The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [42]
She denied them. It took all of her concentration to sing as she walked. Geth moved up to walk beside her, Wrath gripped tight in his hand, his eyes alert. Ekhaas didn’t look back to see what Chetiin and Tenquis were doing, but she could feel them close behind. She could see the ghostly duur’kala all around them, though. They drifted among the artifacts of the vault, hollow eyes upon her. Some of them whispered between the notes of their song.
Defiler. Thief. Traitor.
She could block the magic of their song, but it was harder to ignore the simple malignance of their words. She poured herself into her own song, reminding herself of why she was doing this and for whom, but the fate of Darguun and vengeance against Tariic seemed like distant things. Even if Tariic was defeated and Darguun saved, the Kech Volaar would not take her back. She would be alone.
No. A face rose in her mind—a gray-haired, gray-eyed young warlord who called her “wolf woman” and who shared his honor with her. She wouldn’t be alone because she would have Dagii.
A ghost hissed with sudden rage and lunged at her. Geth intercepted it, lashing out with Wrath. The wisp of a shroud fell to the ground and faded away.
Ekhaas kept walking and singing. She could feel sweat cold on her forehead and through her hair. Where were the stairs?
Then she spotted the nightmare figure of the stuffed dolgaunt and felt a moment of hope. Beyond the creature’s unmoving tentacles stood the strange armor of stone and crystal. Beyond that, the monument to Jhazaal Dhakaan. And beyond that …
A line of ghostly duur’kala, spectral flesh even more decayed than that of the ghosts who harried them. The dark arch of the stairs leading up out of the vaults pierced the wall just behind the silent ghosts, but it might has well have been leagues away. There was an air of tremendous age about the spirits, and Ekhaas knew, somewhere deep in her gut, that in life these duur’kala had been among the first to store their secrets in the vaults, had been the first to dwell in Volaar Draal, had perhaps been the first to call themselves Kech Volaar.
And they hadn’t yet joined in the chorus of their sisters.
Geth saw them too. “Tiger’s blood,” he murmured. He turned and looked behind them. “They’re all around us, Ekhaas.”
One of the ancient duur’kala raised a withered hand.
The chorus of the ghosts ended. For a moment, Ekhaas sang alone in the dark, her song thin in the sudden silence. The ancient duur’kala stepped forward. Ekhaas braced herself for their song, her own trailing off into a whisper. Geth raised Wrath, ready to attack. In unison, the old ghosts opened their mouths—
—and instead of singing, they drew breath.
It was like being caught in a gale that pulled at her rather than pushed. Ekhaas felt the air sucked right out her lungs. She choked and struggled to catch her breath, but there was no air to breathe—it rushed past her into the gaping mouths and bottomless, undead lungs of the ghosts. Dark spots filled her vision almost instantly. Tenquis wheezed and stumbled against her. Geth lifted Wrath and charged but only managed a couple of steps before his legs buckled and gave out. Ekhaas struggled to stay on her feet, fighting panic as she tried to think of some defense.
Nothing came, and still the ghosts consumed the air of the vaults. Ekhaas’s eardrums popped, and sounds became muffled and distant. Her vision became more dark than bright. Even the glowing specters became shadowy silhouettes, outlined by what seemed a brighter glow from behind them.
A glow that came from the archway. A glow with figures—real, solid figures—in it.
“By the glory of Dhakaan, cease!” The throbbing in Ekhaas’s ears rendered the ringing words as hollow echoes.