The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 (21 page)

Rain came down heavy on a night as black as a traitor’s soul. Deep eaves shielded the windows of the Talenta Hospitality, letting cool air circulate into the busy common room. Lanudo’s guests for the night had finally abandoned the dubious shelter of the open-air taverns for somewhere a little more protected—the halfling circulated through the crowd, making certain that the guests whose rooms leaked worse than usual got extra beer. Sufficiently drunk, they wouldn’t mind the additional damp in their beds.

He happened to be near the door when it opened to admit two figures. Late for travelers, Lanudo thought, but he’d never turned away potential guests before—and on such a miserable night, he could charge extra for a corner in the common room. He turned to greet them.

The greeting caught on his tongue.

The bigger of the two figures was a bugbear, bareheaded to the rain and looking as if he’d barely noticed the storm. There was a sprawling scar on his chest, a crude outline of a woman with the tail of a snake and outstretched wings. The sign of the Fury.

The smaller figure wore a magewrought cloak that shed water like a duck’s back. Lanudo expected to find a goblin underneath, but the figure threw back the cloak’s hood to reveal the smiling, nut-brown face of a gnome. Bright eyes fixed on him.

“Ah, innkeep,” said the gnome. “Tell me you can spare us going back out on a night like this. My name is Midian Mit Davandi, historian to the court of Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn. We’re trying to catch up to some colleagues: a hobgoblin
duur’kala
, a shifter, a tiefling, and a goblin mounted on a black worg. Quite a distinctive group. I wonder if you might have seen them.”

The gnome’s manner was friendly, and a lilt in his voice implied that Lanudo would be doing him a huge favor by helping him locate his friends. Lanudo’s gut told him differently. Midian’s bright eyes were hard with a sharp cunning. His smile was cold. The bugbear didn’t smile at all. One hand gripped the shaft of a heavy trident, fingers rubbing the wood. The other hand rested on his belt, uncomfortably close to a dangling clump of reddish hair and orange-brown flesh. It came to Lanudo that he’d been in Arthuun too long if he was able to recognize the scalp of a hobgoblin on sight.

He doubted very much if the gnome and the bugbear were merely trying to catch up with their “colleagues.” A better man than him might have tried to throw them off the trail.

A better man than him wouldn’t have lived long in Arthuun.

“You’ve missed them,” he said. “They stayed a night but rode out two days ago, heading into the Khraal. They didn’t say anything about where they were going in front of me, but they hired a guide, a hunter named Tooth. When he met them here, he looked like he was ready for a substantial expedition. If you want to know more than that, you should go to a tavern called the Rat’s Tail and ask there about what Tooth was up to.”

Midian raised his eyebrows. “Refreshing honesty. I appreciate that. Would the Rat’s Tail still be open tonight? No? How are your rooms, then?”

“Leaky and wet,” Lanudo said bluntly, “but I’ll give you the same rooms your colleagues stayed in if you want to search them.”

“Splendid,” said Midian. “How much?”

Lanudo charged him the same he would have on a dry night and, as the pair of them went upstairs, resolved to sleep in the bed of the handcart that the cooper three doors down kept behind his shop. Just to be safe.

A week after they left Arthuun, they heard the first shrieks in the night. Ekhaas sat beside their small fire and listened to the screams and wails as they rolled back and forth in the darkness. The jungle played tricks with distance. With rare exceptions, when a ridge or outcropping rose above the canopy and gave them a view of the green horizon, their world was limited to a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty paces in any direction. The shrieks had the same thin quality as distant thunder, but they could have been much closer.

“Suud Anshaar?” said Tenquis.

“Varags,” answered Tooth. “We’re on the edge of their territory now. Another day, then we’ll hear the Wailing Hill.”

“Is it possible the howls that are supposed to be Suud Anshaar are really just the howls of varags?” Geth asked.

“All of the hunter legends say there’s no mistaking the wails of Suud Anshaar for the cries of anything alive.” Tooth stirred the fire, then sat back. “Gives us another story, Ekhaas. Something to listen to besides varags.”

