Word of traitors

CHAPTER THREE

When the bugbears of the White Stone tribe, savaged in the dark woods by a huge wolf that could only have been part demon, returned to their camp to find every hut ablaze, their children alive only by the dark gods’ whim, and the prisoners who had started it all escaped, their only choice was to flee. The wolf-demon had settled for the moment to feast on the bodies of fallen warriors. Their camp was on fire. The trolls that lived in the cursed valley below, that had for years kept to themselves in return for carcasses thrown down from the bugbear camp, were raging. Overnight, their haven in the Seawall Mountains had become too dangerous to hold.

So they fled, slipping away down the western approach to their high vale with the flames of their burning camp leaping high into the sky behind them. Then they started looking for someone to blame.

Makka, who had been the chib, the leader, found himself on the other side of their anger.

“Makka kept the lowlanders that the trolls were chasing!” said Guun, who had been his closest friend. “He should have sent them back, but he kept them! He was greedy for the treasure they sought in the valley!”

“When the lowlanders’ friends challenged us from the woods, Makka led us out,” said Utaa, whose skill in a fight was a close second to Makka’s. “The human woman had a dragonmark-her magic must have summoned the wolf. Now our camp is gone, seven warriors are dead, and we have nothing!”

In the tradition of the Marguul tribes of the Seawall Mountains, Makka could have defended his honor in combat against Guun and Utaa, but the wolf had torn into his right arm. It would heal, but until it did all he had were threats. “Guun and Utaa are cowards! They are foxes circling an injured lion. I am Makka! I am your chib! I am-”

The first stone struck him between the shoulders. Roaring, Makka whirled to lash out with his trident at the one who dared attack him from behind, but the blow was weak. More stones, mud, and branches pelted him, splattering the bear hide vest that he wore. The White Stone tribe howled its rage, Tuneer and Wiraar, the mothers of his children, among them. Guun hefted his big mace, Utaa his sword. The two warriors came forward through the rain of debris.

Marguul tradition valued honor, but not so much as it valued staying alive. Followed by the jeers of his tribe, Makka fled for the second time that night.

For three days he hid, thoughts of vengeance festering in his mind just as his wounded arm festered. On the fourth day, he went to a brook upstream from the White Stone’s new camp and washed the pus from his arm, praying to the Dark Six that the sluggish water would carry the infection to his former tribe. Then he packed the burning wound with moss and spiderwebs and made his way back to the burned-out camp. Down the mountainside, he found tracks. The footprints of humans and hobgoblins, the hoofprints of horses, the pawprints of wolves, all leading out of the mountains and back to the lowlands.

The ones responsible for his shame were the three prisoners, two hobgoblins and a human that he had rescued from the trolls-and whatever allies had appeared to help them to escape and lay waste to the White Stone camp. He had learned something about the three prisoners while they were his captives. The hobgoblin warrior had named himself Dagii of Mur Talaan and claimed the hobgoblin woman as a follower, though Makka doubted the claim. The human woman carried the dragonmark of Deneith across her face and arms, and the bright sword that now hung at Makka’s side like an oversize dagger had been hers until he had taken it.

His shame had been begun by the three. On a mountain side during a thunderstorm, Makka swore by the passion of the Fury, dark goddess of rage, that his vengeance would start with them.

Where would he find them? They had tried to bargain for their safety by invoking the name of the lowland king, Haruuc. Whether they had his favor or not was questionable, but if they’d known to try invoking his name, there was only one place to begin his search.

Makka turned his footsteps toward Rhukaan Draal.

19 Sypheros

He arrived just before dawn on a fine cool day to find the entrances to Haruuc’s city clogged with lowlanders, all dressed as if for a festival. Makka waded into the throng, shouldering past hobgoblins, goblins, and bugbears alike. There were only dar present, he noticed. That was strange. Usually humans forced their way into everything.

As he got closer to the front of the crowd, he saw what was holding it back: guards wearing armbands fashioned of red cords stood at makeshift barricades. He grabbed the nearest goblin and spun the little creature around, forcing him to look up into his face. “What’s happening here, taat?”

The goblin stared at him with wide eyes. “The end of mourning,” he said, his voice cracking. “Haruuc goes to his tomb today.”

Makka grunted and looked back to the guards. The goblin, he noticed, took the opportunity to shrink back into the crowd. Makka didn’t try to stop him.

He’d heard about Haruuc’s death during his journey. A goblin in the southland had squeaked out the news, not that it had meant much to Makka. The end of a warrior-may the Keeper treasure his soul-but also a fitting end for a lowland sop who had turned dog for the humans. Makka had his vengeance to think about. Other goblins and hobgoblins along the way had confirmed the passage of the three he sought. Yes, two hobgoblins and a human with a dragonmark across her face had traveled that way. Yes, they had been going toward Rhukaan Draal. Yes, they had traveled with others: a shifter, a gnome, and a goblin who rode on a great black wolf. Makka had added three more deaths to his oath of vengeance.

