Don Bassingthwaite - The tyranny of ghosts

The disciplined Kech Shaarat formed themselves into wedges as they charged. The rod-driven warlords who came streaming into the arena from the other side simply rushed the lines of the Iron Fox. In either case, the result was the same. With some of Dagii’s men pulled out of place by Tariic’s killing command, the shield wall was weakened. It buckled on both sides simultaneously.

“Back!” shouted Dagii. “Iron Fox, encampment formation!”

On the periphery of his vision, Geth saw the Iron Fox’s shattered lines convulse and try to pull together, but he had his own problems. The warlords who’d been so caught up in Tariic’s command that they simply dropped over the wall of the raised box were already inside the broken lines.

The shifter turned as Garaad of Vaniish Kai stalked around him, keeping the hobgoblin in his sight. He knew the warlord-lean and nasty as the spear he carried. And unlike Makka with his trident, Garaad wasn’t going to sacrifice the reach of his weapon for the bloody joy of close combat. He stayed back, spearhead dancing and shifting.

“Geth,” said Tenquis from his back, the tiefling turning as Geth turned. “More coming from this side!”

“Do what you can,” Geth said tightly. He felt Tenquis move, arms rising as he worked his magic, and caught a whiff of acrid fumes. A warlord gasped, choked, and fell back. Geth kept his eyes on Garaad’s, waiting for the telltale shift that came before a strike…

Garaad’s eyes twitched. His spear darted in. Geth met it with an upward sweep of Wrath, turning the blow aside, then spun along the length of the spear faster than Garaad could pull back. The warlord rocked away from Wrath’s blade-right into the path of Geth’s great gauntlet. He dropped like a pair of trousers trying to stand on their own. Geth raised his sword to finish him.

Dagii’s voice rang across the arena. “No! Bring the warlords down, but don’t kill them! They are our allies!”

The spectators still watching from the stands above jeered. Geth remembered something Haruuc had once told him. Darguun wants blood. The people always want blood.

It hadn’t mattered if that blood had flowed from defeated rebels or the lhesh himself. It wouldn’t matter if it came from Dagii or one of the warlords. Kings, traitors, nobles, heroes-they were all the same in the end. Geth ground his teeth together, gave Garaad a hard kick to make sure he stayed down, then turned away.

Tenquis fought ferociously, a shimmering field of force around him throwing back the blows of warlords with a sound like thunder, while the tiefling’s wand spit short, crackling bolts of lightning. Nearby, Ekhaas fought with a grim determination, shaari’mal still in her hand, sword clashing with the weapon of a Kech Shaarat warrior, a song of determination and encouragement pouring from her throat. Chetiin darted across the field, his dagger flashing wherever an outthrust leg or exposed back presented itself. Keraal stood among the Iron Fox, swinging his chain to keep more warlords back.

They were holding their own. Barely.

Another warlord came at Geth. He met the hobgoblin with a snarl. Sword met sword in a bone-jarring crash. Across the arena, he heard Taak Dhakaan’s voice rise in challenge.

“Dagii of Mur Talaan, fight me! The Kech Shaarat are no allies of yours!”

Dagii’s answer was a roar of fury. New clashing added to the clamor of battle. As Geth turned in his own fight, he caught glimpses of Dagii and Taak’s duel. The young warlord charged and beat the Kech Shaarat warrior back a pace. Taak countered with a rain of blows that drove Dagii away. The armored figures closed again, struggling back and forth.

Geth smashed Wrath against his opponent’s chest. The warlord’s breastplate, bright steel chased with bright brass, creased under the blow. His face turned suddenly red as the bent metal crushed in against him, and he struggled to draw breath. Geth knocked his sword away and swept his legs out from under him, leaving the hobgoblin to struggle like an overturned turtle. He whirled back to Taak and Dagii — in time to see Taak break free and swing his sword around with all of his weight and strength behind it. He bellowed as he swung, his face as contorted as the demon visage on his armor.

Dagii rocked away. Taak’s great blow passed just beyond his belly, dragging Taak around. Ears back, the warlord of the Mur Talaan stepped up and swept his own blade across Taak’s shoulders with precision and control.

Taak Dhakaan’s body fell to the sand, still tumbling from the power of his last blow. His head rolled free to stare up at Dagii.

“No!” Tariic’s voice rang across the arena. “Pradoor! Stop them!”

Pradoor raised her head, and her milky eyes caught the light. “I call the teeth of the Devourer!”

Only a few paces from Geth, whirling white blades burst out of the air in the midst of a knot of Iron Fox warriors. The warriors screamed and broke formation, blood streaming from flesh that looked as if it hadn’t been so much slashed as chewed. The Kech Shaarat they had been fighting cheered and fell on the scattered warriors.

Geth turned to Tenquis. “We have to get up there. Follow me!”

“Wait.” The tiefling dug into a pouch and produced what looked like tiny glass rods. He flicked the rods into the air.

They vanished, but light streaked across the arena. In front of the raised box, the air shimmered, and stairs formed from planes of barely visible force.

Geth bared his teeth in a grin. Drawing Tenquis after him, he sprinted for the phantom stairs, bashing at anyone who tried to get in his way. Above, Tariic slammed the Rod of Kings down on the rail of the box. “Again, Pradoor. Call down the wrath of the Six. My enemies are their enemies!”

Anger crossed Pradoor’s blind face. “The Six are not your lackeys, Tariic.”

“Yes, they are.” He thrust the rod at her. “Do it!”

Almost at the foot of the stairs, Geth froze as Pradoor’s anger evaporated under the direct power of the Rod of Kings. Her arms rose stiffly. “Lords of the Dark Star!” she called, and Geth saw a kind of writhing darkness take shape around her as she spoke. “I invoke your-”

She never finished. A blur seemed to launch itself from the back of the box and smash into her. Pradoor hit the rail of the box. Her prayer ended in a moan, the writhing darkness vanishing. The blur became Midian. Putting one arm around the old goblin priestess’s bony chest, he wrapped the other across her head and twisted with brutal efficiency.

As she came through the back of the box, Ashi heard Pradoor’s neck snap and part of her felt a rush of joy at the goblin’s death. But Pradoor hadn’t been their target.

She watched Midian drop Pradoor’s body and turn to Tariic with death in his eyes.

Tariic brought up the rod. “Midian, stand where you are!”

The gnome stopped-for a moment. His face twisted. His hands squeezed tight, then spread into claws reaching for Tariic.

And he took a heavy step forward. “I,” he said between his teeth, “will not… be… controlled… again!”

Shock and rage flashed across Tariic’s face. Ashi felt a sense of triumph. She lifted her sword and stepped forward, a demand for Tariic’s surrender on her lips.

Then Tariic took two quick steps and slammed the Rod of Kings down on Midian’s skull. Bone cracked. Midian staggered, and Tariic did it again. Midian went down, his head broken in.

The entire arena fell silent. The spectators who had cheered for blood stopped moving. Combat on the sands came to a halt. Tariic turned to the rail and glared out at those below and above him. “Who will defy the lhesh of Darguun? Who will challenge the emperor of Dhakaan Reborn?”

Mouth suddenly dry, Ashi moved forward and spoke. “Surrender Tariic. You’re alone. This is over.”