Though they’d tried to use false names at first, Tooth had figured out who they were within a day of leaving Arthuun. Word of events in Rhukaan Draal had filtered down to the south of Darguun after all. Tooth didn’t ask them for their version of the story, though—some sort of unspoken hunter’s courtesy, Ekhaas suspected. Maybe the bugbear had his own secrets.

And Tariic hadn’t, as they’d feared, put a bounty on them. Without a reward, Tooth didn’t have any incentive to turn on them. Rhukaan Draal was a long way away and the people of Arthuun had other things to worry about besides who ruled in Rhukaan Draal. As Tooth had put it, “Haruuc was a good
chib
. He traveled south sometimes. He paid attention to us. They say he hunted in the Khraal when he was a young warrior. This
Tariic—what do we know about him? What’s he done? We hear stories of a victory in battle against the Valenar, but the stories don’t say that Tariic fought personally.”

With varags howling in the distance and Suud Anshaar only a couple of days’ travel away, Ekhaas felt emboldened. “Tooth,” she said, “how would you like to hear the real story of the Battle of Zarrthec from someone who was there?”

The bugbear cupped his big ears in interest. Ekhaas sat a little closer to the fire, closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, then opened her eyes again.
“Raat shi anaa
—the story continues. The sun rose on a battlefield covered with tattered fog, where an army of Darguun waited for an ancient foe …”

As the story of the battle, of Dagii’s cunning and his warriors’ bravery unfolded, Tooth sat up straighter and leaned forward until he might have fallen in the fire if he had lost his balance. Tenquis and Geth, who already knew the story, and Chetiin, who’d also been there, sat forward too. Even Marrow raised her head to listen, especially at the point where she and Chetiin arrived leading reinforcements of
taarka’khesh
, the wolf-riding cousin clan of the
shaarat’khesh
. Ekhaas downplayed her own part in the battle—how she’d rallied Dagii’s troops with her songs—but she couldn’t in all modesty leave it out entirely.

By the time she finished, eight of the twelve moons had risen, and the shrieks of the varags had moved even farther away. “… and with the last of the elves fleeing back to their hiding place in the Mournland, Dagii mounted the command hill and took up the
Riis Shaari’mal
, the ancient battle standard of Dhakaan under which he’d fought, waved it for his surviving warriors to see, and proclaimed the battle a victory.
Raat shan gath’kal dor
—the story stops but never ends.”

Tooth sat back, his breathing as quick as if he’d just fought the battle himself. His open hand slapped his chest in appreciation.
“Paatcha
, Ekhaas! Now that’s a story—and your Dagii sounds more worthy of respect than Tariic could ever be. I’d like to meet him.”

Ekhaas leaned back as well. Her blood sang with the euphoria of a story well told, and her heart ached—in a pleasant way—for Dagii’s absence. “If we’re successful in Suud Anshaar, maybe you will some day,” she said.

Tooth’s eyes flashed in the firelight. “I haven’t asked why you’re going there,” he said after a moment. “You hired me to get you there, not to take you inside, so I’ve held my tongue. But I’m curious. The stories say that the ruins have been untouched since before the fall of Dhakaan and that they hide a fabulous treasure. Emeralds as big as a goblin’s fist. Pearls as big as mine. Gold coins the size of dinner plates—”

“Nothing like that,” said Ekhaas. “I think the hunters of the Khraal have been making stories up. I suppose there could be a treasure in Suud Anshaar, but I haven’t heard of one. What we’re looking for is different, the remains of something that was broken long ago.”

“All this way for something broken?” Tooth snorted. “Are you even sure it’s there?”

The question brought back doubts that had plagued them all the way from Volaar Draal. Was one cryptic reference on a stela really enough evidence to venture into jungle ruins? They’d had less evidence when they had gone searching for the Rod of Kings for Haruuc, but they’d also had Geth and Wrath.
Duur’kala
songs had woken the connection the rod and the sword shared through their origin, allowing Geth to find the way. The shifter still felt that connection—he could draw Wrath and point the way to the rod in Rhukaan Draal without hesitation. He had no sense of the shield or its shattered fragments, though. Maybe because it was broken. Maybe because new songs were needed. Maybe because the fragments of the shield no longer existed in Suud Anshaar or anywhere else.