Names had come later-those who had passed were heroes, acclaimed by Haruuc. Dagii of Mur Talaan, Ekhaas of Kech Volaar, Chetiin of the shaarat’khesh, Ashi of Deneith, Midian the gnome, Geth the shifter and shava to Haruuc. Later still, the news that Chetiin was Haruuc’s assassin and Geth now held the throne of Darguun. That had made Makka smile. His targets were chib. Killing them would bring him much honor.

And the Fury, it seemed, approved of his vengeance, because he found four of his targets with an ease that could only be an omen.

They were out in the open, marching in Haruuc’s funeral procession, unsuspecting of the death that had come for them. Dagii of Mur Talaan and a shifter that could only be Geth walked directly behind Haruuc-the lowland king made a wrinkled, pathetic corpse. Ekhaas of Kech Volaar was further back, and Ashi of Deneith walked with humans and other races near the rear of the procession. The riches borne at the very end of the parade of mourners gave Makka pause. So much wealth! He ground his teeth, closing out greed inspired by the Keeper, and turned back to his targets in the procession. They were the reason he had come.

They were well-protected. He would have to wait, but he had waited for prey many times. Makka chose his target. The human woman would be first. He would slay her with her own sword and leave the weapon in her steaming guts, letting the others know who was hunting them.

He shadowed the procession through the stinking crowds of Rhukaan Draal. When the city ended, he pushed forward until he was right against the wall beyond which the procession had passed. Heaving himself up against the iron fence atop the wall, Makka could see the marchers, but not Ashi in particular. That didn’t bother him. He’d pick up her trail again.

He had a good view of the tomb along the ridge and of the three hobgoblins standing alongside it. Only when the ceremony had started did he realize they were priests. The tips of his ears curled and a growl rumbled out of his belly. He’d heard that Haruuc had abandoned the Dark Six and the old ways of the dar to follow the Sovereign Host, but to bury a warlord or a chief without the sanction of the Keeper, god of death? As Haruuc’s throne-bearers descended into the tomb, Makka thought maybe the priests would at least make a sacrifice of them, but all of the bugbears returned to the surface and the tomb was sealed without blood being shed. Makka’s hand went to the muu’kron, the talisman of six knotted cords on his belt, and his fingers closed around the fang that was the token of the Keeper.

Along the wall, he could see a few others doing the same thing, though furtively. Makka felt a surge of disgust-Haruuc hadn’t turned all lowlanders to the worship of gentle gods, but he’d forced those who’d kept to the old traditions to hide their beliefs. He caught the token of the Fury, a bit of wood carved like a snake and polished smooth by his touch, in his fingers and prayed for a swift resolution to his vengeance so that he could return to the freedom of the mountains.

His prayer was answered. As the blasphemous ceremony ended and the crowd below the tomb broke up, he caught sight of Ashi again. He smiled.

The human woman stiffened, as if catching his scent, and turned.

Makka dropped away from the wall, slipping into the sea of people turning away from the tomb to rush on to the games. He didn’t want Ashi to know he was here. Not yet.

From behind a moving screen of dar, he watched Ekhaas of Kech Volaar distract Ashi. The two women spoke together, then to an old human woman, then they moved back to the road that led away from the tomb and joined the crowd streaming into the city. Alone.

Makka hadn’t considered taking two of his victims at once, but when the Six gave a sign, only a fool ignored it.

Ashi waited until they were away from the tomb, away from the remains of the procession and safely anonymous among the crowds of Rhukaan Draal before she spoke. “I had an idea last night. A way to deal with the rod.”

Ekhaas looked at her, ears flicking gently. “How?” she asked.

“As long as I’m in Rhukaan Draal, I can use my power to protect whoever holds the rod from its influence. We tell the new lhesh that it’s dangerous, so he knows he needs my help, but we don’t tell him about the power of command. The protection of my dragonmark lasts for about a day-I could renew it every morning.”

“You’d be trapping yourself in Rhukaan Draal,” said Ekhaas.

“I’m willing to do that,” Ashi said.

Ekhaas’s ears stood up straight. “Why? Ashi, this isn’t your fight. You could leave Darguun any time and forget all about us.”

“Darguun provides mercenaries to House Deneith, but it doesn’t want anything from us except gold. Vounn came to Darguun to find a way to change that balance. If the lhesh needs me to protect him from the rod, that changes the balance.”

