The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 (31 page)

“Makka, keep him down.” The large pouch on the belt was indeed strangely heavy. Something inside strained the leather. Midian pulled the pouch open.

Purple byeshk winked at him.

He drew the notched disk out and threw the pouch aside. “Makka.”

The bugbear looked over and snorted. “That’s a poor weapon.”

“It’s not a weapon. It’s a symbol of Dhakaan, a
shaari’mal.”
His instincts as a scholar had truly come alive. The disk was unquestionably of original Dhakaani craftsmanship, far finer than anything even the modern Dhakaani clans produced, but it was also remarkably preserved for something so ancient. He held it up before Ekhaas. “What is this?”

Her ears flicked rapidly. “We found it in the ruins. We don’t know what it is.”

“Liar.” He caressed the metallic surface of the disk and turned it into the sunlight to examine the symbols carved on it. “A
shaari’mal
forged from byeshk—when the Sword of Heroes and the Rod of Kings also happen to be forged from byeshk.”

Ekhaas bared her teeth at him. “That’s just a coincidence. It has nothing to do with the sword or the rod.”

“And yet the markings are similar.” Midian felt giddy. Tariic was going to want to see this.

“They’re not,” Ekhaas insisted. There was a tension in her voice that she was trying hard to conceal. The others were reacting too. Geth was cursing. Chetiin had sat up sharply. Tenquis had squirmed around so he could see what was happening. Even Marrow’s red eyes were darting around.

Midian smiled at the
duur’kala
. “Well, it’s fortunate we have something to compare them against, isn’t it?” He turned to where Geth’s sword lay waiting on the ground. “The Sword of Heroes, conveniently to hand.” He went to the sword and reached for it—then paused and stood up again.

Geth growled at him. “Go ahead, Midian. Pick it up. Draw it.”

“Close your mouth!” barked Makka. The bugbear glared at Midian. “What’s the problem?”

Midian chewed his lip for a moment. “The Sword of Heroes won’t bear the touch of a coward,” he said. He might have dismissed such a warning as an absurdity, a myth that had grown up around the ancient sword, except that he’d seen it himself. He looked down at Tenquis. “You. Draw the sword. Makka, let him up.”

Tenquis’s eyes went to Geth, then to Ekhaas, then he started to sit up.

“Maabet!”
Makka said. The bugbear planted a foot in the middle of Tenquis’s chest and shoved him back down. “You don’t need him. Give me that.”

A sense of danger ran along Midian’s limbs. “Makka, don’t be—”

But two quick strides brought Makka to the sword. He jabbed his trident into the ground, scooped up the blade, and yanked it from its sheath.

The crack of thunder split the air the instant Makka’s hand closed on the hilt. Lightning writhed up his arm. He howled in shock and pain, the sudden contraction of his muscles more than
anything completing the action of drawing the weapon. Geth’s sword flew from his hand to land blade down in the jungle soil.

Midian snatched his knife from his belt and whirled on Ekhaas.

He was too slow. The air itself seemed to tremble as the
duur’kala
opened her mouth and sang a single harsh note—

Ekhaas felt the weight in her belt pouch shift the moment she sat up after Tenquis had finished tying her. At first, she cursed herself for cramming the lone
shaari’mal
into the pouch the night before, when the others were safe in Tenquis’s hidden pocket. Then she cursed the
shaari’mal
for being a mysterious, useless piece of … whatever it was … instead of the fragment of the Shield of Nobles that they’d come looking for.

And then, as Makka bashed Geth without a second thought and Midian strode around like a bully, ordering Tenquis to take their weapons and pouches, she thought of a use for the thing.

Whatever its true connection to the Sword of Heroes and the Rod of Kings, the
shaari’mal
made ideal bait. A puzzle for Midian’s arrogance. A lure for Makka’s recklessness.

The paired duet of Wrath’s anger and Makka’s pain as the bugbear ignored Midian’s warning and tried to draw the sword was like sweet music. All of the anxious triumph that Ekhaas had struggled to conceal under Midian’s questioning rose up inside her.

The gnome turned on her, knife in hand. His face was wild with fury.

Ekhaas was ready for him. Every bit of her triumph poured into a song so tightly focused it shook the air and raised loose dirt from the jungle floor. The magic slapped Midian like an invisible hand, lifting him up and sending him flying back. The
shaari’mal
dropped from his grip and bounced across the ground until it hit her own discarded sword.

Midian kept hold of the knife, though. Somehow he even managed to twist in midair, landing in a crouch like a cat. His eyes flashed like a cat’s too—then narrowed. Makka, shaking his head to clear it, looked around. His eyes went wide. “No!”

Ekhaas felt another flush of triumph. To one side of her, Chetiin was wriggling like something without bones. Ropes that Ekhaas had watched Midian test—twice—slid from his arms and legs. To the other side, Tenquis had scrambled over to Geth. The labyrinthine patterns of his vest coiled and changed, then the tiefling was pulling a knife out of a pocket and slicing at Geth’s bonds. Geth glared at Makka, growling like an animal. Ekhaas saw the shifting come over him, saw his hair grow wild and thick, heard his growl drop even deeper in his throat.

