The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [18]
Until he had agreed to help them, Tenquis’s life had been devoted to the rediscovery of the lost lore. Who knew? Perhaps a modern artificer, even one who was not a dar, could find more meaning in the ancient writings than a duur’kala could. But … “The vaults are vast, Tenquis. The Kech Volaar have been collecting the lore and artifacts of Dhakaan for thousands of years. The archivists who tend the vaults maintain a list—the Register—of everything placed in them, but even it’s massive.”
“Even better.”
Ekhaas sighed and urged her horse back into a walk up the road toward the great gates. “Just don’t do anything stupid. The vaults contain the treasures of my clan, and the Kech Volaar don’t like trespassers.”
Three ranks of guards stood before the gates, all dressed in armor that had not changed since the days of Dhakaan. Linked plates provided strength and mobility. Spikes at strategic points provided weapons even if a warrior should be unarmed. Flared helmets protected vulnerable necks while still allowing openings for large and expressive ears. A Dhakaani legion on the attack would have looked like a wave of steel. As the travelers approached, the guards moved in response to some unseen signal, their ranks splitting to open the way into Volaar Draal.
One of the guards, a red insignia of rank on his helmet, stepped forward and thumped his chest in salute. “Ekhaas duur’kala,” he said in Goblin, “you are expected. Tuura Dhakaan summons you. An escort comes for you and your … companions.”
It was impossible to miss the dip in his ears or the way his eyes flicked over Geth and Tenquis as he said it. Ekhaas knew exactly what he was thinking: chaat’oor. It was the Goblin word for humans and the races descended from them, like shifters and tieflings, that had come to Khorvaire after the fall of Dhakaan. Loosely translated, it meant “outsider.” More specifically, it meant “defiler.” Ekhaas’s own ears went back. “Treat them with respect, lhurusk. Their names will be sung alongside the heroes of the dar.”
“Then you move in honored circles,” said a familiar voice from the shadows of the gate. “Walking with heroes and summoned by the leader of our clan. Perhaps a humble lorekeeper isn’t enough of an escort for you,” A hobgoblin woman dressed in a black wool robe and a red leather girdle tooled with angular designs walked out between the parted ranks of the gate guards. “Saa, Ekhaas.”
Ekhaas felt her face flush hot. “Kitaas,” she said. She bit the name off, hating the sound of it. “You’re our escort?”
Kitaas inclined her head, ears twitching. She looked at Chetiin and Geth, ignoring Tenquis. “Chetiin of the Silent Blades, and Geth, wielder of Aram, the Sword of Heroes. I am honored to greet you.”
Chetiin returned her nod. So did Geth, although a little more slowly. Ekhaas saw the stirring of curiosity, then a flash of recognition in his eyes. Kitaas turned to lead them into the gate and as they rode after her, the shifter leaned close to Ekhaas and whispered in the human language. “I recognize that girdle. In Rhukaan Draal, you used an illusion to disguise me as a woman—you said you had to choose someone familiar.” He nodded toward Kitaas’s back. “She’s your sister!”
“In the way that a dagger is sister to a sword,” she told him.
Inside the gate, goblin stablehands came to take their mounts. One approached Marrow, but the worg snapped at him. Chetiin slid to the ground and she ran back out the gate, drawing yelps of surprise from the guards as she slipped among them.
“She will remain outside to find her own shelter and prey,” Chetiin said to Ekhaas.
“As she wishes,” said the archivist.