Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2 (23 page)

And by the roar of the cheering crowd, a roar that died away only when Keraal stood below the warlords’ box and let the head of the last halfling fall to the sand.

Tariic rose slowly and glared down. His face was dark and tight with anger, but somehow it didn’t reach his voice. “Keraal, who was warlord of the Gan’duur,” he called out—and if there was no anger in his voice, there was at least malice. “Who defied Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor. Who led his clan to defeat and watched it die. Who is now Keraal of
nothing.”
He paused, his ears trembling, before continuing. “You have fought in the arena and you have triumphed. By the tradition of the People, you have won your freedom.”

He gestured and one of the gates of the arena, the one farthest from the still feasting clawfoots, opened just a crack. Ekhaas was fairly certain that whoever stood on the other side was keeping a very close watch on the great beasts. Keraal, however, ignored both lizards and gate. He just looked up at Haruuc’s successor as Tariic pointed and said, “Go.”

“No,” said Keraal.

Except for the tearing and gulping of flesh, the silence in the arena was complete. “No?” asked Tariic, a hint of fury finally creeping into his voice.

“No,” Keraal repeated. He stood tall. “Where is Dagii of Mur Talaan?”

Partway along the box, just behind a wide-eyed Geth, Dagii rose and came forward. “I’m here.”

Keraal looked up at him. “You ride to war against the Valenar?”

“Yes.” Dagii glanced at Tariic, then back at the fallen warlord. “I leave Rhukaan Draal before twilight. I wait only for the blessing of the lhesh.”

Down on the blood-soaked sand, Keraal bowed his head, “You taught me the meaning of
muut
, Dagii of Mur Talaan. You defeated me in battle, but gave me respect. When my warriors were to be hung in trees, you bound them there yourself. When I would have died in shame, you forced me to fight and live.” He raised his chains in one hand and the broken glaive in the other. “If you will have me, I pledge myself to your service, to follow you and obey your commands. On blood and graves, I swear it.”

For a moment, Dagii just stared at him, then he drew his sword and held it high. “Keraal, I accept your service!”

The applause began with the thumping of a single fist against a single chest—and Ekhaas was surprised to see that it came from Senen Dhakaan. She was alone for only a moment, though. Up in the warlords’ box, Munta the Gray began to applaud. Then Garaad of Vaniish Kai. And Aguus of Traakuum. And Geth. And abruptly the applause was taken up all around the arena, no shouts, no cheers, only the beating of fists on chests so loud that even the clawfoots took notice and looked up from their grisly meal. Dagii lowered his sword and gave Keraal a curt nod. The warrior let his weapons fall and walked out of the arena with his ears held high.

Dagii turned to face Tariic, lifting his sword again, and the applause slowly died. “Lhesh,” said Dagii, “I go to meet the enemies of Darguun at your command.”

Some of the rage at Keraal’s defiance faded from Tariic’s face. He drew his sword as well and touched the blade to Dagii’s. “Swift travel and great glory, Dagii of Mur Talaan. Show the Valaes Tairn that Darguun fears no invader!”

They let their swords fall, the blades sliding against each other with the slow ring of metal on metal, then Dagii bent his head and turned away without looking back. Tariic turned to face the arena and thrust his sword into the air. “The games are over! Lhesh Haruuc is remembered with honor and Darguun is strong!”

The cheer that rose in the arena was the loudest one yet, so loud it seemed to shake the stands. Tariic simply stood and soaked it all in. The clawfoots hunched and stared around in fear.

Ekhaas turned at looked at Ashi. “That’s my sign too,” she said over the noise. “Dagii will be waiting for me. Great glory, Ashi.”

The human woman’s mouth tightened for a moment, then she spread her arms and threw them around her. Ekhaas stiffened, shame at the public embrace spreading through her, then she relaxed and returned it—very briefly. “Warriors in victory are permitted such displays,” she said in Ashi’s ear.

“I feel like we’ve won a victory,” Ashi answered. “Two days to the coronation. Come back as soon as you can.”

She released her and Ekhaas turned to Senen. The ambassador nodded to her. “Swift travel and great glory, Ekhaas
duur’kala
. Craft your tale carefully—I have a feeling it will be one for the ages.”

Ekhaas returned her nod and, like Dagii, walked to the exit from the stands without looking back.

T
he next visitor Geth had to his chamber didn’t arrive with the same stealth as Chetiin. There was a knock at the door and Ashi entered. Midian slipped in after her and Geth caught a glimpse of Aruget speaking with the guards before the gnome closed the door again. Both wore tense expressions. Geth was certain Ashi’s was genuine; he wasn’t so sure about Midian’s.

“I ran into Midian in the entrance courtyard,” said Ashi.

“Ran into, nothing. I was looking for you,” Midian said with the kind of desperate cheerfulness people used to cover up stress. “This is the day, isn’t it? I would have waited in the hall outside Geth’s door if his guards didn’t look at me funny every time I walk by.” He turned to Geth. “Sage’s quill, you’re dressed up like kings and queens are coming to call. No, wait—they are. Or at least one is.”

“Shut it, Midian,” Geth told the gnome. He knew how he looked. The mirror in his chamber told him that. During his time fighting in the Last War, he’d gotten into the habit of preparing early on the days that he would see battle. Sometimes very early. His comrades had mocked him for it until they’d realized that the earlier Geth rose, the worse his temper before the battle was likely to be. Tariic’s coronation was a kind of battle and Geth had risen
very
early. His thick hair was washed and brushed and tied back. His clothes—fine trousers and a crimson shirt, a close-fitting vest of black leather stitched with polished bronze plates in the hobgoblin style—were all new, chosen by Razu and tailored to fit him. The great gauntlet on his right arm was as polished and
bright as the black steel could ever be. Wrath hung at his side. He’d been ready since before dawn, and the coronation wouldn’t take place until the sun had passed noon.