“You want me?” he roared. “You want me? Come and fight!”

“The Fury grants me your life!” Makka bellowed back. He seized his trident and leaped at Geth.

The final strands of rope parted. Tenquis ducked away, but Geth threw himself forward, rolling under Makka’s leap. He came to his feet beside Wrath, pulled the twilight blade from the ground, and dropped into a crouch as Makka twisted around.

“The Fury,” said Geth, “will need to come and take it herself.”

T
he shifter sprang for Makka. The two met in a crashing whirl of blades and bodies. On the other side of the clearing, Chetiin swept up the ropes that had bound him and flung them at Midian. In the instant that it took for the gnome to bat them aside, the
shaarat’khesh
elder was on him.

Tenquis dropped down at Ekhaas’s side, first slashing the ropes around her ankles, then moving behind her to saw at those on her wrist. “Ekhaas,” he said quickly, “I’m sorry I did what Midian ordered, but when he said he’d cut off my hand—”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I couldn’t have done what I needed to if you hadn’t.” Ekhaas forced her wrists apart as far as she could, straining the ropes so that they’d be easier to cut. She kept her eyes on Geth and Makka, Chetiin and Midian.

As they struggled, they were too close for her to use a song against an enemy without also striking down a friend, but at least the pairs were evenly matched. Shifter and bugbear roared and hammered at each other, catching blows on gauntlet and trident shaft as they surged back and forth across the little clearing. Both were already bleeding, trickles of red running from shallow gashes. In contrast, the gnome and the goblin fought in near silence, never moving far from where their duel had started. Midian’s knife flashed, and Chetiin slid out of the way, responding with a stiff-fingered strike that Midian deflected with his free hand. Neither had been injured that she could see,
but Ekhaas knew in her gut that their battle would be decided with a single blow.

Beyond them, Marrow whined and writhed against her bonds. Tooth lay still, but his eyes—fever bright—were open and watching everything. Ekhaas’s ears went back. Sooner or later, Midian was going to remember that he still had two hostages to hold against them. “Tenquis,” she said over her shoulder, “we have to free Marrow and Tooth.”

The tiefling’s knife worked faster. The ropes fell away. Tenquis seized her hand and pulled her to her feet. Ekhaas grabbed for her sword, tore it free of scabbard and belt, then snatched up the fallen
shaari’mal
with her other hand—

Something had changed.

For a moment, the battle seemed to recede as she stared down at the notched disk in her hand. Byeshk that had felt heavy and cold before had a kind of lightness and warmth to it. It … pulsed against her touch, even though her fingers and palm told her it was just as solid and rigid as ever. She felt a sense of purpose push at her, not a compulsion, but just a feeling that there was something she was meant to do.

“Ekhaas!” hissed Tenquis.

The crash and surge of the fight rushed back over her. The sense of the
shaari’mal
in her hand didn’t go away, though. If anything, it was stronger. She raised her head and looked across the clearing.

Shadows seemed to cling to Makka and Midian—especially Midian. The bugbear trailed shadows, but the gnome was wrapped in them like a shroud. As if he felt her gaze, he glanced away from Chetiin to look at her. His eyes narrowed.

Tariic stared out from those eyes. Ekhaas’s stomach churned. Her grip on the
shaari’mal
tightened.

And for the briefest instant, the shadows parted. Just a bit.

Midian met Ekhaas’s eyes—and doubt tickled the edge of his mind. Not the doubt he would have expected, of whether he and Makka would be able to win this fight with two more enemies ready to enter combat. He’d already considered that, and if either of them could finish off their opponent in the next few moments, the
duur’kala
and the artificer wouldn’t stand a chance.

No, the question that slid like a worm into his head was whether he should be fighting at all.

His jaw clenched, and he tried to beat back the doubt, but it wrapped itself around him. Why fight? Why put himself in danger? What was so important?

Tariic was important, he told himself. Tariic Kurar’taarn, his lhesh and master, wanted Ekhaas and Tenquis and the others dead.

But did he want them dead right away?

Midian tore his gaze away from Ekhaas as Chetiin sent another kick at his head. Midian ducked under and feinted with his free fist at the goblin’s groin. Chetiin curled out of an instinct to protect himself, turning away as he landed. That gave Midian the instant he needed to step back and survey the clearing.

His eyes came to rest on Tooth.

Maybe Geth and his allies didn’t need to die immediately. He was getting tired of this open fight anyway.

Chetiin’s crouched landing turned into a leg sweep. Midian vaulted over it, not back or simply up, but forward. His free hand and all of his weight came down on Chetiin’s shoulder, shoving the goblin to the ground as Midian thrust off once more, tumbled through the air, and came down right beside Tooth. He heard Tenquis shout in alarm, but he ignored the tiefling. His knife plunged down—and stopped just above the sweat-slick skin of the stricken bugbear’s neck.

“Nobody move!” he commanded.

Ekhaas froze. So did Tenquis. Chetiin whirled and raised empty hands, but moved no closer. Geth and Makka’s fight crashed on. Midian raised his voice. “Geth! Makka!”