The tyranny of ghosts

CHAPTER NINE

22 Aryth

As they approached the edge of Kech Volaar territory, the soldiers-seven strong hobgoblins and three burly bugbears-escorting Senen started getting skittish. First one, then another glanced around at his companions, until they were all looking at one another. Finally the leader of the expedition put his ears back and muttered something. Within moments, they had all turned and were galloping away in full retreat.

Midian sank a little farther back into his hiding place among the trees and watched them go. He was fairly certain that Senen, swaying in her saddle, head hanging down on her chest, was barely even aware they had left. Two nights before, Midian had crept into the escort’s camp after the soldier who was supposed to be on watch duty turned his attention to the stars and moons overhead. Senen’s skin had been hot. He strongly suspected that Pradoor had done no more than close the Kech Volaar’s wounds with her prayers. Infection and fever had set in-probably Pradoor’s twisted intention all along.

But Senen’s fever suited him too. The more confusion there was over exactly what had happened to her when she arrived in Volaar Draal, the more time he’d have to get Makka into the city and approach his targets. They would be busy cursing Tariic, ignorant of the assassin in the shadows behind them.

Geth would be the first to die, he’d decided. Then Chetiin.

Below, Senen crossed some invisible boundary, and the Kech Volaar patrol that had been lurking among the underbrush-Midian had spotted them immediately, even if Tariic’s soldiers had only guessed at their presence-emerged. The sudden appearance of the great mist-gray leopards that were their warmounts startled Senen’s horse, but the scouts surrounded it swiftly and slid Senen out of the saddle. They were too far away for Midian to hear their words, but the anger that showed on their faces told him all he needed to know. A messenger falcon was dispatched and a warning horn blown in a series of trills. Two members of the patrol bore Senen deeper into Kech Volaar territory, and a third rode off to track the fleeing escorts. A fourth, the one with the horn, waited where he was. Midian waited too.

Geth first, then Chetiin. Then Ekhaas-she’d irritated him from the moment they’d met with the way she clung to duur’kala lore. Tenquis would be almost an afterthought.

The sun moved a handspan across the sky, and two more Kech Volaar patrols appeared. With their cats prowling around them, they conferred with the remaining member of the original patrol, then all of them moved off in the direction the escort had fled. Midian didn’t hold out much hope for the soldiers’ escape-or their swift deaths. He waited until the Kech Volaar patrols were well away, then wriggled out of his hiding place and made his way back to his own unwanted companion.

“The way’s clear,” he said.

Makka just glowered at him and swung back into the saddle of his horse. Midian ignored the bugbear’s bad temper and mounted his own white pony. With patrols in the area either absorbed with Senen’s plight or consumed by righteous wrath in their pursuit of Tariic’s soldiers, the way to Volaar Draal would be relatively clear. Just in case it wasn’t, they stuck to the trees, following the path from under cover as it transformed into an ancient road in the Dhakaani style.

Geth, then Chetiin. Then Ekhaas and Tenquis.

Then Makka.

The first night into their journey, Midian had looked across a small campfire, watched Makka sharpening the tines of his trident, and realized that Tariic’s command of alliance had a flaw. Until the traitors are dead, you’re allies. But once they were dead? Ah. Midian wondered if the omission had been deliberate, if Tariic wished to rid himself of one or more potentially troublesome underlings.

He suspected that Makka had realized the same thing. The bugbear kept stealing glances at him when he thought Midian wasn’t looking. One way or another, four bodies would become five before Tariic’s errand was over, and Midian intended to be the one going back to Khaar Mbar’ost.

He waited until he felt Makka’s gaze on him, then turned sharply. He had the satisfaction of seeing Makka twitch in surprise, his nostrils flaring. Midian gave him a wide, insolent smile. Makka’s eyes narrowed, then he smiled back, a cold smile that was all teeth. Any doubts were erased in Midian’s mind. Makka knew that their enforced alliance had a limit.

But the bugbear’s smile lasted only a moment before turning into a deep frown as he raised his head and sniffed at the wind. Midian’s smile faded as well. “What is it?”

Makka’s big, stiff ears cupped slightly. “Something dead.”

They rode even more carefully. Soon Midian could smell the sick-sweet odor of death too. A little farther and they found the source of the stench bound naked to a branching wooden frame-a goblin grieving tree-erected where the road descended into a steep-sided valley shadowed by the towers of Volaar Draal.

