The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [6]
“Better?” Ekhaas asked Geth as she wiped her sword.
“Not really, no,” he said as he straddled the unconscious leader of the patrol, and slapped the hobgoblin.
His eyelids fluttered open. Geth put Wrath across the hobgoblin’s throat, steadying the blade with his gauntleted hand. “How many patrols are in the hills?” he asked in Goblin. The words were awkward, his accent thick—Wrath’s magic might allow him to understand the language of the dar, but it didn’t enable him to speak it.
The soldier’s ears flicked as the others gathered around. His eyes darted between Geth and Ekhaas, with side trips to Chetiin and the dagger still in his hand, and to Tenquis, running fingers along his crossbow. Geth pressed down a little on Wrath to encourage a swift response. The soldier’s eyes widened and came back to him.
“Lhesh Tariic ordered the Gold Hand battalion into the foothills under the command of Daavn of Marhaan.”
Geth glanced up at Chetiin. The goblin gave a nod of approval.
Senen Dhakaan had told them to seek refuge in Volaar Draal, stronghold of the Kech Volaar—southwest of Rhukaan Draal. But Tariic, whatever else he might be, was no fool. Traveling south with a duur’kala of the Kech Volaar among them would have given away their destination. So they’d turned their flight from Rhukaan Draal to the northwest instead, hoping that the lhesh would believe they sought to reach Marguul Pass and Breland beyond it.
If Tariic had ordered one of his most trusted advisors into the mountains, their ruse had worked—maybe too well. A battalion’s worth of patrols searching the hills …
Geth looked back down at his prisoner. “Did you signal another patrol that you’d found us?” he asked.
Desperate guile stirred in the soldier’s face as he tried to think of an answer that would save his life. Geth pressed a little harder with Wrath. “Doovol,” he said. Truth.
“Daavn commanded it.”
Fresh anger twisted in Geth. He leaned hard on Wrath’s blade.
Sharp metal with the weight of a shifter behind it sliced through the hobgoblin’s throat. The patrol leader barely had time to look surprised before the sword crunched through bone and his head separated from his body.
It wasn’t as good as killing Tariic, but it was good enough. Geth rose. “More patrols coming,” he said.
“Khaavolaar,” Ekhaas said between her teeth. “I should have finished Daavn when I had the chance at Haruuc’s tomb.”
“Regret is the blade that wounds over and over again,” said Chetiin. “We haven’t come to the end yet.”
“The farther we go, the longer the journey back to Volaar Draal will be.”
“We don’t need to go farther.” Moonlight glittered on the golden orbs of Tenquis’s eyes, from the gold flecks in the polished horns that grew back from his brow, and on the short spikes that edged his chin like a goatee. “We can lay a false trail northward for a short distance from this spot and leave our fire smoldering in the morning. The smoke will draw other patrols here—the deaths will enrage them, and they’ll follow the most obvious trail. Vengeance blinds hobgoblins.”
Ekhaas’s grimace became a narrow glance, but Chetiin nodded. “It will work.” Ekhaas turned her glare on him. The old goblin just spread his hands. “He is right. It is how ghuul’dar will react. Tenquis would make a good golin’dar.”
Ghuul’dar and golin’dar—the ancient Goblin words for hobgoblins, the mighty people, and goblins, the quick people. Not just quick for their speed, but also their cunning. Geth was glad that Chetiin was on their side and not, as he’d thought after Haruuc’s death, an enemy. “That sounds like a plan,