The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 (35 page)

“I don’t think these trolls act normally at all. They show far too much discipline.” His big ears twitched. “In any case, if we want to do anything about the bugbears, we need to get past the trolls first. Or wait until the morning when they’re gone.”

“We can’t wait,” said Geth. “Midian, do you have anything else useful in your pack?”

“It depends on what you consider useful. I have a few more flash pellets, but no more stench bags. No more alchemist’s fire.”

“Grandfather Rat.” Geth shifted on the uncomfortable perch of the tree branch. “We can injure the trolls, but we can’t put them down permanently.”

“We can take some of the bugbears’ torches and pitch when we come back in,” Midian said, “but that doesn’t help us now.”

Geth looked at him sharply. “Wait. Come back in?”

“You’re coming back into the valley, aren’t you?” asked Midian. “The rod is still in here.”

“Past the trolls? That’s crazy.”

The words sounded hollow, though. In the pit of his stomach, he knew he’d come back. He’d promised Haruuc he would follow Wrath’s blade, and if the blade pointed into the valley …

“We’d need to avoid the trolls and maybe fight them on the way out,” he said, “then again on the way back in. We don’t even know what’s at the bottom of that staircase.”

“I do,” Chetiin said.

Geth looked him in astonishment.

“I went past the troll nest before I returned. There’s a rock wall at the bottom of the pit and some kind of shrine built against it.” The goblin returned Geth’s gaze and added slowly. “I think I have a way to stop the trolls.”

“Sage’s shadow!” Midian choked. “Why haven’t you used it already?”

Chetiin scowled. “It’s not something to be used lightly.” He held out his right arm, wrist turned up to show the sheathed dagger that was strapped there, the dagger that Geth had noticed he never used. “The
shaarat’khesh
call this Witness. It is a treasure of my clan, an honor to the one chosen to carry it. It is not drawn except to kill—and the soul of what it kills is trapped forever. Those slain
by it are forever dead. No magic in the world can bring them back, not the prayers of priests or the wishes of wizards.”

He eased the dagger a little way out of its sheath. If Geth had thought the curved dagger the goblin wore on his left arm was a sinister piece of work, the dagger on his right brought an eerie prickle to his skin. It was a plain weapon in shape and color, dull metal forged into a tool with no other purpose than killing. The steel of the dagger, however, was etched with a single twisted rune—and set with a long blue-black crystal that resembled a slit eye peering out of the blade.

The crystal, Geth knew, was a Khyber dragonshard, valued by wizards and artificers for its affinity for magic of binding and trapping. The idea that such a shard would have been used in a weapon was somehow deeply troubling. He looked away.

Midian had turned from the dagger, too. “That’s a Keeper’s Fang. Why would you even have something like that?” he asked, his voice thick.

“When the
shaarat’khesh
kill, it’s a matter of pride to know that the task is complete beyond any doubt.” Chetiin pushed the blade back out of sight and lowered his arm. “Its power might stop a troll from healing—if it’s used to strike the killing blow.”

“Trapping the troll’s soul,” Midian said.

Chetiin frowned at him. “Do you think a troll would be less dead if we burned it to death? What about the troll you left by the steps? When we fled, it was still alive. It may never die or fully heal. Is that a kindness?”

Wolf and Tiger, thought Geth. He drew a breath and let it out before making a decision. “We’ll try to sneak past the trolls first, and use the Fang only as a last resort. Are you certain it will work, Chetiin?”

“No.”

“It’s something, at least.” He nodded toward the slope of the valley. “We’ll head over to the valley wall and try to make our way out from there. The thorns seem a little less thick at the edge. If we run into any trolls, Midian and I will try to bring them down—Chetiin, you use your dagger to deliver the killing blow. If Tiger dances, we may make it out of here.”

“How are we going to deal with the bugbears?” Chetiin asked.

“Let’s deal with the trolls first. If we can’t get out of the valley, bugbears won’t matter much.” Geth eased himself from tree branch to trunk and climbed down until he was close enough to the forest floor to jump. He left himself drop the rest of the way, landing with a quiet thump and sinking into a defensive crouch. He scanned the forest, then called up, “All cl—”

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye as the troll rose up from where it had crouched beside a tree stump, its rough and warty skin blending with leaves and moss. Geth started to turn, to reach for his sword, but the troll was faster. Claws raked along the shoulder of his unarmored sword arm.

