Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2 (9 page)

He thought he saw Keraal’s ears, protruding through his lank hair, tremble in relief at the news, a movement so slight it could have been his imagination. Secretly Geth was glad the words had been lost as well. The tree might be a Dhakaani artifact, but it was a device for torture and slow death.

Munta also shook his head at mention of the tree. “Even if we knew the words we couldn’t use them for the same reason this
gaa’taat
is still alive,” the old hobgoblin said heavily. “By tradition,
when a warlord spares an enemy, no one under his command may seek his death. Haruuc may not have intended to spare Keraal, but he did. Yet tradition also holds that
all
prisoners in a warlord’s stronghold face their judgment in the arena.”

The glance he gave Geth was harsh, and the shifter felt heat spread across his face. “Why not send him to the arena, then?” he asked.

“A prisoner who wins in the arena walks free,” said Tariic. “As much as the people would love to see Keraal forced to fight, do you want him to have his freedom?”

“Put me in the arena and let me die there.”

Tariic actually jumped at Keraal’s sudden words. The chained hobgoblin raised his head and looked at them all. His voice was as flat and dead as his eyes. He spoke in the human language. “What reason is there for me to live? The warriors of my clan rot in trees along the road to Rhukaan Draal. The women and children have been sold into slavery. I am alive by chance. The Gan’duur are destroyed. My clan paid the price for my arrogance. I failed them.
Chiit gath’muut. Chiit gath’atcha. Chiit gath’piir.”

I am without duty. I am without honor. I have nothing.

Geth looked at Munta and Tariic. Munta nodded. “It is decided.”

Tariic’s ears bent. “The people won’t like it if he doesn’t fight back.”

A growl escaped Keraal. “Do I care what the people think? Give me a sword and I will fall on it in front of them. Will they find amusement in that?”

“If you give yourself a coward’s death, then you will truly be without
muut
or
atcha.”
A shadow fell across the light that entered the cell from the hall outside. Geth looked over his shoulder to find Dagii standing in the doorway, his face hard and his gray eyes narrow. “The Gan’duur fought hard—I know this because I fought them. They followed you willingly. Let yourself die cheaply and what pride remains in the name of the Gan’duur will die with you.” His ears rose tall. “My victory over you will have no meaning.”

Keraal stared up at him for a moment, then stood with a rattling of chains. “The honor of the Gan’duur will last beyond my death.
The Gan’duur starved Rhukaan Draal and eluded all the troops that Haruuc Shaarat’kor sent against us.”

“All except the last,” Dagii said grimly, “and that’s how I want my victory remembered: a triumph over a strong enemy. But I promise you that if Keraal of Gan’duur dies without fighting in the arena, then all that Darguun remembers of the Gan’duur will be a warlord who passed from life as a coward. It would be better for your legacy if you had died in agony on the grieving tree.”

The dead look had left Keraal’s eyes. They were bright and angry, and his chest heaved with each breath. Tariic let out a furious hiss. “Dagii!” he said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“He reminds me that I owe
muut
to my clan even if I no longer have a clan, even if I no longer have
atcha.”
Keraal straightened and turned to face Munta. “I will fight in the arena.”

Munta nodded again, slowly and with a look of approval on his face.

Tariic’s features twisted with frustration, however. “And if he wins, he walks free? What kind of punishment is that for my uncle’s enemy?”

Geth felt a strange pressure creep into his mind, a vague memory that wasn’t his own, and shivered. He recognized the sensation: it was Wrath. This was what Haruuc had experienced and what had almost driven him mad. The Sword of Heroes had been created to protect and inspire, though, not to command. Geth pushed it away—and it retreated, but not without leaving an idea behind.

“He won’t fight just any fight,” Geth said. “He’ll fight a battle each day. If he wins all of them, he wins his freedom.”

Tariic spun around to give him an ugly look, but Keraal stood tall and nodded. “I accept these conditions,” he said.

“No!” said Tariic. He looked to Munta. “What about honoring Haruuc?”

“Keraal didn’t kill Haruuc,” Munta said. “Chetiin did. Keraal can fight. He
must
be allowed to fight.”

“No weapons, then!” snapped Tariic. “He fights with nothing more than he has now.”

Dagii looked Tariic over and nodded. “I agree.” Tariic seemed relieved—relief that turned into renewed fury as Dagii added, “Let him fight with the chains he wears.”

“I won’t allow this!” Tariic said. “It can’t be allowed to happen.”

“You’re not lhesh, Tariic.” said Munta. “The decision is Geth’s. He is Haruuc’s
shava.”

The old warlord looked to him. So did Tariic. And Dagii. And Keraal. Geth drew a breath and let it out.

“Keraal fights. Five battles wielding the chains he wears.”

Keraal bent his head in acceptance. Tariic’s eyes flashed. He turned and strode out of the cell, pushing past Dagii. Munta frowned after him, then looked to the others. “I’ll summon the keeper and make the arrangements. We’ll need to have a fight added to the games today.”

Munta left, leaving Keraal with Geth and Dagii. The chained hobgoblin glanced between them, then bent his head again to Geth. “Ta
muut,”
he said. You do your duty—the simplest way of saying “Thank you” in Goblin.

Then he turned to Dagii.
“Paatcha
!” An offering of honor.

Dagii made no response—none was needed. He stepped out of the cell as the dungeon keeper, grumbling about warlords changing their minds, and a pair of guards arrived. Geth glanced once more at Keraal as he stood still for the keeper to unlock his chains, then went after Dagii. “Honor between enemies?” he asked the young warlord.

“A good enemy is better than a bad friend,” Dagii said.

“You didn’t come down here to shame Keraal into fighting, though.”