Ekhaas pushed back the doubt. After Volaar Draal, if they didn’t have hope of finding something in Suud Anshaar, they had nothing.
She
had nothing. “Absolutely certain,” she said.

Tooth shook his head, but then looked at Ekhaas hopefully. “If do you see any treasure, could you bring some back to me? Just to prove that I was here, of course.”

“Of course,” said Ekhaas.

The sun rose the next day to the kind of sticky, mist-shrouded morning they’d come to expect in the Khraal. They set off early, Tooth leading them with even more care than he normally did. About mid-morning, with the mist burned away, he paused to sniff the air, then cautiously pulled aside a big fern. Behind it were the gnawed and broken bones of a jungle boar—several boars, Ekhaas realized—all heaped up together. The bones were several days old, but there was a foul tang in the air that had nothing to do with rot.

“Varags,” said Tooth. “They piss on the remains of their kills.”

“There’s not much left for a scavenger to pick over,” observed Geth.

“They don’t piss on the remains to spoil them. They do it to mark their pack’s territory.”

Geth bared his teeth. “They sound more like animals than goblins.”

“They are more animal than
dar,”
Tooth said. He glanced sideways at Ekhaas. “There’s an old legend that the Dhakaani used magic to breed them out of hobgoblins and dire wolves.”

“That’s just a legend,” said Ekhaas stiffly. “Legends also say that before the rise of Dhakaan, hobgoblins bred bugbears as warriors and goblins as slaves.”

“Didn’t they?” asked Tenquis. “I’d heard that they did.”

Ekhaas gave the tiefling a dark look. So did Chetiin.

Marrow, sniffing around the bones, squatted beside it and sprayed her urine onto the stinking heap. Tooth noticed what she was doing too late to stop her. “No!” he snarled. “Balinor’s blood, if they come this way now, they’ll know we were here.”

The worg snarled back at him, and Chetiin clarified, “She says that if they mark their territory with scent, they’ll already
know we were here when they come this way. Now they’ll also know this pack has a strong female with them.”

Tooth grimaced. “That isn’t likely to help. Keep going and stay alert. Varags spend most of the day sleeping, but when they hunt, they’re almost silent.”

The sun rose to its apex, and the stifling heat of the morning became oppressive. They saw and heard nothing more of the varags, though once or twice Ekhaas thought she caught a whiff of varag urine. Tooth’s wariness was contagious. Ekhaas found herself tensing up and frequently had to force her body to relax. Geth didn’t so much walk as prowl, hand never far from Wrath’s hilt, the hair on his neck and forearms as visibly ruffled as Marrow’s coat. Chetiin all but vanished into the undergrowth, invisible unless one knew where to look for him. Tenquis held his wand at the ready, twitching it at every unexpected noise or motion.

The end of the undergrowth was so sudden, it was startling. One moment they were among trees and ferns, and the next they were stepping out onto the hard surface of an ancient Dhakaani road. Trees grew together overhead, the canopy turning the road into a tunnel. In spite of its age, the road had survived remarkably well. The black paving stones had mostly remained level, and few plants broke through between them.

“The last landmark,” said Tooth. “Stories said there was a road running through the jungle to Suud Anshaar.” He looked to Geth and Ekhaas. “We can follow it and be there faster, but we’re more visible.”

“We’re not entirely silent when we have to chop our way through the jungle, either,” Geth pointed out. “Follow the road.”

Tooth answered with a tight nod and moved off into the gloom.

“We always seem to walk roads the Dhakaani laid down,” murmured Chetiin as they followed. “Here. On our journey to Darguun as we rode up to the Marguul Pass. In the Seawall Mountains when we sought the Rod of Kings. Even the road
to Volaar Draal—built by Kech Volaar in imitation of the Dhakaani. We’re chasing the empire.”

“Everywhere we go, Dhakaan was there before us,” said Ekhaas. “It stretched from one side of Khorvaire to the other. From ruins in the Endworld Mountains in the east to Yrlag along the Grithic River in the west; from Ja’shaarat, the city that forms the foundations of Sharn, in the south, and north to—” She shrugged. “There are legends that say
dar
reached the Frostfell during the height of Dhakaan’s power. We live with the ghosts of the empire.”