The duur’kala stared at her as if she were crazy. Ashi’s confidence in her argument crumbled under that gaze. “It sounded good in my head,” she said.

“Leaving aside the insanity of binding yourself into service,” said Ekhaas, “what if something happened to you? What if you missed renewing the protection? What about when you get old and die-the rod isn’t going to go away.” She grimaced. “It would also mean telling the lords of Deneith about the rod. How do you think they’d react to that news?”

“Not well.” Ashi clenched her jaw tight. “We’re going into battle armed with a spoon and shoe leather, aren’t we?”

“We’ve got five more days. We’ll think of something.”

“My head hurts from thinking about it.” She hesitated, then added, “We should ask Vounn for help. She already suspects something.”

“No.” Ekhaas’s answer was immediate. “Ashi, too many people already know about this. The fewer people who know the rod’s secret, the better-and the less Vounn knows, the better for her.” She glanced sideways at Ashi. “If something happens and this all goes wrong, Vounn will be able to say honestly that she didn’t know anything. Tell her and you could even risk the honor of Deneith.”

“The same for Senen Dhakaan and the Kech Volaar?” Ashi asked her.

Ekhaas’s ears folded back and she made a sour expression, an answer that spoke as loud as words. If she had actually intended to reply, however, her words were lost in the commotion that broke out around them.

The street they followed narrowed at a point where a building pushed out into the street like an overly bold merchant. If the crowd on the street had been moving in two directions, the spot would have been almost impassable, but with everyone heading in the direction of the games, movement was merely slow-at least until someone on the rooftop began throwing stones and debris down onto the milling crowd below. Yelping and cursing, those on the street tried to push through, pull back, or just take cover. The crawl of movement turned to a wall of chaos and more people were still pushing into them from behind.

“Khaavolaar,” muttered Ekhaas. “This way.”

An alley opened off to one side, narrower than the street, but the space at its opposite end seemed wide and open, presumably with another exit. Some people were already turning down it and they showed no sign of returning. Ashi and Ekhaas followed them.

Behind them, the shower of stones shifted as whoever was on the rooftop moved to cut off the escape route. Only a few quickwitted goblins made it into the alley on their heels before the crowd pulled back.

“Children looking for sport,” Ekhaas said. “We should be lucky it was only stones-”

There was an ominous grinding from overhead. Ashi glanced up just in time to see the rough bricks of a chimney tilt and topple into the alley. The bricks fell several paces behind them, but the goblins who had followed them into the alley weren’t so lucky. A couple were down, clutching heads covered in dust, bits of mortar, and blood. Those who had escaped the falling bricks were shaking their fists and shrieking in fury at their unseen tormentors.

A creeping sensation ran along Ashi’s spine. Stones had stopped falling at the mouth of the alley as if those on the rooftop had tired of their game, but with the collapse of the chimney, no one else was venturing down the alley.

“I don’t like this,” she said. She looked at Ekhaas and the hobgoblin nodded. The fallen chimney and injured goblins blocked the way back along the alley. Ekhaas jerked her head and they continued on, moving more quickly, one eye on the bright gap of sky above.

The alley opened into a yard of packed earth. Aside from some chickens clucking with dim curiosity and three hobgoblin children, too young to have possibly climbed up to the roofs, staring from a patch of mud in one corner, the yard was empty. Those who had entered the alley before Ashi and Ekhaas were gone, down a second alley that gaped at the other end of the yard. Ashi’s neck prickled again. They were in the open. She whirled, running backward so she could look up at the rooftops.

And just in time. A mighty roar split the air as the bulky silhouette of a bugbear came swinging out of the sunlight, the trident clenched in one massive fist stabbing down at her.

Ashi flung herself aside. Their attacker drew his legs under himself and landed in a crouch, soaking up the hard impact and pushing off again to lunge at Ashi. She rolled, and the trident stabbed packed earth. He kept after her, thrusting again and again as she scrambled away. Chickens flapped and leaped around the clear space. The hobgoblin children were pressed up into a corner, screaming.

The bugbear spun the trident in his grip and swiped at her with the butt of the shaft. It caught her across the face and blood sprayed from her mouth as she went sprawling sideways. She twisted, catching herself, and stared up at him, anger at the unprovoked attack flooding through her-then giving way to shock.

She knew the bugbear. She recognized the bear hide vest, the trident, his face, his sneer.

Makka.

She didn’t have a chance to say anything though. “Ashi!” shouted Ekhaas. “Move!”

The warning might have been intended for her, but Makka understood it too. Even as Ashi sprang away, he spun to face Ekhaas.

The duur’kala stood at a distance, sword drawn but held low. Ashi saw Makka blink with confusion. Then Ekhaas drew a breath-and sang.

