The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [52]
“Ekhaas, who was in your service, stood with Geth and Chetiin when they tried to take my life,” he said slowly, “and the Kech Volaar have long had an interest in the Sword of Heroes that Geth bears.” He raised the Rod of Kings. “I had not thought that the clan that helped Lhesh Haruuc find this great relic of lost Dhakaan would turn against me, but perhaps seeing it in the hands of a true ruler was too much for Tuura Dhakaan.”
He leveled the rod at Senen Dhakaan. “By the blood of the Six Kings that you claim to honor, speak the truth, Senen Dhakaan. Do the traitors who sought to kill me hide in Volaar Draal?”
It seemed to Midian that he heard an echo in Tariic’s words. Tell me everything, Midian … He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his secrets from spilling out, but this time the power of the rod wasn’t directed at him. Senen faced Tariic and, without an instant of hesitation, said, “Yes.”
Horror rose in her eyes as the word emerged from her mouth. Roars of anger erupted in the hall. It was difficult to hear Tariic as he shouted another question. “And you hid this from me? Answer!”
Rage replaced horror. Senen drew a ragged breath and spat, “Yes!”—then opened her mouth even wider, the first note of song rolling up from of her chest.
Midian’s gut flipped. The song of a duur’kala! But Tariic was ready. “Be silent!”
The order was forceful enough to bring quiet to the entire hall. Senen closed her mouth so suddenly that her eyes bulged, and she gagged on the song sealed in her throat. Tariic pointed the rod at her again and said, “Do. Not. Move.”
Senen went still. Tariic allowed silence to linger in the hall for a heartbeat more before he spoke again. “Pradoor, I will listen to the teachings of the Six.”
Pradoor, standing in Tariic’s shadow the whole time, stirred. “Lhesh,” she said in her high, thin voice, “the gods of the Six speak to this in many ways. The Shadow decrees that a slave who conceals knowledge from her master has stolen that knowledge from him. The Mockery prescribes that the hand that steals shall be struck off. The Fury demands that vengeance suit the offense.”
“Ta muut, Pradoor.” Tariic looked back to Senen, his eyes running over her body before pausing at her belt where a knife was sheathed. Once again, he let silence take hold. Midian could feel the crowd in the hall holding its collective breath, waiting for the lhesh to pronounce his judgment. And finally … finally …
“Senen Dhakaan,” said Tariic, “take the knife at your belt and cut out the tongue that dared hide knowledge from me.”
The unnatural stillness that gripped Senen vanished, replaced by a straining as she fought to resist the command. Tariic thrust the Rod of Kings at her. “I said, cut out your lying tongue, Senen!”
Senen’s hands seemed to move of their own accord, the right snatching the knife from its sheath, the left reaching past lips and teeth to pinch the red muscle of her mouth and stretch it taut—
Memories flowed unbidden out of the dark places of Midian’s mind. Memories of himself in Tariic’s chambers, a captive only a short time after he had tried to take the lhesh’s life. Memories of writhing on rich carpets as Tariic stripped his knowledge, his identity, from him. You serve me now, Midian. You serve Tariic. Zilargo is nothing to you. You are not worthy to kiss the ground I tread. Pradoor, watching and cackling. Tariic’s deafened bugbear servants holding Ashi and forcing her to watch as well. Tariic himself, hated—and adored.
If he’d been able to take up a knife, Midian would have leaped across the hall of honor and driven it into Tariic’s eye socket, the same way he’d killed Haruuc.
No. He would rather have plunged the knife into his own eye. Another memory: ripping a knife through his own belly and offering the bloody blade to Tariic. Tariic laughing. You live by my kindness, Midian. You will do as I say, now and forever.