The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [125]
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