The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [56]
“Stop,” Ekhaas said wearily. “There’s no light in Gath’atcha. It’s an ancient magic. The only illumination lies on the other side of the door in Volaar Draal.”
“A lesson for those imprisoned,” said Chetiin. Of all of them, only he sounded calm.
“Can you get out of here?” Geth asked him.
“I might be able to,” said the old goblin. “I could get away when we are released. But I would be leaving you behind.”
“If it comes down to that, you should do it.”
“I will.”
No hesitation, no trace of self-sacrifice. Once again, Geth was glad Chetiin was a friend rather than an enemy. “They didn’t take our weapons,” Geth said. “We could try fighting when they open the door. We may all be able to escape.”
“When they open the door,” said Ekhaas, “there will be twenty warriors of the Kech Volaar on the other side with duur’kala to back them up. There’s the whole of Volaar Draal between us and freedom. They left us our weapons as a sign of disdain. We can’t escape, Geth.”
There was silence for a moment, then Tenquis spoke. “You say ‘they’ like you don’t belong with them anymore.”
“I don’t,” said Ekhaas. “Exile from the clan is the least I can expect.”
“What about the rest of us?” said Geth.
She didn’t answer him. “I said, what about the rest of us, Ekhaas?” he asked again.
Her voice came hollow out of the darkness. “Go to sleep, Geth. There’s nothing else you can do right now.”
There was a finality in her words that killed any thought of a reply. Silence settled into the darkness. Geth stood where he was for a long moment, then stretched himself out on the cool stone floor and stared into nothing. His hand came up to touch the polished black stones of the collar around his neck—an artifact of the Gatekeeper druids that had been the dying gift of his friend Adolan. Sometimes that collar grew cold or hot when he was in danger or needed guidance.
Just then it was no cooler than the air and no warmer than his skin.
They’d gained a clue to the destruction of the Shield of Nobles and a possible way to destroy the Rod of Kings, only to find themselves locked up like thieves. A bad end, Ado, he thought.
The Kech Volaar came for them around what Geth’s belly told him was noon the next day. When the door of Gath’atcha was opened, he was surprised to find that Ekhaas’s expectations of their escort were wrong.
There were actually thirty warriors waiting for them.
The Kech Volaar said nothing, just waited for their prisoners to emerge, then formed up behind them, guiding them with the bulk of their presence. After a night in the darkness, even the dim lights of Volaar Draal seemed bright. Geth found himself blinking as they were marched through the streets. In another city, crowds might have shouted abuse at them or maybe hurled stones and filth. The hobgoblins, goblins, and bugbears of Volaar Draal, however, watched their passage in silence. Geth thought he could feel the cold anger and disdain in every stare. He almost wished someone would shout or throw something.
Volaar Draal held its breath, waiting for them to be judged.
Their escort guided them to the blocky shape of the Shrine of Glories. Geth half expected to be taken around the back and in through the slave entrance they’d used before, but the warriors took them up the sweeping stairs that led to the main entrance. They emerged not into the pillared Hall of Song but into a chamber that reminded Geth uncomfortably of an arena. Tiered benches rose above the isolated floor, each seat filled by a harsh-faced older hobgoblin. Elders of the clan, Geth guessed immediately. On the broad platform of the lowest tier, seated in a high stone chair, was Tuura Dhakaan. Diitesh and Kitaas stood just behind her on one side; a hobgoblin warrior wearing heavy armor, an axe slung across his back, stood on the other.
“Khaavolaar,” said Ekhaas. “That’s Kurac Thaar. He’s the warlord of Kech Volaar.