The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 (39 page)

“—Do you accept the challenges that I set before you? Do you follow the will of your lhesh for the glory of Darguun?” asked Tariic.

“—Be careful!” said Dannel d’Cannith.

“—I can’t see!” complained Esmyssa Entar ir’Korran.

“—I accept your challenge!” roared Taak.

“Ashi, sit down,” ordered Laren Roole. The ambassador of Breland pushed her aside. “This could be an historic moment.”

Ashi ground her teeth together. She took out the folded paper with Tariic’s plans on it with one hand and reached for Pater’s shoulder with the other. The viceroy of House Orien saw her and started to turn.

“Tariic
!”

Ashi’s head snapped around at Midian’s scream. She looked up just in time to catch the flicker of movement as he jumped onto the rail at the edge of the stands, his crossbow steady in his hands. Everyone else looked up, too, including Tariic.

Midian loosed his bolt.

D
o you accept the challenges that I set before you? Do you follow the will of your lhesh for the glory of Darguun?”

Taak Dhakaan drew his sword and raised it high. “I accept your challenge!”

Geth struggled to stand as still as the hobgoblins around him, facing forward, eyes fixed on the air in front of him. It wasn’t in the nature of shifters. His gaze switched from the Kech Shaarat beside them on the sand; to Dagii, standing with unbelievable control; to Tariic in the raised box above, acting like the emperor he wished he were. Geth’s hand curled on the hilt of Wrath. Just wait, he told himself. Just wait a little longer. Tariic will gives his blessing and we’ll all leave—

“Tariic
!”

He whirled. Glimpsed Midian perched on the railing high above. Saw Ashi’s face behind him. Recognized the madness in Midian’s eyes. Spun back around and heard the hiss of the gnome’s loosed bolt as he did.

At Tariic’s side, Pradoor leaned forward suddenly, her hand swiping the air as her withered lips moved in prayer.

Midian’s crossbow bolt dropped as if it had been slapped aside, clattering against the stone of the box just in front of Tariic. The lhesh’s face twisted into something hard and vicious as he stared at the gnome and Ashi.

Geth felt his gut twist too. Midian had betrayed them again! Maybe out of madness rather than malice, but he’d betrayed them.

“Midian,” whispered the Iron Fox warrior who was Ekhaas, “you fool!”

Tariic’s voice rose.
“Icegaunt!”
he howled, and up on the stands Ashi cried out, clutched her arms, and fell back against startled dragonmarked viceroys and Five Nations ambassadors. Tariic thrust out the Rod of Kings. “Midian Mit Davandi—jump!”

Midian stiffened on the railing high above and turned slowly to face Tariic. The crossbow hung loose in his hands. On the tier of stands below, goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears stared up, then scrambled over each other to get out of the way. Midian leaned forward—

“No!” shouted Ekhaas. Her disguise as an Iron Fox warrior unraveled as she moved, plunging a hand into her pouch and ripping out her
shaari’mal
. She turned around and held the byeshk disk high, a look of concentration on her face.

It seemed to Geth that he felt a tremor pass through Wrath. Up on the railing, Midian blinked and jerked back, the color draining from his face. A shout turned the gnome around—guards had appeared on the stairs. Geth saw a look of almost feral cunning come over Midian. He flung the crossbow at the guards and plunged in among the spectators still in the stands.

Chaos spread through the arena. Spectators in the stands were yelling and shouting and—incredibly—still cheering as if the unfolding events were mere spectacle. In the raised box, warlords had surrounded Tariic, maybe out of a desire to protect him, maybe to ask what was happening. Pradoor screamed for the wrath of the Dark Six to fall on Tariic’s assassins. The Kech Shaarat warriors had drawn back, weapons ready for whatever might happen next.

Dagii spun around. “Iron Fox, shield line ahead and behind!” he ordered, and the warriors of his company moved with swift precision, locking their shields into overlapping barriers. One
shield wall faced the potential threat of the Kech Shaarat, the other guarded their rear and the still open door through which they’d entered the arena.

Left between the two lines were Ekhaas—the
shaari’mal
still raised—Dagii, Chetiin, and Tenquis. Ekhaas’s hadn’t been the only disguise to unravel. Tenquis held his wand at the ready, golden eyes staring around in a mix of confusion and anger. “Geth …” he said, sharp teeth bared.

“Back to back,” Geth told him. He drew Wrath, stepped in close to Tenquis, and looked up to Tariic.

The lhesh ignored the madness around him and stared down at them all. “You!” he bellowed over the noise that filled the arena. His eyes flicked to the
shaari’mal
Ekhaas held. “What is this?”

“Your undoing!” Ekhaas spat back.

Tariic’s eyes narrowed. His ears went back. He pointed the Rod of Kings at Dagii. “Kill her,” he ordered. “Kill all of them!”

Dagii’s eyes opened wide as the command seized him. His helmet dropped from his grasp, and he reached for his sword. Caught in the rod’s power, some of the Iron Fox abandoned the shield walls and turned as well. Ekhaas swung the
shaari’mal
first toward Dagii, then toward the advancing warriors. “No!” she said. “You can resist him!”

Another tremor shook Wrath as the power of the shield clashed with the power of the rod. Tariic held his attention on Dagii, though. The young warlord kept moving, drawing his sword and raising it high as he turned on Ekhaas. The
duur’kala’s
ears trembled. Geth saw fear and terrible loss in her eyes. Gut clenched, he tightened his grip on Wrath, ready to fight one friend to save another—

Then the tremor in the ancient sword became a charge like lightning as Chetiin stepped up beside Ekhaas and held out the second
shaari’mal
.