Midian slipped from his horse and, staying low, crept around to the front of the tree. The body had been there for no more than a few days. Blood had run down the victim’s left side and dried there from a wound that had been opened under her arm. She had lingered on the tree, but not too long before bleeding to death. Her head had been bound into place. The last thing she’d seen would have been Volaar Draal.

There was a sign, the words carved in Goblin. She betrayed her clan and her muut. She dies with no name.

“Well, this changes things.” he said under his breath. He returned to the cover of the trees. “Makka, see if you can track down a lone scout or a small patrol. We need to find out what happened here.”

17 Aryth — five days earlier

At Tuura Dhakaan’s order, they were thrown into a cell-at least Geth assumed it was a cell. The only light was a thin line around the door, a glowing thread in an echoing darkness. Their prison was vast. Without proper light he had no desire to go exploring.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Gath’atcha,” said Ekhaas. Her voice was rough, strained by her long song in their escape from the vaults. “It means ‘without honor.’ It is a place of punishment. Kech Volaar who break the traditions of the clan are sent here for a period of time.”

“They’ll hold us here?” asked Chetiin.

“Hold us, yes,” said Ekhaas, “but only until Tuura Dhakaan decides what to do. What we did was more serious than the deeds of most who are sent here.”

She tried to keep her voice steady, but even through the trained tones of a duur’kala, Geth could hear her fear and dismay. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Tuura will understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand, Geth. Breaking into the vaults goes beyond any concern she might have about Tariic or the Rod of Kings.”

“If we tell her about Tasaam Draet’s fortress and the shattered shield-”

“It makes no difference.”

Her voice actually broke. Geth tried to find her in the darkness, but his hands found only air. “Grandfather Rat. Can you sing us another light?”

“I can make a little light,” said Tenquis. Geth heard rustling as the tiefling searched the magically capacious pockets of his long vest, then the swish and gurgle of liquid being shaken in some kind of vessel. The sound stopped for a moment, then started again, more vigorous this time.

“Stop,” Ekhaas said wearily. “There’s no light in Gath’atcha. It’s an ancient magic. The only illumination lies on the other side of the door in Volaar Draal.”

“A lesson for those imprisoned,” said Chetiin. Of all of them, only he sounded calm.

“Can you get out of here?” Geth asked him.

“I might be able to,” said the old goblin. “I could get away when we are released. But I would be leaving you behind.”

“If it comes down to that, you should do it.”

“I will.”

No hesitation, no trace of self-sacrifice. Once again, Geth was glad Chetiin was a friend rather than an enemy. “They didn’t take our weapons,” Geth said. “We could try fighting when they open the door. We may all be able to escape.”

“When they open the door,” said Ekhaas, “there will be twenty warriors of the Kech Volaar on the other side with duur’kala to back them up. There’s the whole of Volaar Draal between us and freedom. They left us our weapons as a sign of disdain. We can’t escape, Geth.”

There was silence for a moment, then Tenquis spoke. “You say ‘they’ like you don’t belong with them anymore.”

“I don’t,” said Ekhaas. “Exile from the clan is the least I can expect.”

“What about the rest of us?” said Geth.

She didn’t answer him. “I said, what about the rest of us, Ekhaas?” he asked again.

Her voice came hollow out of the darkness. “Go to sleep, Geth. There’s nothing else you can do right now.”

There was a finality in her words that killed any thought of a reply. Silence settled into the darkness. Geth stood where he was for a long moment, then stretched himself out on the cool stone floor and stared into nothing. His hand came up to touch the polished black stones of the collar around his neck-an artifact of the Gatekeeper druids that had been the dying gift of his friend Adolan. Sometimes that collar grew cold or hot when he was in danger or needed guidance.

Just then it was no cooler than the air and no warmer than his skin.

They’d gained a clue to the destruction of the Shield of Nobles and a possible way to destroy the Rod of Kings, only to find themselves locked up like thieves. A bad end, Ado, he thought.

The Kech Volaar came for them around what Geth’s belly told him was noon the next day. When the door of Gath’atcha was opened, he was surprised to find that Ekhaas’s expectations of their escort were wrong.

There were actually thirty warriors waiting for them.