Unlike human courts,
ghaal’dar
tradition not only permitted but required that arms and armor be worn in the presence of rulers as a sign of service and respect. Wrath and the gauntlet were a comforting weight, even if they weren’t the weapons he would need today. He looked to Ashi.

He didn’t need to say anything. She held out an innocent-seeming bundle wrapped in coarse sackcloth and tied with rough cords. Geth took it and laid it on the table beside the chest that held the Rod of Kings. The cords were intricately knotted. Geth simply cut them. More sackcloth had been wadded up around an inner wrapping of fine linen that reminded him disturbingly of a shroud. He folded it back.

Purple byeshk forged into a shaft as long as his forearm, as thick as his wrist, and traced with strange symbols winked up at him. The rod that lay among linen and sackcloth might have been the true rod instead of the false.

A slip of paper had been wrapped around it. He pulled it free and read the crisp, flowing script upon it.
Balance owing: Kech Volaar tales of the
daashor,
Geth to bring the sword for my examination. You hold an exceptional piece of work. I should charge you more. Don’t tell anyone else my name!

Geth smiled at an image of Tenquis writing the brief note. Midian tried to peer at the message. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Geth folded the paper and tucked it inside his vest, then glanced at Ashi. “Did you have any trouble getting it from him?” he asked, taking care not to mention Tenquis by name.

Ashi was just as cautious. She shook her head. “He wasn’t expecting Aruget, though. He made him wait outside.” She looked down at the false rod. “It looks perfect, doesn’t it?”

“Put them together,” urged Midian.

Geth nodded and drew the keys to the chest up from inside his shirt. The three locks made heavy clicks as they opened. The true Rod of Kings lay like a slug among folds of black silk. Geth picked it out and held it next to the false rod. Tenquis’s work really was exceptional. The two rods were identical.

Midian whistled, his blue eyes wide. “You wouldn’t want to get those mixed up.”

“Our man thought of that,” Ashi said. “There’s an extra mark carved on the end of the false rod so it’s possible to tell them apart.”

Geth pushed the linen and sackcloth down so he could inspect the end of the rod. A faint spiral marked the byeshk, unmatched on the true rod. “What about the magic?” he asked.

Ashi grinned, reached down, and picked up the false rod.

Something about her changed almost instantly. Geth couldn’t have said exactly what it was. She seemed taller somehow. The blue-green colors of her dragonmark seemed brighter, the dark gold of her hair richer. Something stirred in him—he felt like he was in the presence of greatness. The effect was subtle but strong. Her words, when she spoke, were as stirring as one of Ekhaas’s stories.

“Concentrate,” she said, “and you can fight it. It’s not as powerful as you think.”

Geth blinked and pushed back. The illusion of glory and greatness slipped away and Ashi was herself again. He whistled. “Grandfather Rat! Even Haruuc would have been satisfied with that.”

“You could never feel the effect of the rod when Haruuc held it, but it was almost exactly like that.” Ashi handed the false rod to Geth. It felt no different in his hand than the true rod, a heavy bar of cold metal, but Ashi and Midian’s eyes turned to him like a needle to lodestone. Midian’s smile faded, however. “That’s bad,” he said. “The true rod doesn’t have that effect when you hold it. People might be suspicious.”

“Rat.” He was surprised Tenquis hadn’t thought of that.

Or maybe he had. Geth replaced the true rod in the chest and moved the false rod to his gauntleted hand. Ashi’s eyes refocused. Midian shook his head. Geth nodded in satisfaction at Tenquis’s work and a lightness he hadn’t felt since before Haruuc’s death settled over him. Their plan was going to work! “Just like the true rod,” he said. “You need to touch it with bare skin.”

“Brilliant,” said Midian. “Now, what about the true rod?”

Geth reached out and closed the lid of the chest. The triple locks snapped closed. “It will be safe here for now,” he said. “We’ll find another place for it after the coronation. And after that—”

“Ekhaas and Dagii’s return?” Midian asked. He made a pinched face. “We’re putting an awful lot of faith in their survival.”

“I’d rather assume their survival than count on their deaths,” Ashi said hotly. “If they don’t come back, we’ll deal with the rod on our own—until then, I’m happy knowing that the danger is past.” Her lips twitched and curled.
“Rond betch
, we did it. Tariic will take the throne with the symbol of rulership that Haruuc wanted his successor to have. Is there a better tribute than that?”

“Maybe not going to war with Valenar?” asked Midian. But he sighed and his face unwound into a smile as innocent as if he hadn’t plotted Haruuc’s death. “Lords of the Host, I guess it could be worse, couldn’t it? Haruuc wanted Darguuls to be united and they are. Maybe Dagii will spank the elves hard enough that they’ll ride home with pillows on their saddles.”

Geth forced a smile onto his face. Maybe they still had to deal with the gnome’s treachery and maybe Ekhaas and Dagii were still at risk—even if they did have Chetiin to back them up—but Midian and Ashi were right about one thing. Darguun was safe from the danger that had brought down Haruuc. He closed his armored fist around the false rod and felt a little pulse from Wrath.

Even if no one else would ever know the truth of what they had accomplished, the Sword of Heroes approved.