drew the disk out. Tenquis looked up at him, his eyes narrow with the effort of fighting Tariic’s command.

  The shifter eased his hand away. “I’ll come back,” he promised—then he sprinted across the sand.

  Others in the arena had fallen to squirm on their sides or backs but Dagii had stayed on his knees, gripping his sword as he stared up at Tariic. Geth slid in the sand as he stopped beside the young warlord. “This is yours,” he said. He pushed the shaari’mal at him.

  Dagii stared at it for a heartbeat, then reached out and wrapped his fingers around it.

  One disk held brought a tremor through Wrath. Two disks brought a lightning charge.

  Three disks was like holding onto a storm. Geth felt as though he were gripping all of the great artifacts that Taruuzh had forged from the vein of byeshk called Khaar Vanon. He could feel the connection between them, feel the power and the destiny that they shared.

  Power pulsed out through the arena in an invisible wave. On the sand, warriors and warlords stirred and sat up. In the stands, Darguuls seemed to draw a single, unified breath as the influence of the Rod of Kings was blasted away. In the raised box, Tariic screamed in rage. Geth’s head jerked up, and he saw the lhesh batter Ashi with a blow that sent her sprawling one way and her sword spinning another.

  Tariic didn’t follow up on his advantage, though. He whirled to look out into the arena. “Who dares?” he bellowed in Goblin.

  “I dare!” Beside Geth, Dagii rose to his feet and glared at Tariic. He held the shaari’mal high and gestured with his other hand to Ekhaas and Chetiin. “We dare.”

  “You can’t!” Tariic thrust out the rod again. “Darguuls, obey me!”

  Nothing happened. There was no new pulse of power. Geth felt no tremor through Wrath.

  Dagii slowly lowered the shaari’mal. “We stand between you and them,” he said, “as it was meant to be.” He turned to look at the warlords on the sand and the people in the stands. “Tariic has manipulated you,” he proclaimed. “He has placed Darguun in peril to satisfy his own ambition. He has forgotten his muut.”

  “I will lead Darguun to a new age of empire!” Tariic roared.

  “You will destroy us!” Dagii shouted at him. “Haruuc realized it when he discovered the curse of the rod, but you were so caught up in the rod’s power that you ignored the danger. Khorvaire is no longer the place it was when Dhakaan ruled. The Age of Dhakaan leaves its legacy, but an Age of Darguun, as Haruuc saw it, is the future.”

  He threw back his head, raising his face to Tariic. “It is the ancient right of a warrior to challenge his clan chief when he believes the chief has failed the clan. The lhesh is chief of the clan of Darguun. Tariic Kurar’taarn, lhesh of Darguun, I say that you have failed us, that you are without atcha and without muut. I am Dagii, warlord of Mur Talaan, commander of the Iron Fox, victor in the Battle of Zarrthec. Here and now, I challenge you!”

  The arena was silent for a moment, then Ekhaas raised her voice. “I witness the challenge!”

  Chetiin raised his strained voice as well. “I witness it!”

  Tariic looked down at the warlords who had stood beside him in the box and who had rushed to fight at his command. Geth saw Garaad of Vaniish Kai, leaning on his spear, lift his head. “I witness it.”

  Tariic put his ears back and bared his teeth. “The challenge is accepted!” He raised the Rod of Kings. “But a chief who is challenged and wins has the right to take the life of his challenger.”

  “I expect nothing less,” said Dagii.

  Tariic swung his legs over the rail of the box and climbed down Tenquis’s phantom stairs to the sand below. Those near the base of the steps pulled back to leave a clear space. Ekhaas, Chetiin, and Tenquis came to stand with Geth and Dagii, but there was no other movement. Kech Shaarat and Iron Fox remained intermingled. Tariic stood alone in the cleared space, waiting.

  “Geth,” said Dagii, “give me Wrath.”

  Geth didn’t hesitate. He reversed the twilight blade and presented the hilt to him. Dagii took it. He looked at Ekhaas and nodded to her. She nodded in return, her ears standing high, then Dagii turned and stepped away.

  Warlord and lhesh faced each other. They raised their swords, touching them together almost as if swearing an oath in the goblin fashion. Tariic sneered at Dagii. “You never understood power,” he said.

  Dagii’s eyes narrowed, and his ears flicked back—

  In that instant, Tariic dropped his sword and snatched at the shaar
i’mal held in Dagii’s left hand. “Resist me without this!” he screamed.

  Dagii’s fingers tightened on the disk. His right arm raised Wrath and he struck.

  At Tariic’s left hand. At the Rod of Kings.

  Geth knew what would happen. He’d felt it in that moment when Dagii had gripped the third shaari’mal and completed the Shield of Nobles. The artifacts of Khaar Vanon were connected. The destiny of one lay within the others.

  Within the Shield of Nobles, the Sword of Heroes struck the Rod of Kings. Muut, Aram, Guulen.

  The rod rang with a sound like a cracked bell and shattered. Shards of byeshk fell out of Tariic’s hand. The lhesh gasped, let go of the shaari’mal, and staggered away. Dagii drew back Wrath.

  “You never understood duty,” he said—and swung.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  28 Vult

  The death of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor had been followed by a mourning period of ten days during which no fires burned in Rhukaan Draal, the streets were empty between dawn and dusk, and no one entered or left the city.

  The death of Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn was followed by no mourning period at all.

  It wasn’t a case of spite. When Razu asked how Tariic’s passing should be treated, Dagii had been willing to allow for a remembrance of tradition, but there was too much to be done too quickly. Messengers were dispatched into the north of Darguun with orders that the troops Tariic had put in place be demobilized. More messages were rushed to King Boranel of Breland advising him of the change in power in Darguun and of the nation’s good will toward its neighbors. In addition, not everyone was convinced of Tariic’s villainy. The power of the Rod of Kings had swayed many Darguuls, but many more had needed no greater persuasion than Tariic’s promises of war and glory.