Geth felt the power of Muut form, throwing back the influence of the Rod of Kings. Dagii and his warriors stumbled, then
looked up with clear eyes. Up in his box, Tariic stumbled, too, staggering backward into the warlords around him. His face was slack with shock.

“It’s not possible,” he said. “It’s not—” He glared at the warlords who were looking at him, then swiped the rod through the air in front of them, pointing down into the arena. “Get them!”

Zealous exaltation lit up the faces of the warlords, and they vanished from the box. A few came swarming down over the wall in their eagerness to carry out Tariic’s command. Ekhaas and Chetiin turned the
shaari’mal
on them, but the tremor Geth felt this time was nothing like it had been before. One of the warlords hesitated, but the others kept coming.

“Horns of Ohr Kaluun,” said Tenquis. “That’s not good!”

Across the sand, Geth saw Taak Dhakaan and Riila Dhakaan glance at each other, then Taak roared, “For glory! Kech Shaarat,
itaa!”

“Icegaunt!”

Cold burned through Ashi’s wrists worse than it ever had before. Her world narrowed to that terrible, numbing pain. Instinctively, she jerked her arms close to her body, as if that would keep them warm, but it only brought the cold to her chest. She felt herself topple backward into bodies and heard Laren Roole yelp at her cold, shivering touch.

In her left hand, she could see the folded paper with Tariic’s plans. It trembled as her fingers shook, threatening to slide away. Hold onto it, she told herself. Hold it!

Her fingers closed tight. Somewhere in the distance, there seemed to be a lot of shouting and movement, but Ashi tried to ignore it. She forced her other hand toward her belt and the pouch of vials Keraal had given her. Movement came in spasms. She got her hand to the pouch and hooked her fingers—she
couldn’t feel them—around the flap, but her first attempt to get the pouch open only jarred one of the vials loose. It flew up, and Ashi heard someone gasp in surprise, then the vial dropped and rolled away somewhere underfoot. No!

A hand closed on her arm and held it steady. Ashi looked up and saw Pater d’Orien’s round face as he winced at the touch of magical cold. “You want one of these, Ashi?” he asked. Thick, rough fingers fished the remaining two vials from her pouch. “Someone open one of these!”

Another hand, she didn’t know whose, reached past him and took both vials, then returned one to him opened. Pater put it to her lips and tipped it with surprising gentleness. Ashi slurped at the milky, pale blue liquid.

A kind of warmth spread through her. No, not warmth exactly—she was still cold, but she no longer felt it. She pushed Pater’s hand away and thrust herself upright. Viceroys and ambassadors were gathered around her. Behind them, the arena was a seething mass of confusion as Darguuls moved around. On their tier, where arena guards rampaged through the stands as if they were looking for something, the spectators surged back and forth to avoid them. On the tiers above and below, it didn’t appear as if the crowds were trying to escape at all, only to find the best view.

Pater’s forehead wrinkled. “Ashi, what’s going on?” he asked.

She grabbed his arm and drew on her dragonmark, sending its power through him. He gasped as the clarity of its protection settled on him. Ashi saw more questions form in his eyes, but she didn’t give him the chance to ask them. “Tariic has been controlling you—all of you—with a secret power of the Rod of Kings,” she said swiftly. “His defenses against the Valenar are really preparations for an attack on Breland that will take place in four days.”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” said Roole. Ashi ignored him and thrust the folded paper into Pater’s hand. Frost crinkled as the paper moved.

“Dagii has risked everything to get this to you,” she said. “You need to get it to Breland
right now
. Do you understand?”

Pater blinked, then his face hardened into determination. “I understand.” He heaved his bulk upright, drawing her up with him. “Ashi, I can take you with me if you want to come.”

She shook her head and stepped back. “No, my friends need—”

“You!” The guard who had stopped her at the head of the stairs burst into their midst, grabbing for her. “You were with the assassin!”

Ashi tried to pull away, but someone’s leg tangled with hers. She stumbled, tripping over a bench. The guard pushed past Roole and Kravin d’Vadalis to seize her.

Pater’s meaty fist cracked into his jaw. His sleeve rode up, and Ashi glimpsed the dragonmark that curled across his wrist. The colors of the mark seemed to shimmer—and the guard vanished with the punch, reappearing and crashing into the stands half-a-dozen paces away. Pater stepped back with a look of satisfaction.

“Learned that trick on caravan guard duty.” He checked the paper in his other hand and nodded to Ashi. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll make sure Baron Breven hears about this.” He closed his eyes, and a distant expression crossed his face, then he took a step and disappeared.

Laren Roole shot up and took his place. “This is intolerable,” he said. “You’re meddling in Brelish affairs, and I don’t appreciate this fearmongering—”

Ashi pushed him back down and whirled around, trying to see what was happening. A battle cry drew her attention to the arena floor as the Kech Shaarat bore down on the Iron Fox. Other battle cries came as Darguun’s warlords charged in through the arena’s open doors to attack from the other side.

Ekhaas, Dagii, Geth, Tenquis, and Chetiin were right in the middle of it all.

And in his box above the combat, Tariic watched it like some kind of gloating puppetmaster with Pradoor at his side.

Ashi turned back to the viceroys and ambassadors. “Where’s Midian?”

“There,” said Esmyssa.

Ashi looked where she pointed and realized what the guards had been hunting for. Midian hung in the grasp of two big bugbear guards as they came across the stands toward the group of diplomats. Other guards were converging on them as well.

“I think they saw what happened to the one Pater punched,” said Roole. He looked around desperately. “If we give them Ashi—”