Don Bassingthwaite - The tyranny of ghosts

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.