The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [55]
Geth, then Chetiin. Then Ekhaas and Tenquis.
Then Makka.
The first night into their journey, Midian had looked across a small campfire, watched Makka sharpening the tines of his trident, and realized that Tariic’s command of alliance had a flaw. Until the traitors are dead, you’re allies. But once they were dead? Ah. Midian wondered if the omission had been deliberate, if Tariic wished to rid himself of one or more potentially troublesome underlings.
He suspected that Makka had realized the same thing. The bugbear kept stealing glances at him when he thought Midian wasn’t looking. One way or another, four bodies would become five before Tariic’s errand was over, and Midian intended to be the one going back to Khaar Mbar’ost.
He waited until he felt Makka’s gaze on him, then turned sharply. He had the satisfaction of seeing Makka twitch in surprise, his nostrils flaring. Midian gave him a wide, insolent smile. Makka’s eyes narrowed, then he smiled back, a cold smile that was all teeth. Any doubts were erased in Midian’s mind. Makka knew that their enforced alliance had a limit.
But the bugbear’s smile lasted only a moment before turning into a deep frown as he raised his head and sniffed at the wind. Midian’s smile faded as well. “What is it?”
Makka’s big, stiff ears cupped slightly. “Something dead.”
They rode even more carefully. Soon Midian could smell the sick-sweet odor of death too. A little farther and they found the source of the stench bound naked to a branching wooden frame—a goblin grieving tree—erected where the road descended into a steep-sided valley shadowed by the towers of Volaar Draal.
Midian slipped from his horse and, staying low, crept around to the front of the tree. The body had been there for no more than a few days. Blood had run down the victim’s left side and dried there from a wound that had been opened under her arm. She had lingered on the tree, but not too long before bleeding to death. Her head had been bound into place. The last thing she’d seen would have been Volaar Draal.
There was a sign, the words carved in Goblin. She betrayed her clan and her muut. She dies with no name.
“Well, this changes things.” he said under his breath. He returned to the cover of the trees. “Makka, see if you can track down a lone scout or a small patrol. We need to find out what happened here.”
17 Aryth – five days earlier
At Tuura Dhakaan’s order, they were thrown into a cell—at least Geth assumed it was a cell. The only light was a thin line around the door, a glowing thread in an echoing darkness. Their prison was vast. Without proper light he had no desire to go exploring.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Gath’atcha,” said Ekhaas. Her voice was rough, strained by her long song in their escape from the vaults. “It means ‘without honor.’ It is a place of punishment. Kech Volaar who break the traditions of the clan are sent here for a period of time.”
“They’ll hold us here?” asked Chetiin.
“Hold us, yes,” said Ekhaas, “but only until Tuura Dhakaan decides what to do. What we did was more serious than the deeds of most who are sent here.”
She tried to keep her voice steady, but even through the trained tones of a duur’kala, Geth could hear her fear and dismay. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Tuura will understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand, Geth. Breaking into the vaults goes beyond any concern she might have about Tariic or the Rod of Kings.”
“If we tell her about Tasaam Draet’s fortress and the shattered shield—”
“It makes no difference.”
Her voice actually broke. Geth tried to find her in the darkness, but his hands found only air. “Grandfather Rat. Can you sing us another light?”
“I can make a little light,” said Tenquis. Geth heard rustling as the tiefling searched