Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [130]
He held out a metal tube smaller than a goblin’s finger. A band of copper sealed it. Tariic took the thing and gestured for the guard to leave. When the door was closed, he examined the copper band and the design stamped into it, so small Makka saw it only as a darker dent.
“Dagii,” he said. He broke the seal, pulled the tube apart, and extracted a tightly wound bit of paper. He spread it out. His eyes narrowed and his ears went flat. “Daavn, all warriors in Rhukaan Draal are to be drafted in the city’s defense. Warriors of all clans within a day’s ride are to be summoned.” Tariic flung the paper down. “The Valaes Tairn have brought an entire warclan into Darguun. Dagii will meet them at Zarrthec.”
Daavn’s ears rose. “An entire warclan? Dagii’s army can’t face that. We’ll reinforce him?”
“We’ll defend Rhukaan Draal.” A wolf’s smile spread across Tariic’s face. “And Dagii of Mur Talaan will find muut and his death at Zarrthec.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
1 Aryth
Dawn turned the horizon gray. Cold air trapped smoke and steam from quenched fires close to the ground. Ordered chaos stretched around Ekhaas as Dagii’s army broke camp. The commands of officers were sharp but unnecessary. Every soldier knew what to do. She watched, making note of the expressions on the faces of goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears as they pulled down tents and packed away gear. Grim. Determined. Excited. Eager.
Her own belly trembled with anticipation, the bloodlust of the dar rising in her. Fear was a distant emotion. Battle was coming.
Footsteps, muffled by ground still wet from the previous evening’s storm, emphasized by the rattle of armor, approached from behind her. “No word from Khaar Mbar’ost,” said Dagii.
“Did you expect any?” She turned around—and stared for a moment.
Dagii wore the ancestral armor of the warlords of Mur Talaan once more, but it had been cleaned and polished until it flashed even in dawn’s half light. The dents and scratches in the heavy plates were scars of honor. The three tall tribex horns mounted behind his head and shoulders could have been banners.
Dagii’s ears flicked under her gaze, and he bent his head before he answered. “Time is short. Tariic will do better to prepare Rhukaan Draal. Where will you watch the battle?”
“From the command hill. If the lhevk’rhu permits it.”
“He will if the duur’kala of Kech Volaar promises to retreat to safer ground when the battle turns against us.”
Ekhaas scowled at him. “Duur’kala of the Kech Volaar can take care of themselves. You don’t have to worry about me, Dagii.”
“I’m not worried about you.” Dagii’s ears flicked again and his face tightened as he heard his own words. He lowered his voice. “I am worried about you, Ekhaas, but I’m worried about what you’ll carry as well. Senen asked you to record the story of our fight against the Valaes Tairn when we thought there were only warbands in Darguun. Now we’re facing a warclan. You have to survive to carry the tale of what happens today.”
She looked into his eyes, amber meeting gray. “When the time comes,” she said, “I’ll retreat with a sword in my hand and elf blood on my teeth.”
Dagii’s lips twitched, though he managed to keep a stern face. “Ban,” he said, but Ekhaas could hear a fierce pride in his voice. Her belly trembled again.
The sun climbed two handspans into the sky.
Below the low hill Dagii had chosen for his command, below the earthen ramparts thrown up to give a measure of cover, warriors waited in close lines. Ekhaas could pick out the individual companies by their crests and their colors, simple strips of cloth tied to armor or polearms. Seven companies of infantry. Two more companies of cavalry, some mounted on horses, others—in the ancient dar tradition—on battle-trained great cats. Leopards for goblins, tigers for hobgoblins. The cats were the only things that moved, pacing back and forth under the guidance of their riders, always kept carefully distant from the horses.
“They’re good and hungry,” said one of the handful of warlords