The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [73]
A varag shrieked with triumph directly behind him. The sound was like a knife. Geth clenched his teeth and whirled, lashing out with Wrath even before he’d locked eyes on his enemy. A lucky strike—the twilight blade slashed across an outstretched arm. It caught on bone, pulling the varag off balance and dragging a scream of pain from the creature. There were more varags close behind though. Geth met their howls with a roar of defiance and raised Wrath again. Somewhere at his back, Tenquis shouted his name—
Roar, howl, scream, and shout were all lost in the wail that rolled through the gathering night. There was an eternity of agony in that wail. It was high and weirdly echoing, the tones of it clashing with every other sound like the edge of a blade scraping against armor. It sent a shiver along Geth’s back and raised every hair on his neck and arms. Conflicting instincts fought inside him—turn and face the source, or flee instantly without looking back.
The varags’ howls turned to short-lived screeches. They slid to a stop, claws digging into the ground and scrabbling across stones. The creatures seemed to freeze for a moment—then the wail came again and they were turning as fast as they could, fleeing silent back into the night. Even the one Geth had wounded and the one Ekhaas’s song-conjured dust had blinded fled as best as they were able, stumbling and hobbling, mewling like pups.
The wail faded and did not come again.
Geth turned around slowly. The others were standing and staring silently up the road beyond the jungle wall. Without speaking, Geth went to join them.
Suud Anshaar—there could be no doubting the identity of the ruins that rose above them like a crown set on top of a low hill. The bloody light of the setting sun washed over the ancient fortress, and for a moment Geth could imagine it had been constructed not of stone, but bones. The ruined walls had the curve of hips and femurs, the fragmented towers the broken appearance of ribs, cracked and smashed to extract the marrow. On the surrounding slope lay massive tumbled stones, fallen over time from the hilltop and rolled downhill by their own weight, as if they sought to escape this haunted place.
Just as he’d seen while running, no trees adorned the naked ruins, only a few hardy vines and dry, scrubby bushes. Even those faded before they got anywhere near the broken walls of the fortress.
“The wail,” he asked Ekhaas quietly, “a ghost? Many ghosts?”
“I don’t know what it was. It doesn’t matter.” Her ears went back, and her jaw tightened. “We’re going in.”
Geth looked to Tooth. “Do you want to wait for us here?”
The bugbear’s eyes flicked between the bony ruins and the dense fringe of the jungle. “Maybe I’ll wait under the walls instead.”
This time, Geth couldn’t help smiling as they followed Ekhaas up the last stretch of ancient road.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
27 Aryth
Tariic’s summons came more than a week after Senen’s mutilation and exile. Ashi had been expecting it, and she told herself that it was just coincidence that it came at a time when Oraan was not her guard. Tariic couldn’t know the changeling’s identity—could he?
Woshaar was the guard who delivered her to the throne room of Khaar Mbar’ost. He saluted his lhesh, then retreated. The great door of the chamber, a titanic slab of dark wood, slid down behind him, sealing Ashi in.
Tariic looked down on her from the blocky throne of Darguun, the Rod of Kings in his hand, a look of distaste on his face. “You’re a scab, Ashi. You itch, you’re ugly, and I want to tear you off and be rid of you.”
She remembered the first time she’d entered the throne room. It had been her and Vounn’s formal presentation to Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor. The hall had been crowded with Darguun’s warlords and clan chiefs, the walls hung with banners depicting their many crests.