Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [167]
“The city will come out to see Dagii return,” he’d said. “It will slow us but it will slow Makka, too.”
Except that the streets weren’t crowded. Most were less busy than when they had made their way out to Haruuc’s tomb. “Where is everyone?” asked Ashi.
A distant cheer answered her. “Dagii has crossed the Ghaal River,” said Ekhaas. “Everyone has gone to watch his procession.”
“By the sound of it, he’s near the Bloody Market,” Chetiin said.
Ekhaas’s face went hard and for a moment she looked like she might add something, but then she closed her mouth and put her ears back. Geth could guess what she was thinking. “Dagii needs to know what he’s heading into,” he said. “We need to warn him.”
“He already knows there’s danger,” said Ekhaas. Her ears flicked. “It’s best for him if he can deny any part in this.”
No one answered that. They all knew the same thing: the time for tricks and clever plans was over. If they wanted to keep the power of the rod a secret, to prevent Haruuc’s dream from destroying itself in the memories of a fallen empire, Tariic had to be the last to hold the Rod of Kings.
If they succeeded, they’d be the most famous assassins and thieves in Khorvaire—and the most hunted.
Riding alongside the noise of the crowd that cheered for the hero of the Battle of Zarrthec was like riding parallel to an unseen but rushing river. Along some of Rhukaan Draal’s straighter streets, Geth caught glimpses of the crowd, and once the flash of sunlight on spearpoints and armor like water seen through trees. After a long while, though, the shouting fell behind. Khaar Mbar’ost rose ahead—and the river fed into an ocean.
People packed the plaza before the red fortress. Off to their left, a wide path, kept open by bugbear guards, led directly to the gates of Khaar Mbar’ost. Warlords and dignitaries stood on a raised platform of about shoulder height, waiting for Dagii’s approach. As Geth and the others reined in their horses at the edge of the crowd, he saw familiar faces on the platform. Aguus of Traakuum. Garaad of Vaniish Kai. Iizan of Ghaal Sehn. Pater d’Orien. Senen Dhakaan. Munta. Vounn.
In fact, he knew all of the faces. Not so long ago, he would have been standing on the platform, too.
“I don’t see Makka or Pradoor,” said Ashi. “Or Tariic.”
“There,” Chetiin said.
The people on the platform parted to reveal the lhesh climbing up stairs at the back of the platform. Makka, looking around with the wariness of a hunter on edge, and Pradoor followed close behind him. The excited murmurs of the crowd turned into a roar of approval. Tariic stepped up to the front of the platform and raised the Rod of Kings. The roar of the crowd rose even higher.
“He has it,” said Chetiin.
Geth looked to Midian. The gnome’s lips pressed tight and he raised his eyes to scan the rooftops—also crowded with people—around them. He shook his head. “The plaza is too wide. Even with a more powerful crossbow I’d have trouble hitting him. With my little hand bow it’s impossible.”
“Don’t worry,” said Geth, “we’re going closer.”
“We’ll be recognized!”
“I’m counting on it.” A plan, desperate and dangerous but possibly their only hope, had formed in his mind. He slid from his horse and gestured for the others to do the same.
The hats and cloaks Aruget had used to smuggle them out of Khaar Mbar’ost had been abandoned by Haruuc’s tomb, but silver quickly procured more. Ashi kept her face down and her cowl—stinking of the hobgoblin beggar who been wearing it only moments before—well up as she fought her way through the crowd beside Ekhaas. A few paces away, Geth wore a similarly ragged and foul cloak. Ekhaas, along with Aruget, his features shifted to anonymity, blended into the crowd of other dar faces. Chetiin and Midian—arms unbound but now tethered to and closely watched by Aruget—simply moved unseen among the legs of larger figures. Ashi wasn’t sure if she envied