The Kech Volaar said nothing, just waited for their prisoners to emerge, then formed up behind them, guiding them with the bulk of their presence. After a night in the darkness, even the dim lights of Volaar Draal seemed bright. Geth found himself blinking as they were marched through the streets. In another city, crowds might have shouted abuse at them or maybe hurled stones and filth. The hobgoblins, goblins, and bugbears of Volaar Draal, however, watched their passage in silence. Geth thought he could feel the cold anger and disdain in every stare. He almost wished someone would shout or throw something.

Volaar Draal held its breath, waiting for them to be judged.

Their escort guided them to the blocky shape of the Shrine of Glories. Geth half expected to be taken around the back and in through the slave entrance they’d used before, but the warriors took them up the sweeping stairs that led to the main entrance. They emerged not into the pillared Hall of Song but into a chamber that reminded Geth uncomfortably of an arena. Tiered benches rose above the isolated floor, each seat filled by a harsh-faced older hobgoblin. Elders of the clan, Geth guessed immediately. On the broad platform of the lowest tier, seated in a high stone chair, was Tuura Dhakaan. Diitesh and Kitaas stood just behind her on one side; a hobgoblin warrior wearing heavy armor, an axe slung across his back, stood on the other.

“Khaavolaar,” said Ekhaas. “That’s Kurac Thaar. He’s the warlord of Kech Volaar.”

“I didn’t realize the Kech Volaar had a warlord,” said Tenquis.

“He stands at Tuura’s side when important decisions are made.” Ekhaas pressed her lips together for a moment, then added, “When there’s an execution, he carries it out.”

The thirty escorting warriors saluted Tuura and withdrew. Heavy doors boomed shut behind them, leaving Geth, Ekhaas, Chetiin, and Tenquis alone before the elders. Geth was reminded uncomfortably of vultures perched on trees, waiting for a wounded beast to die and become carrion.

The room was silent for a long moment before Tuura, looking down on her prisoners, finally spoke. “Ekhaas duur’kala, you will speak for your companions. You stand in this chamber because you have broken not only the terms of the sanctuary granted to you, but the laws and traditions of the Kech Volaar. You assaulted another member of your clan. You entered the vaults without permission and by stealth.” Her ears flicked back. “And you took those not of this clan-two of them chaat’oor-into the vaults along with you. Is this the truth?”

Ekhaas raised her head. “Mother of the dirge, it is the truth.”

A murmur of disapproval ran around the gathered elders. Diitesh and Kitaas glanced at each other with smug expressions. Tuura’s face hardened, and an edge of rage crept into her voice. “What are the punishments prescribed to Kech Volaar for these transgressions, Ekhaas?”

Geth saw Ekhaas’s ears tremble just slightly. Her words were steady, though-steadier than he could have managed. “These are the punishments, handed down by the earliest Kech Volaar and drawn from the traditions of the great empire, that are taught to children of the clan. Who strikes without sanction another member of the clan, whether with weapon or hand or magic, will pass time in Gath’atcha. Who enters the vaults of lore without sanction will pass time in Gath’atcha or may be exiled from the clan. Who guides-”

Her voice finally caught, but she swallowed and recovered. “Who guides those not of Kech Volaar into the vaults will be judged a traitor to Kech Volaar and will die without a name.”

There were no murmurs this time. Once again Tuura waited before she spoke. “And what are the punishments prescribed by tradition to outclanners?”

“An outclanner who strikes one of the Kech Volaar may be struck in return without fear. An outclanner who enters the vaults of lore will die.”

Geth’s stomach turned. He glanced urgently at Ekhaas. On the duur’kala’s other side, Tenquis hissed her name. “Ekhaas-”

“You have no voice here, chaat’oor!” thundered Kurac Thaar from Tuura’s side. “Be silent.”

Geth glared at the armored hobgoblin, but Ekhaas caught his shoulder, turning him away. “Easy,” she said softly, then turned her face back to Tuura. “These are the punishments dictated by tradition, mother of the dirge-but by tradition, we shouldn’t be speaking at all. By tradition, my companions and I should be dead already.”

Tuura’s ears flicked. “One has spoken on your behalf.”

She sat back, and Geth saw Ekhaas’s eyes go wide, then narrow. She-and he-looked to Kitaas, but Ekhaas’s sister seemed as startled as they did. Tuura paid no attention to them or to her. “The High Archivist,” she said, “proposes a different punishment.”

