The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [58]
Except—He looked up at Tuura and Diitesh. “And the Kech Volaar,” he said in his thickly accented Goblin, “will gain Tariic’s favor by turning his enemies over to him.”
“Sometimes such things must be considered,” said Tuura. “You should understand—you sat on the throne of Darguun as Haruuc’s shava.”
“Geth, don’t,” whispered Ekhaas. “This is our way out of Volaar Draal.”
She’d seen the same thing he had. He shook his head though. He couldn’t let go of his suspicions. And he knew it wasn’t just him—he could feel a stirring across his connection with Wrath. The Sword of Heroes didn’t share memories with its wielder in the way that the Rod of Kings did, but it had been created to inspire. A hero did more than fight. A hero questioned.
“We brought you a warning about Tariic when we came, Tuura Dhakaan.” As he spoke, his accent faded—the work of Wrath. Geth could feel it putting a hero’s words into his mouth. “Do not trust Tariic. Our lives are worth more than his favor.”
“Close your mouth!” Kurac roared, driven beyond tolerance. “I said that chaat’oor have no voice here—”
Fury caught Geth. “You will respect me, taat! I am the bearer of Aram. I hold the honor of the name of Kuun.” He drew Wrath, the twilight blade a dull shadow in the dim light. “Fight me, and test your atcha!”
Kurac’s hand went to his axe, but before he could draw it, Tuura said sharply, “Kurac!”
He froze. Tuura rose to her feet, her face as dark as a thundercloud. “Perhaps Tariic is not to be trusted,” she said. “But I have muut to my clan. As it has been since the Age of Dhakaan, I lead them and I protect them. I stand between them and forces greater than ours. When Haruuc ruled Darguun, I saw the potential in an alliance with him.”
“Tariic isn’t Haruuc.”
“Even if all that you have told me about Tariic is true, I must consider Kech Volaar. Diitesh offers a way to make the lhesh of Darguun a friend instead of an enemy while punishing those who break our traditions. Two armies fight one battle.”
Geth looked at the High Archivist. “I have been told that the archivists guard the history and traditions of Dhakaan,” he said. “Aren’t you breaking traditions by handing us over to Tariic instead of allowing our deaths here?”
“Geth!” Tenquis said in a low, strangled voice, but his exclamation was almost drowned out by mutters of discontent that made their way around the benches of elders. Apparently Diitesh’s suggestion wasn’t as popular as it might have seemed. Tuura looked around at the dissenters, but Diitesh raised her head high.
“I have said before that Tariic holds the hope of restoring the Empire of Dhakaan, just as he holds the Rod of Kings,” she declared. “He respects the traditions of the ages and restores those that Haruuc stripped away. This is the time the Kech Volaar have waited for. Our legacy is upon us. We must support him!”
As many elders slapped their chests in approval as had raised their voices in dissent. Many of them, Geth noticed, wore the black robes of archivists. He spoke over the noise. “The same argument she used, Tuura Dhakaan, when the Kech Shaarat sought to draw you into an alliance under Tariic.”
The applause faltered. Tuura’s eyes whipped back to Geth. “The Kech Volaar might ally with Tariic,” she said, “but we will not bow before him. That is why I rejected the approaches of the Kech Shaarat.”
Diitesh’s ears went back. “If Tariic Kurar’taarn is the emperor returned, it is the muut of all Dhakaani clans to follow him.”
Geth bared his teeth, feeling the full power of the sword flowing through him. He felt powerful, one hero standing before the assembled elders of a clan, fighting a battle as dangerous as if he stood in the path of an army. “Which is it?