Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [88]
“I’m sorry,” he said with a stammer. “That came out poorly. I meant that there’s something I need to tell you, but not in front of Keraal—” He winced and his ears went back. “Just come with me.” He walked past her, around the hill and down its slope.
Ekhaas followed, embarrassment turning to secret amusement at the thought that Dagii was as flustered as she was. They passed a sentry and Dagii’s was so curt, the warrior ended up saluting her instead. There was something odd about the cuff of leather he wore on the hand that remained still at his side. It seemed thick and strangely knobby. It took her a moment to realize that the thick leather was sewn with soot-blackened bells. She caught up to Dagii and fell into step behind him as they strode through tall grass. “Your sentry is wearing bells,” she said.
“All of them are,” he said. “It’s my idea. A knife or an arrow might kill silently, but even if a sentry falls, he’ll make noise.”
“Clever.”
His ears flicked. “I still have the reliquary of Duural Rhuvet. I sleep with it near my bed. I like to think it inspires me.”
Her tremble and her embarrassment returned. The reliquary—a sealed casket a handspan long and wide made of age-darkened iron bound with gold—had languished for generations as an anonymous trophy in a House Deneith memorial until Ekhaas had rescued it. In fact, it contained the brain and tongue of the last great strategist of the Empire of Dhakaan. Ekhaas had recovered it with the intention of placing it in the vaults of Volaar Draal, but on the day Dagii had ridden out of Rhukaan Draal to attack the rebellious Gan’duur, she’d pressed it on him. She hadn’t told Senen. Ashi was the only other person who knew of the gift.
“I am pleased,” she said. “But no legend of Dhakaan tells of sentries equipped with bells.”
Dagii smiled slightly. “The Dhakaani didn’t think of everything, Ekhaas.”
A thick stand of trees rose ahead, remnants of an ancient wood long cleared but surrounded by a fringe of new growth sprung up since Cyre had abandoned this land to Darguun. Dagii led her into it, following a narrow game trail until the wood gave way to an open space cleared by the death of an old tree. He paused, gesturing for silence. For a long moment, they waited.
Finally, a shadow stirred alongside the great fallen tree—and a huge black wolf rose to its feet. Her feet, Ekhaas corrected herself, and not a wolf, but a worg. She knew the beast. “Marrow?” she said. The worg’s tail swished once. Ekhaas looked at Dagii. “Then—?”
“Yes,” came Chetiin’s scarred voice.
Ekhaas turned to find the shaarat’khesh elder crouched beside the game trail as if he’d been there the whole time. And maybe he had.
He stood and smiled at her, teeth flashing in a face stained dark. “Saa, Ekhaas.”
“He revealed himself to me in Zarrthec,” said Dagii. They all sat or crouched in the shadow of the fallen tree, their voices low. “He told me not to tell you until we were here.”
“You should have told me anyway,” Ekhaas said indignantly—and saw something like a smile pull on Marrow’s muzzle and creep into her coldly cunning eyes. She glanced away. The worg understood what they said, even if she couldn’t speak their language.
Chetiin reached up and scratched behind his mount’s ears. “There was no reason to tell you,” he said. “You would have tried to seek me out.”
“I wouldn’t have!” she protested. He just continued to look at her as he scratched Marrow. After a moment, Ekhaas flicked her ears. “Maybe I would have.”
Chetiin’s dark eyes seemed to flash. “When you march with an army, you have little need of additional protection.”
“Protection?” Ekhaas asked. She saw Dagii wince slightly and Chetiin’s ears twitch. She looked from one of them to the other. “What are you talking about?”
“Geth asked me to watch over you during the war,” Chetiin said. “He wants to be sure you make it back to Rhukaan Draal to help dispose of the Rod of Kings.”
“I hope you told him we