Diitesh? Geth watched the pale hobgoblin nod to Tuura as another wave of whispers passed through the elders. Kitaas had passed beyond startled to thunderstruck. She grabbed Diitesh’s sleeve and spoke into her ear. Diitesh just shook her head and gestured for her to step back.

Ekhaas held her gaze on Tuura. “What punishment?” she asked.

“You came to Volaar Draal seeking sanctuary from Lhesh Tariic. You will be returned to Lhesh Tariic to face his judgment.”

There were mutters of confusion among the elders, but Geth also heard murmurs of approval. Chetiin’s scarred voice echoed in the chamber. “Tariic’s judgment will also be death.”

Kurac Thaar drew breath, but Tuura gestured for him to hold his tongue. “Death in Volaar Draal or death in Rhukaan Draal. The honor of Kech Volaar is satisfied either way,” she said.

A vague sense of hope stirred in Geth. It would take time to get to Rhukaan Draal. Even under heavy guard, there was a chance that they might be able to escape-certainly a better chance than if they were to be executed in Volaar Draal. But another thought tugged at him. Why would Diitesh of all people propose a deal like that, a break from tradition? What did she gain by sending them back to Tariic?

Except-He looked up at Tuura and Diitesh. “And the Kech Volaar,” he said in his thickly accented Goblin, “will gain Tariic’s favor by turning his enemies over to him.”

“Sometimes such things must be considered,” said Tuura. “You should understand-you sat on the throne of Darguun as Haruuc’s shava.”

“Geth, don’t,” whispered Ekhaas. “This is our way out of Volaar Draal.”

She’d seen the same thing he had. He shook his head though. He couldn’t let go of his suspicions. And he knew it wasn’t just him-he could feel a stirring across his connection with Wrath. The Sword of Heroes didn’t share memories with its wielder in the way that the Rod of Kings did, but it had been created to inspire. A hero did more than fight. A hero questioned.

“We brought you a warning about Tariic when we came, Tuura Dhakaan.” As he spoke, his accent faded-the work of Wrath. Geth could feel it putting a hero’s words into his mouth. “Do not trust Tariic. Our lives are worth more than his favor.”

“Close your mouth!” Kurac roared, driven beyond tolerance. “I said that chaat’oor have no voice here-”

Fury caught Geth. “You will respect me, taat! I am the bearer of Aram. I hold the honor of the name of Kuun.” He drew Wrath, the twilight blade a dull shadow in the dim light. “Fight me, and test your atcha!”

Kurac’s hand went to his axe, but before he could draw it, Tuura said sharply, “Kurac!”

He froze. Tuura rose to her feet, her face as dark as a thundercloud. “Perhaps Tariic is not to be trusted,” she said. “But I have muut to my clan. As it has been since the Age of Dhakaan, I lead them and I protect them. I stand between them and forces greater than ours. When Haruuc ruled Darguun, I saw the potential in an alliance with him.”

“Tariic isn’t Haruuc.”

“Even if all that you have told me about Tariic is true, I must consider Kech Volaar. Diitesh offers a way to make the lhesh of Darguun a friend instead of an enemy while punishing those who break our traditions. Two armies fight one battle.”

Geth looked at the High Archivist. “I have been told that the archivists guard the history and traditions of Dhakaan,” he said. “Aren’t you breaking traditions by handing us over to Tariic instead of allowing our deaths here?”

“Geth!” Tenquis said in a low, strangled voice, but his exclamation was almost drowned out by mutters of discontent that made their way around the benches of elders. Apparently Diitesh’s suggestion wasn’t as popular as it might have seemed. Tuura looked around at the dissenters, but Diitesh raised her head high.

“I have said before that Tariic holds the hope of restoring the Empire of Dhakaan, just as he holds the Rod of Kings,” she declared. “He respects the traditions of the ages and restores those that Haruuc stripped away. This is the time the Kech Volaar have waited for. Our legacy is upon us. We must support him!”

As many elders slapped their chests in approval as had raised their voices in dissent. Many of them, Geth noticed, wore the black robes of archivists. He spoke over the noise. “The same argument she used, Tuura Dhakaan, when the Kech Shaarat sought to draw you into an alliance under Tariic.”

