Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2 Page 37

  Makka beat her sword down and slashed up on the return blow. Ashi pulled back, but the tip of the bright blade sliced through her shirt and drew a thin red line across her belly. She gasped and circled away. Makka turned with her.

  Just in time to see Geth racing to her aid. The shifter moved low and fast like an animal, sword at the ready. Makka grinned. More sacrifices for the altar of his vengeance! He braced himself.

  Instead of attacking, Geth slid to a stop and took up a position a spear’s length away from Ashi. Now they both threatened him—attack one and he was vulnerable to the other. It was a cold, calculating strategy. The shifter’s eyes were cool and hard.

  And wrong. When he’d faced Geth before, on the dais at Tariic’s coronation, his eyes had been hot and alive with barely contained anger. The hobgoblins who had captured Geth had described his fiery, unflinching attacks. He hadn’t held back.

  A strangely familiar sense intruded on Makka’s lust for vengeance. A familiar sense, and a memory: Tariic’s introduction of the changeling Ko, wearing Geth’s face but without Geth’s fear.

  Ashi was Ashi, but whoever stood ready to attack him was no more Geth than Ko had been.

  Pradoor still cackled on his shoulder, but the rhythm of battle was suddenly quiet in Makka’s heart. He stepped back, turning slightly as he went so that his opponents were forced to move with him—and so that the length of the ridge and the slope that faced Rhukaan Draal came into view.

  The door of Haruuc’s tomb stood open. They’d been tricked. Ashi, Ekhaas, and the false Geth were only a distraction.

  Conflict roiled inside Makka. Ashi and Ekhaas were here on the ridge and vengeance too long denied called out to him. The Fury blessed his hunt. She’d taken him as her own. Vengeance was his sacred duty. But the Rod of Kings lay within the tomb, the key to Tariic’s ambition, the key to new power for Darguun. The key to new strength for the faithful of the Fury and of all the Dark Six.

  The age turns.

  Makka roared and drove directly between Ashi and the false Geth with a suddenness that brought a screech from Pradoor. He slashed left and right, driving his opponents back with powerful blows, then he was past them and running with long leaping strides across the face of the ridge.

  “What are you doing?” Pradoor demanded, her words jolted by every step. “The battle—”

  “A trick to get us away from the tomb. The door is open—they’ve come for the rod.”

  “You have to stop them!”

  “I will.” Makka’s teeth clashed together on a hard landing, but he stayed on his feet and slid down the final slope to the bottom of the stairs before the tomb. He grabbed Pradoor, dragged her from his shoulder, and planted her on the ground, turning her so that she faced the fight on the ridge. “Find some way to guard us.”

  A smile creased Pradoor’s wrinkled face. She pushed his hand away, turned milky eyes to the sky, and started to chant.

  Makka bounded up the steps to the tomb three at a time. He was at the door of the tomb when he heard a dull drone sweep over the ridge, but he didn’t stop to see what it was. Silent as grease, he slipped into the tomb.

  There hadn’t been time for a discussion of strategy as they fled up the ridge, only two quick rules from Aruget. Bring down as many of their enemies as possible—and don’t get caught in an open fight.

  Ekhaas heard the power that rang in Makka’s challenge to Ashi, and she knew immediately that Ashi had broken the second rule. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see what was happening. The song that had collapsed the rock wall under one of Daavn’s bugbear workers, tumbling him into the gully below, had also cut off her easy way out. She turned and raced down the other way to a shadowed gap that marked the way into another of the ridge’s broken passages. Had Tenquis’s attempt to open the tomb worked? She could only hope that it had and that the others were already inside, searching for the rod.

  Swords clashed somewhere above. Ekhaas twisted around a corner—and stumbled over the body of one of Daavn’s guards. Her sword grated along rock as she caught herself.

  On the slope leading up out of this gully, Daavn and his remaining guards stopped and turned back to stare at her. The warlord’s ears went back. “Go!” he ordered the guards. “Help Makka!”

  They raced past him and vanished from sight. Daavn stood ready for her, commanding the high ground, his sword held loose and easy. “Sing, duur’kala,” he said. “Something sad. Something for mourning.”

  A knife glittered in his hand, held by the blade and ready for throwing.