Dust jumped from the ground in a thin yellow cloud as waves of battering sound burst around Makka. Ashi caught the very edge of the magical attack and it was as if all of the noise that the crowd had made in cheering Haruuc’s funeral procession were focused on her.

Makka reeled under the assault of the song, then roared defiance and charged Ekhaas on unsteady legs.

Ashi ripped her sword from its scabbard and leaped to meet him, knocking aside the trident before he could reach Ekhaas. Makka jumped away from the follow-through and dropped into a crouch, weapon at the ready.

Ashi crouched across from him, every hard breath sending a little spray of blood from a broken lip. “You!” she panted.

Ekhaas recognized him, too. “Makka,” she said. She moved in cautiously, trying to flank him. Makka moved the trident between them, pointing the weapon first at one, then the other, as he shifted backward to stay clear. Chickens and children had both settled into frightened silence along the walls. Ashi watched his feet. Ekhaas watched his face. “What are you doing here?” the duur’kala asked in Goblin.

Makka didn’t answer. Instead, he surged forward with a howl. Ekhaas brought her sword up, but he batted it aside with a swing of the trident’s shaft, the same swing that caught Ekhaas across her shoulder on the down stroke. She staggered and went to her knees.

Ashi hissed and darted around her, launching a flurry of blows to drive Makka back before he could strike a second time. He tried to hold her at the length of his trident, but she twisted like a weasel, slipped inside his reach, and slashed at him. His heavy bear hide vest turned the blow. He kicked and managed to catch her. Ashi stumbled back, sucking breath through her teeth-and saw him draw a sword from a sheath at his belt.

The sword he had taken from her. Kagan d’Deneith’s bright honor blade.

Her eyes went wide and Makka grinned, exposing sharp teeth. “This sword will kill you,” he snarled in Goblin. “This is my vengeance!”

Maybe he mistook what he saw in her face for fear, but if he thought the threat or the sight of the stolen sword could frighten her, he was wrong.

A tremble ran through her. The world seemed to sharpen as blood roared in her ears. Her lips twisted to expose teeth stained red with her own blood. Goblin words tore themselves out of her, starting as a snarl and ending as a scream. “Give. That. Back!”

Ashi had moved like a weasel before. She moved like a tiger now, attacking with a ferocity that put Makka on the defensive. The bugbear stood a full head taller than her. He weighed probably twice as much as she did. She still forced him back. Her attacks fell with such speed and force that it was all he could do to block them, first with the bright Deneith sword, then with the shaft of the trident. Desperation started to show on his face-vengeance seemed forgotten and all of his attention was focused on Ashi as she pushed him step by step across the space between the buildings.

She chopped down with her sword. Makka raised his trident to block it-and the stout wooden shaft, already deeply gouged, snapped. Deflected, the sword nicked his arm. They staggered apart, but rage surged in Ashi and she lunged. This time her blade cut across his side. She felt it grate along Makka’s ribs, then catch flesh and plunge deep. He howled and dropped the broken trident to lash out blindly with a fist.

The blow was lucky. It caught her on the shoulder and threw her to one side, breaking her attack.

But Ekhaas was there. In the instant that Ashi fell, she heard the duur’kala’s song swell. The music was different this time though, not hard and battering, but strangely thick. Ashi saw Makka struggle, his movements slow and dragging as if he were underwater. For a moment, it seemed as if his muscles would lock, betraying him “No!” he roared-and smashed his arm into his wounded side.

Ashi saw pain cross his face and his limbs moved freely again, magic’s grip broken by the sudden agony. Ekhaas scowled and let her song fade, but raised her sword. Ashi rolled to her feet and faced Makka, ready to carry on the fight. The bugbear’s small eyes narrowed and his ears curled. Ashi slid close, blade ready.

Makka spun around and took two long strides to the corner where the hobgoblin children huddled and cried. He grabbed the first one his fingers found and dragged it up in front of him, the Deneith sword held across its squirming body. At the touch of the steel, the child went still and silent.

Ashi stopped. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ekhaas freeze, too.

Makka didn’t say anything. Moving slowly and leaving a bloody trail behind him, he slid sideway across the wall. The alley leading out of the yard was close. Ashi started to shadow him, but he pulled the bright blade tighter and the child whimpered.

She stopped. He would kill the child. She knew it in her gut.

Makka stepped into the alley, walking backward until he was out of sight. A moment later, the hobgoblin child came running out of the alley, face taut with terror.

Ashi was waiting for that. She leaped to the alley mouth, but the shadowed passage was empty. A swirling crowd filled the street at its far end.

The only signs of Makka were the drops of blood that ended where the crowd began, treading feet wiping away the trail as surely as flowing water. Ashi bit off a curse.