The applause faltered. Tuura’s eyes whipped back to Geth. “The Kech Volaar might ally with Tariic,” she said, “but we will not bow before him. That is why I rejected the approaches of the Kech Shaarat.”

Diitesh’s ears went back. “If Tariic Kurar’taarn is the emperor returned, it is the muut of all Dhakaani clans to follow him.”

Geth bared his teeth, feeling the full power of the sword flowing through him. He felt powerful, one hero standing before the assembled elders of a clan, fighting a battle as dangerous as if he stood in the path of an army. “Which is it?” he asked. “Will you follow Tariic or not? I tell you that if you send us back to him-or execute us here-the Kech Volaar will bow before him. Tariic’s power is irresistible. He doesn’t need the Kech Volaar, but if you give yourselves up to him, his ambition will consume you.”

He paused to look over the crowd of elders, at Tuura and Kurac, at Diitesh and Kitaas, all staring at him in consideration or in anger. At Ekhaas, Chetiin, and Tenquis, likewise caught up in the words of a hero. He felt Wrath’s approval and let his voice rise until it rang from the walls and ceiling of the room. “We seek a way to stop Tariic, and we may have found it in the vaults of Volaar Draal, among the knowledge safeguarded through the ages by the Kech Volaar. If you’re willing to break with tradition by leaving our fate to Tariic, consider instead leaving Tariic’s fate to us!” He thrust Wrath triumphantly into the air “No!” Kitaas pushed past Diitesh to point a trembling finger at him. “By the Six Kings, don’t listen to him. They mean to destroy the Rod of Kings! They intend to destroy an artifact of Dhakaan!”

All faces turned to Kitaas. The silence that fell over the chamber was shocking-then the tiered room seemed to explode as every elder present tried to shout louder than the next. “Kill them!” one voice shrieked out above the others. “Kill them where they stand!” Even Tuura looked stunned at the revelation.

Geth felt the pinnacle of triumph crumble under him. The magic of Wrath’s power vanished like a winking spark, and the sword almost fell from his hand as he stumbled back. Ekhaas caught him. “Tiger dances!” he gasped. “What-?”

“The Kech Volaar collect history, remember?” Ekhaas said through clenched teeth. She pushed Geth back onto his feet and grabbed for her own sword. “There’s one crime worse than breaking into the vaults.”

“They didn’t know? Why didn’t Kitaas tell them before? Why didn’t she tell Tuura?” Geth heard the doors of the chamber open as the guards outside responded to the noise within, but he couldn’t help looking back to the lowest tier of benches — just in time to see Diitesh turn and slap Kitaas. “By the Six Kings, I said hold your tongue!”

They weren’t the only ones to see it. Tuura Dhakaan’s voice howled over the din of the elders. “Diitesh! You knew about this?”

The elders closest to the leader of the Kech Volaar fell silent instantly. Kurac Thaar, ready to leap to the floor of the chamber with his axe raised high, paused in midstep. The guards rushing into the room stopped where they stood. Diitesh’s already pale face turned even paler as she whirled around. For an instant, terror showed in her expression, then was wiped away as she struggled to compose herself.

“Let them go to Tariic, Tuura,” she said. “They’ll die just as surely.”

Tuura’s ears went back. “I wouldn’t have even considered it if I knew. You held it back from me.”

“I wanted to tell you, Tuura Dhakaan,” Kitaas blurted. “She wouldn’t let me.”

A flush crept back into Diitesh’s face at her adjunct’s betrayal, but she kept her eyes on Tuura. “Kill them, and send their bodies to Tariic, then. But you’re missing an opportunity to prove your allegiance to him.”

“The Kech Volaar don’t need to prove anything to the lhesh of Darguun.” Tuura pointed at Geth and the others. “They betrayed us. They are ours to deal with as we see fit. Tariic-”

As Tuura spoke, Geth felt a touch on his leg. “Be ready to run,” Chetiin said softly. Geth nodded very slightly, tightened his grip on Wrath, and shifted his weight. The door of the chamber was open. The argument between the leader of the Kech Volaar and her High Archivist provided a distraction. If they chose their moment carefully, they might have a slim chance of escape.

“-can remain ignorant of their fate for the rest of his life!”

Diitesh’s features twisted into a mask of anger. “Tariic already knows you’ve given them sanctuary!”