  Ekhaas didn’t hesitate. A song would have brought an attack and Daavn had the advantage of higher ground. She threw herself at him, charging up the slope and sweeping her sword ahead of her, not high but low. At his feet.

  The move startled Daavn. He drew back the throwing knife and released it with a snap of his wrist, but the cast was weak and wide. The slim blade rang on rock. Ekhaas’s attack forced him to hop and dance backward. By the time he had the opportunity to strike back, Ekhaas had secure footing even if she was still below him. Daavn’s sword swung down at her; she managed to raise her blade and block it. Metal skittered on metal, and for a moment the blades locked. Daavn’s lips drew back from his teeth.

  “You’re not going to stop Tariic,” he said. “He’ll have the true rod.”

  He kicked at her chest. Ekhaas felt the shift in his balance through their braced swords and twisted desperately to the side. The kick missed her and in the heartbeat that it took Daavn to recover his balance, she ran past him and up to the top of the slope.

  She could see Ashi now, circling Makka and Pradoor with Aruget at her side. Daavn’s guards and the last of the bugbear workers were closing in. A song might scatter them, but first she would have to deal with Daavn—if she could stay away from the warlord’s sword. “How much has Tariic told you about the rod?” she asked him. “Has he told you that it’s cursed?”

  “He’s told us that Haruuc didn’t know how to control its power.” Daavn lunged, whirling his blade. Ekhaas twisted aside and tried to reach under his extended arm, but Daavn was faster and closed his stance quickly. He snapped an elbow up, catching her under the chin and sending her staggering back.

  The roar that erupted from Makka gave both of them pause. Ekhaas swung around to catch a glimpse of the bugbear charging past Ashi and Aruget, and leaping down the ridge in the direction of the tomb. Fear clenched a fist in her guts. Their distraction had failed.

  “Maabet,” cursed Daavn, then shouted orders. “Move in! All of you, move in!”

  Ekhaas slashed her sword at his throat.

  He blocked her with the ease of a practiced swordsman and forced her back across the ridge with a series of powerful, hammering blows. He smiled the next time they crossed swords.

  “Did you know your friend Midian betrayed Ashi and Geth to save his own life?”

  She felt him relax a little in anticipation of her surprise. She turned it against him.

  “Yes,” she said and jerked her knee up into his groin.

  He wore an armored codpiece that left her knee aching, but the force of the blow was still enough to make his ears droop and his eyes open wide. Ekhaas shoved hard against his chest with her free hand and he reeled back.

  Right over the edge of a crevice in the ridge. He didn’t even teeter, but just went over. Ekhaas heard his armor strike rock twice as he fell. She whirled and ran to the aid of Ashi and Aruget.

  She’d taken perhaps four paces when a dull drone filled the air. She looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, but it seemed to come from everywhere. Aruget, Ashi, and the guards and workers who had pinned them down broke off their attacks, looking around in confusion.

  The brown body of an insect—a locust—landed on her arm. Its eyes were the same milky white as Pradoor’s. The drone turned into a thrum that reverberated in Ekhaas’s belly. The horses picketed before the tomb whinnied and shifted in fright.

  And a vast swarm of the white-eyed l
ocusts rose up from behind the ridge.

  They came whirring down like a blizzard, only a few at first, then more and more. Daavn’s bugbears and hobgoblins shouted and fled, dropping tools and weapons. Ekhaas sprinted to Ashi and Aruget. “Makka has gone into the tomb!” she shouted over the thrumming of the locusts’ wings. Daylight was growing dim as the swarm clustered around them.

  “I saw him,” said Ashi, “and I saw Pradoor chanting. I think this swarm is—” She broke off with a hiss of pain and plucked a locust away from the thin bloody scratch across her belly. “It bit me!” She hissed again.

  So did Aruget. Blood matted Geth’s thick hair. The locusts seemed to be settling on it like leeches. The changeling could have been doing a bizarre dance as he swatted at them. Another locust settled on Ekhaas but this time it brought with it a stinging pain. She slapped it away and it left a smear of red blood behind. Her blood.