A smile flickered across Dagii’s face, then was gone. “No. That was just luck. I came looking for you.” He leaned close for a moment. “Midian has returned to Rhukaan Draal.”

Geth’s gut twisted. “Get messages to Ashi and Ekhaas and let them know. We’ll meet tonight.”

T
hey met in the small room high in Khaar Mbar’ost where they had once met with Haruuc and where he had revealed his plan to seek out the Rod of Kings. Once again, Aruget stood guard outside the door. After Haruuc’s assassination, Ekhaas had wondered if the warrior could be trusted, but he already knew some of the truth behind the rod and had kept his silence. He could be trusted.

Ekhaas saw Aruget’s ears rise slightly as she and Ashi approached.
Duur’kala
magic had erased the aches and cuts of their battle against Makka, but there were still bruises. In addition, Ashi walked like an angry cat, full of rage and ready to lash out. Aruget said nothing, though; just opened the door for them.

Geth and Dagii, on the other hand, weren’t so restrained. “Rat!” Geth said, leaping up out of a chair by the room’s only window. “Were you in a fight?”

“A fight that ended too early,” said Ashi. She snapped her teeth on the words.

“Makka is in Rhukaan Draal,” Ekhaas explained.

Dagii’s ears lay back. “The bugbear Marguul chief from the mountains? What’s he doing here?”

“I’d say looking for revenge. He looked like he’d been traveling and he seemed to be alone.” She described their fight with the bugbear—and his escape.

Geth growled. “That’s all we need,” he said. “An enraged bugbear trying to kill you.”

“Trying to kill us,” Dagii corrected him. “He had Ashi, Ekhaas, and me captive. I doubt if he’d end an attempt at vengeance with
just Ashi and Ekhaas. He may even be looking for you—it wouldn’t take much to link us together.”

“How would he have found us?” Geth asked.

“He knows my name. He might have started with that.”

Geth’s eyebrows jumped. “You
told
him? You told him your real name?”

Dagii shrugged. “There was no reason to hide it.”

“He may not be coming after anyone anymore,” said Ekhaas. “Ashi left him with a bad wound. If he doesn’t get to a healer, it could kill him.”

“Let’s hope,” Geth said.

“Let’s not.” Ashi’s hands opened and closed as she moved around the room. “He’s still got my sword—Kagan’s honor blade.”

“We’ll find it,” Ekhaas assured her. “One way or another, we’ll—”

A knock on the door interrupted her. The door opened and Midian Mit Davandi slipped through. Geth gave a genuine smile, probably the first one Ekhaas had seen from him in ten days. “Midian.”

The gnome’s sun-browned face was flushed and his pale hair damp with sweat as if he’d been running. “Sorry,” he said. “I had to call on the Zil ambassador. She’s trying to keep track of all the Zils currently in Darguun in case there’s trouble.”

Ekhaas had never been to Zilargo, but she’d heard it was a strange place, ruled by a blend of gossip, co-operation, and subtle coercion. Then again, an entire race that was no bigger than goblins, without larger hobgoblin and bugbear cousins to rely on for physical might, probably would develop different ways of dealing with the world. Certainly it showed in their history—the gnomes of Zilargo had never fought a war, preferring to hide behind policies of conciliation and neutrality. It seemed to work. The nation still existed in a pocket between humans and
dar
when by all rights it should have been overrun long ago.

Midian caught her looking at him and his blue eyes flashed. “I have something for you, Ekhaas. I found it in the ruins I was investigating at Bloodrun.” He produced a small object and tossed it to her. It was a Dhakaani coin, black with age and badly corroded. A hole had been punched through one edge. Once it would have
been threaded on a cord, the face of the emperor on the coin looking outward, to make a kind of simple amulet. They were common artifacts in all eras of the empire. She looked for the dynasty name on the coin, frowned, and glanced at Midian.

“Koolt Dynasty. Early empire. The ruins at Bloodrun are late empire.”

“Wrong,
duur’kala,”
Midian crowed with delight. “Dig down and you find that the late empire ruins are built on top of early empire ruins. Did the Kech Volaar know that? I don’t think so!”

Ekhaas glowered at him. Tariic had hired Midian to join the quest for the Rod of Kings without Haruuc’s knowledge. The gnome had proved to be clever and resourceful, but it had taken time for Ekhaas to admit respect for him. He was a researcher for the Library of Korranberg, a scholar, and a historian—and as such a bitter rival to the
duur’kala
of the Kech Volaar. Her clan kept the glorious history of the Empire of Dhakaan alive through tales and the careful collection of artifacts. Scholars like Midian turned vibrant history into dusty reports and stole Dhakaani artifacts from their rightful keepers. In fact, when Senen Dhakaan had first learned Midian was in Darguun, she’d demanded his death as a grave robber and thief. Haruuc had overruled her, and when he was handing out rewards for the recovery of the rod, had granted Midian official permission to investigate some of Darguun’s many ruins. Ekhaas had eventually come to like the gnome. Most of the time.

She flicked the coin back to him and his fingers snapped it out of the air. He tucked it away and turned to Geth and Dagii, his expression sober. “Your message was slow reaching me—the messenger showed up at the ruins suffering from dust fever. I tried to treat him, but we didn’t have what he needed. I stayed with him until he died, then came to Rhukaan Draal.” His face darkened. “It wasn’t easy to hear about Chetiin. If Haruuc had discovered the rod’s power, though, I suppose he did the right thing.”

“No,” Geth said, “he didn’t. He only made the situation worse.” Midian looked at him with startled curiosity and Geth let his breath out in a hiss. “There were things we couldn’t trust to the messenger. The power of command isn’t the rod’s only secret—”