In spite of himself, Geth flinched. On the benches, all of the elders had fallen silent. Tuura drew a sharp breath. “You-”

“You are blind, Tuura,” said Diitesh. “I see. When you dismissed the offer of the Kech Shaarat, I went after Riila Dhakaan and spoke to her. When the Kech Shaarat swear allegiance to Tariic as emperor, the Kech Volaar must stand with them or die.” Her lips drew back from her teeth. “If you won’t embrace the legacy of Dhakaan on behalf of our clan, someone else must. Tuura Dhakaan, I challenge your leadership of the Kech Volaar!”

Tuura’s eyes opened wide. Without waiting for a response, Diitesh reached into her robe and pulled out a battered black box. She flicked open the lid and spoke a word of magic.

The sound of it echoed for a moment, then seemed to transform into a kind of sleepy hum. A heartbeat later, the hum had become a drone that filled the chamber. As Geth watched, as elders scrambled to get away from an impending battle, three glittering, green wasps as long as a finger rose up from the box. The dim light of the chamber flashed on lean, crystalline bodies formed of knuckle-sized gems fastened together with wires of gold. It shone through wings that threw off splashes of rainbow color as they blurred. Diitesh backed away, leaving the wasps hanging in the air.

Tuura narrowed her eyes and spat, “Your challenge is accepted!” She drew a sharp breath-and sang.

The drone of the wasps rose and broke into a thrumming dissonance. Tuura choked as if her song had been forced back down her throat. She reeled backward.

“Kapaa’taat!” Kurac Thaar jumped forward-Geth didn’t know what the rules for such a challenge were, but it didn’t seem like the warlord was going to let them get in the way of his axe. Diitesh just flicked a finger, though, and one of the wasps darted at him. Kurac swatted, but it skimmed easily around his axe.

It struck like an emerald flash, swooping at his unprotected neck and seeming to do no more than touch it before leaping away. Kurac staggered, clapped a hand to the place he’d been stung, then pitched forward. He hit the ground in a clattering of armor that seemed to go on and on as his body twitched and danced.

“Duur’kala have always led the Kech Volaar,” Diitesh called over the drone of the wasps. “They have songs and stories of the great empire, but the vaults hold so much more. Tools. Armor. Weapons of all sorts-some of them intended to counter duur’kala!” She flicked her fingers again, and the wasps buzzed around Tuura, toying with her as the leader of the Kech Volaar drew a sword.

“Now!” said Chetiin.

It was difficult to tear his eyes away from the duel before him, but Geth did. He spun around and ran for the door of the chamber. The guards who’d spilled inside were staring too. Their reactions were slow. One cried out and grabbed for him. Geth swung Wrath in an arc that opened a gash across the guard’s side. Ahead of him, Chetiin darted between two guards, spinning to slash at their legs as he went. Ekhaas didn’t draw her sword or try to sing a spell but just lashed out with fists, elbows, and knees at any guard who got in her way. Tenquis Tenquis wasn’t there. Geth twisted around, sliding to a stop.

The tiefling hadn’t moved, though he had drawn his wand. He stood watching the wasps, head moving to follow their darting flight as they evaded Tuura’s flailing sword. “Tenquis!” Geth shouted.

Tenquis paid no attention to him. But Diitesh did. Her head turned, and she scowled. One hand still pointing at Tuura, she gestured with the other at Geth.

One wasp broke off from the others and flew at him in a green streak. “Tiger!” Geth cursed. He stumbled back, raising both Wrath and his great gauntlet as if they would be enough to protect him.

Tenquis twisted and brought his wand up. For a moment, the tip of the implement tracked the wasp, then Tenquis stabbed at the air. A golden spark flashed from wand to wasp-and the wasp rattled off Geth’s gauntlet like a handful of pebbles. It hit the ground at his feet, a motionless collection of crystals.

Diitesh’s eyes seemed ready to bulge out of her head. They darted from Tuura to Tenquis, then she gestured with both hands at once. One of the two remaining wasps darted at Tenquis. The other plunged at Tuura.

Tenquis stabbed with his wand, and another golden spark engulfed the wasp coming at him. The thing’s body hadn’t even dropped to the ground before his wand was following the wasp that bedeviled Tuura. Tenquis took aim and stabbed the air for a third time.