  Two more locusts landed on the same spot. The thrumming of the swarm rose in pitch. Ekhaas’s fear rose with it. She grabbed for Aruget and Ashi and pulled them close, ignoring the bites of the locusts as they settled on her. “Cover your ears!” she ordered, then drew a breath through barely parted lips and sang a burst of sound directly on top of them.

  The song blew back the swarm like a stone thrown into a pond. Ekhaas felt the sound pulse through her body but it did more damage to the locusts than to her. The brown insects dropped in drifts all around them. For a moment, daylight returned and the thrumming vanished.

  Only for a moment. Pradoor’s shrill voice rose. “Devourer, aid your servant! Let your hunger be manifest!” The thrumming returned, and the sun dimmed as a new swarm settled over them.

  “Ekhaas, we have to get into the tomb!” said Ashi. “Geth and Chetiin need us!”

  “We’d never make it,” Aruget said, and spat as a locust crawled into his mouth.

  Ekhaas held tight to both human and changeling and drew them down into a tight huddle. Forcing her voice deep into her throat, she started to hum with the same pitch and resonance as the swarm. It was hardly a song, but when she drew up magic from deep inside herself, it took on strength and substance.

  The thrum of the swarm became a roar, but no locusts landed on them. Ekhaas felt Ashi raise her head and look around. “Rond betch,” she said in amazement.

  Aruget—shifter’s features melting back into a hobgoblin’s—raised his head, too, but he looked at Ekhaas. She could guess what he was thinking because she was thinking it, too.

  Which would last longer: her hum or Pradoor’s chant?

  Geth tumbled across the floor of the tomb, bashing aside treasures and scattering coins. He still felt Midian’s second crossbow bolt pass uncomfortably close to him. He landed beside a broad polished shield bearing the crest of House Deneith and snatched it up, ducking behind it like a turtle retreating into its shell. The high opening of the stairs leading up out of the tomb was a half dozen paces away. Tenquis stood there, still directing the dim light of his moonstone up at Midian.

  “Drop the stone, Tenquis!” Geth shouted. “You’re a target!”

  The tiefling flinched and flicked the stone away. Shadows lurched crazily. Geth seized the moment and ran for the stairs, still covering himself with the shield. In spite of the shifting shadows and the shield, another bolt from Midian’s hand crossbow glanced off the stone right beside his moving feet. Geth yelped and skipped, diving the last of the way into the cover of the passage.

  “You’re only making this a challenge, Geth.” Midian’s voice drifted down from his perch above. “I’m a very good marksman.”

  Geth, panting for breath, looked up at Tenquis. “Where did he get a crossbow?”

  “If I was him,” said Chetiin from nearby, “I would have left a cache of weapons and supplies behind.”

  Both Geth and Tenquis flinched this time. Geth twisted around and spotted Chetiin squatting against one wall of the stairs. “I thought you were still somewhere out there in the cave!” he said, almost choking.

  “I thought we should talk without having to shout our business.” The shaarat’khesh elder stood up and added quietly. “I’ll deal with Midian.”

  “You’re not going to get close to him,” Tenquis said. “He’s a good eight paces up and he’ll have clear aim on you.”

  “You’re whispering,” Midian called out to them. “Speak up.”

  Chetiin glanced up at Tenquis. “I’ll deal with him,” he said again, then looked to Geth. “When you have your opening, take it. Get the rod and run. Don’t wait for me. Just take it and run as far from Rhukaan Draal as you can. I’ll find you.” He put a fist to his chest. “Paatcha, Geth. Swift travel.”

  Geth repeated the gesture. “Paatcha, Chetiin.”

  The old goblin moved closer to the mouth of the passage and raised his strained, scarred voice. “Midian!”

  This time the gnome made no response. Geth peered around the edge of the passage and up into the gloom near the cavern ceiling. Although the moonstone now lay on the floor somewhere beyond Haruuc’s withered corpse, its light still revealed Midian’s hiding place. The pale shape of his face was still there, and still partly obscured by the darkness of his small crossbow. “He’s waiting for you,” Geth murmured to Chetiin.

  “I know.” Chetiin stepped a little further into the cavern, a shadow standing among shadows. “Midian, we have unfinished business!”

  Midian’s first contact with Tariic had come in a letter. Master Davandi, it had read, mutual friends recommend your knowledge as an expert on the history of the Empire of Dhakaan.

