The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [20]
Kech Shaarat.
Ekhaas grabbed Kitaas and shoved her into the cover of an alley. Her sister let out a curse, but Ekhaas put a hand over her mouth. “What are the Blade Bearers doing here?”
Kitaas pushed her hand away. “They come under compact of peace to speak with Tuura Dhakaan. It’s no business of yours.”
“We can’t let them see us.” It was possible that the warriors of the rival clan wouldn’t recognize the significance of Geth’s presence in Volaar Draal, but they were far more likely to tell stories of what they’d seen to someone who might. “We’ll go in the slaves’ door.”
Kitaas’s ears went back at the suggestion. “You go too—”
A flash of anger broke over Ekhaas. Seizing her sister’s wrist, she twisted her around with an arm behind her back, and Kitaas’s words broke off in a soft cry. Ekhaas pushed her bent arm higher. “The slaves’ door,” she ordered and pushed Kitaas deeper into the alley.
Kitaas hissed but marched on.
The slaves’ door of the Shrine of Glories was far less grand than the front entrance, but there was no one here to see them except for a startled old bugbear who bent low as they passed. Once they were inside, Ekhaas released Kitaas. “Where’s Tuura?”
“The Hall of Song.”
Ekhaas flicked her ears. “We’ll have cover at least.” Geth glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “It was designed after the audience chamber of the Dhakaani emperor,” Ekhaas added. “There are pillars everywhere.”
Pillars, she realized when they reached the hall, that reminded her uncomfortably of the woods where Tariic’s men had ambushed them. Like trees, the thick columns of stone gave them cover but also blocked their line of sight. Functionaries and petitioners lurked in the shadows like thieves. Ekhaas wished they still had Marrow with them.
She heard the flowing water of Tuura Dhakaan’s voice before she saw her. “The truth of the matter is that Ruus Dhakaan wishes to exploit the connections that the Kech Volaar have made with the leaders of Darguun.”
Ekhaas’s ears flicked upright. She saw Chetiin’s big ears twitch as well and knew he’d recognized the name too. Ruus Dhakaan, leader of the Kech Shaarat. Ekhaas caught Kitaas’s arm. The archivist scowled but held her position.
The voice that answered Tuura was also a woman’s though not so musical—the speaker had not undergone training as a duur’kala. “The Kech Volaar’s connections were with Haruuc Shaarat’kor. You have no connection with Tariic Kurar’taarn yet. In fact, we have heard that you delayed negotiations of your alliance with Darguun.”
Tuura sounded irritated as she answered, “A matter of tradition and prudence, Riila Dhakaan, not a sign of weakness. We respected the period of mourning for Haruuc, and while there was still competition among his potential heirs, approaching one of them would have been foolish. Even now, Tariic may hold the throne of Darguun, but he has yet to prove himself.”
“Prove himself? Does such a thing matter?” A man’s voice this time. Ekhaas’s ears rose higher. She leaned forward and saw the speaker between the pillars. He was big, even for a hobgoblin. The steel breastplate of his armor had been hammered into the visage of a snarling demon, and the hilt of a massive sword projected over his shoulders. His features—long ears, flat nose, square chin, and angular cheeks beneath branded swords—had a sharpness that spoke of an ancient and closely bred bloodline.
The woman, Riila, who stood just slightly ahead of him, also carried