The golden spark that leaped from his wand was as bright as a miniature bolt of lightning, but instead of thunder, it only brought silence. The last wasp fell, its crystal wings still. Tuura looked at it, then up at Diitesh. The High Archivist took a step backward, hands raised, fear on her face.

Tuura’s voice rose in a sharp, harsh song, and between one step and the next, Diitesh froze. She didn’t move, she didn’t blink. Tuura dropped to one knee beside Kurac Thaar’s still twitching body and sang again, softly this time. He relaxed immediately, her song dispelling whatever poison the wasp had injected into him.

Geth glanced over his shoulder. One of the guards had Ekhaas in his grip, but neither of them were struggling. Both, along with all the elders in the chamber, were watching Tuura. Geth gestured, and Ekhaas slid away from the guard, returning to him. Moving slowly, they rejoined Tenquis. As ever, the tiefling’s pupilless gold eyes were difficult to read, but Geth thought he saw a certain satisfaction there. A moment later, Chetiin joined them as well, though Geth could have sworn he’d made it out of the chamber entirely.

“You could have escaped,” he murmured to the goblin.

“I still can.”

Tuura stood up from beside Kurac. The warlord’s chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm. He seemed to be asleep. Tuura looked at Tenquis. “How?” she asked.

“Duur’kala know how to counter the magical songs of another,” Tenquis said. “Daashor of Dhakaan knew how to still another’s creations-at least temporarily.” He nudged one of the wasps where it lay near his feet. The crystal wings stirred feebly. “Put them back in the box. That should render them inert.” He returned Tuura’s gaze. “By Dhakaani tradition, you owe me.”

Tuura’s ears went back. “I don’t need to ask what you want in return.” She turned around and seated herself in her stone chair. “Lhurusk!”

An officer among the guards flinched, then stepped forward. Tuura pointed at Geth and the others. “They are to be escorted from Volaar Draal and shown out of Kech Volaar territory in whichever direction they choose. If they ever attempt to approach Volaar Draal again, they are to be killed.”

“Mazo!” The guard saluted her. Tuura looked back to Tenquis. The tiefling bent his head to her. Tuura’s gaze continued on to Ekhaas.

“Ekhaas, daughter of the dirge,” she said, “you are cast out of Kech Volaar. You have no muut to us. We have no muut to you. Your story ends.”

Geth saw Ekhaas’s amber eyes flick once to Kitaas before they went hard and distant. She turned sharply, putting her back to Tuura, the elders, and her sister. Geth thought he saw Kitaas’s mouth open for a moment, only to close before anything could emerge.

Then a bugbear guard stepped in front of him, cutting off his view, and gestured curtly for him to turn as well.

They were out of Volaar Draal more quickly than Geth would have thought possible. Guards stood over them in their quarters while they gathered their packs, then marched them up the long passage from the city to the gates. Goblin stablehands were still saddling their horses when they arrived, but the gate guards had already marched aside in preparation for their departure. Just beyond the gates, Marrow waited like an independent shadow in the sun.

“How did she know to be here?” Geth asked Chetiin.

The shaarat’khesh elder just spread his hands and shrugged.

The guard officer whom Tuura had commanded to see them out of Volaar Draal approached Tenquis. “Which direction will you be traveling?” he asked.

Tenquis looked at Ekhaas. Ekhaas looked at Geth.

There was only one place to go. “Suud Anshaar,” he said quietly. “The ruins of Tasaam Draet’s fortress. We need to see if there’s anything there.”

“The Khraal Jungle, then,” said Ekhaas. “Southeast on the other side of Darguun. But we can’t ride straight across the country. Tariic will be looking for-”

“He’ll think we’re here,” Chetiin reminded her.

She smiled briefly, then looked to the guard officer. “We travel southeast.”

He didn’t react. Her smile faded. Tenquis repeated her instructions, and the officer nodded and went away. Stablehands brought their horses over. They mounted up and rode into the sunlight. A Kech Volaar patrol on mist-gray leopards prowled out of the gate behind them.

“I’m sorry, Ekhaas,” Geth said.

“Don’t be.” Ekhaas’s voice was harsh. “It could have been worse.”

“What will happen to Diitesh then?” Tenquis asked her as they made their way up the road and out of the valley. The duur’kala didn’t answer him, but Geth caught Tenquis’s eye, then nodded to a gang of goblin workers assembling a treelike frame beside the road at the valley’s edge.

“Something worse,” he said.