  Midian had smiled. He’d been expecting the letter. Their “mutual friends” had been other agents of the silent masters of the Trust, the body that served the Triumvirate—or was served by them, according to some suspicions, but that in any case served the interests of Zilargo. He’d been proud to take the assignment.

  Both he and the Trust had underestimated Tariic’s ambitions, but regrets made poor excuses. The game wasn’t over yet.

  Midian kept the crossbow aimed at Chetiin’s chest, kept his hands still and his breathing slow. This time he would finish the job—he’d cursed himself many times over the last several days for not making sure the old goblin was dead the first time. He’d had the stolen dagger, the stealer of souls, the Keeper’s fang. He should have used it on Chetiin as well as Haruuc.

  Of the three figures in the tomb below, Chetiin was the most dangerous. Geth was fast but he couldn’t evade the bolts forever. Tenquis … the tiefling barely even merited aiming.

  Chetiin stepped out of the passage leading to the stairs and into the cavern. The shadows cast by Tenquis’s moonstone gave him cover. The crossbow waved between two shadows. Midian clenched his teeth. Wait.

  “Midian, we have unfinished business!” Chetiin called.

  Now.

  He squeezed the trigger of the crossbow. The light weapon kicked in his hand as the bent arms sprang straight and the taut string sang. His aim was good. He heard Geth try to call a warning. Too late. The bolt pierced Chetiin—and porcelain shattered, spilling coins across the tomb floor.

  A tall vase. Not Chetiin. Midian’s jaw tightened. The scholar in him remembered the vase from his explorations when he’d first wormed his way into the tomb—Dhakaani, late empire, Riis dynasty. Beautiful work.

  The assassin in him was already cocking the crossbow with a swift pull of the ratcheting lever, and dropping another bolt into the channel. His eyes didn’t stop scanning the cavern.

  “You tried to kill me,” said Chetiin, and once more Midian thought he saw him, this time close to Haruuc’s throne. “You tried to make it seem like I’d killed Haruuc. I admire that. Among the shaarat’khesh you would be honored. But—”

  Midian shifted his crossbow to cover the goblin, though he didn’t squeeze the trigger. He wouldn’t be tricked a second time.

  Chetiin moved, the light of the moonstone shining full on his face. Again the crossbow snapped.

  The bolt caught only a fo
ld of Haruuc’s cloak. Midian cursed. Fingers flickered on crossbow once more. Chetiin was good.

  He was better.

  Chetiin’s voice, sourceless now, continued as if nothing had happened. “—you used my face to kill a friend. However much I respect your technique, I can’t let that pass.”

  Then there was silence. Geth and Tenquis peered around the edge of the passage. Geth’s eyes flickered toward the rod but he didn’t move. Waiting for an opening, Midian knew. He was tempted to put a bolt in the shifter’s forehead.

  Hold to your target.

  Midian turned his head side to side, making a show of searching for Chetiin, before calling out, “Nothing about the Rod of Kings? Nothing about breaking my oath to keep it a secret? Nothing about Zilargo?”

  “Nothing.” Nothing nothing nothing …

  Chetiin’s answer echoed from a dozen places around the cavern at once, but Midian knew that trick. He twisted and loosed his bolt at the point where the goblin would be standing.

  And from above him dropped Chetiin, breaking away from the cavern wall like some great spider. His feet struck the crossbow and forced it from Midian’s grip. His hands caught the lip of the crack in which the gnome perched and his body curved back up so that his ankles hooked together behind Midian’s neck.

  Midian threw himself back into the crack, dragging Chetiin with him. He’d taken a dagger from the cache he’d hidden in the tunnel. If he could draw it … but Chetiin didn’t give him a chance. The goblin’s speed and strength belied his age. He wormed around Midian and grappled with him, a primal struggle in the dark, cramped tunnel.

  There was no room to maneuver. Midian glanced back to the mouth of the crack, glowing with the light of the moonstone, and kicked toward it. Maybe Chetiin had the same idea because he kicked, too.

  They burst out into the open space of the cavern as if spat out of the mouth of some huge beast. Even as they fell, though, they pushed themselves apart. Midian twisted his body in mid-air and hit the cave floor in a springy crouch that absorbed the impact of the fall.