His shifting had faded while they hid in the tree. The troll’s claws tore into his flesh, and Geth felt hot blood drench his back. He bit down on a scream and forced himself around, abandoning the attempt to swing Wrath and instead bringing up his great gauntlet just in time to block another strike. Claws dragged along black steel, provoking a hiss of frustration from the troll. But there was bloodlust in its eyes and it raised both arms again. Geth jumped away to put his back against the tree. The troll lunged— and Midian dropped out of the shadows, his pick in hand. With his falling weight behind it, the head of the pick plunged into the troll’s back. The monster staggered backward, suddenly off balance, its arms spread wide and its chest exposed.

When Chetiin followed Midian out of the tree, he had an easy target. The blue-black crystal in the dagger called Witness flashed as the blade pierced the troll’s heart.

Geth couldn’t have said what he expected to happen. Something sinister—some dark release of energy or a sudden cold wind, maybe. A final wail or howl from the dying troll as the dagger drank up its soul. There was nothing. The troll jerked and swayed on its feet. Chetiin jumped clear, but Midian clung to the shaft of his pick, riding the body as it fell against a tree and slid to the ground.

Its dark eyes stared blindly into the night. It didn’t move again. Midian pulled his pick free. Blood oozed from the wound, but the rubbery flesh showed no signs of healing. Geth looked at Chetiin.
The goblin held up Witness. Not a spot of blood clung to the dull metal or the blue-black dragonshard.

“Put it away,” said Midian with loathing in his voice.

The smell of the bugbear camp was strong from a distance. From inside, it was overwhelming, like being wrapped in meat and left in the sun.

Ashi thrashed and cursed from the moment the bugbears picked her up, but they had tied her wrists behind her back with leather thongs, and their grip on her was solid. At first, the big goblins had laughed at her and jostled her as if she were a doll. By the time they carried her past the pitch-smeared stakes of the barricade around the camp, though, their humor had faded. A bugbear with a ragged ear muttered something in accented Goblin about accidentally dropping her over the stakes if her struggles continued. It didn’t slow Ashi’s bucking at all, and the comment earned him a blow to the head from the bugbear with the trident. The bugbear with the ragged ear snarled and paid the blow forward with a slap at Ashi. She snapped at his hand.

She stopped struggling when they tossed her into one of the huts, and only because she hit the ground hard enough to send streaks of pain through her twisted shoulders. Her impact with the ground was followed by another hard blow as Dagii landed on top of her, the weight of his body driving the air out of her, the metal of his armor gouging her painfully. For a moment, all Ashi could do was try to draw breath. She heard a third thump, then the light of the camp’s big firepit was cut off as the bugbears dropped a big piece of leather across the doorway of the hut. It took her another moment to realize what the third thump had been.

“Ekhaas!” Ashi writhed beneath Dagii, trying to get out from under him. He moved slowly, rolling over like a drunkard. She kicked him. He grunted and gave her the room to get up on her knees and shuffle to where Ekhaas lay.

The
duur’kala
, her hands tied as well, had curled up like a child. Her breathing was shallow. The hut was not well constructed, and
in the firelight that fell through the many gaps in its walls, Ashi could see a massive mark across the side of Ekhaas’s head. Her yellow skin was dimpled with the imprint of the hurled club that had brought her down. She’d have a big bruise when she woke up. If the bugbears gave her a chance to wake up.

Ashi sat back and cursed again, giving vent to her rage in the guttural blasphemies of Azhani.

“How is she?” asked Dagii.

Ashi twisted around to look at him. He’d struggled upright, and it looked like he’d have a few bruises across his face as well. “The blow was hard,” Ashi said. “It doesn’t look good, but it could be worse. If I could touch her, I might be able to tell more, but …” She twitched her bound hands.

Dagii, bound as she was, pushed himself over to her and examined Ekhaas carefully. “Her color is good and her ears are up,” he said. “If they were down, it would be bad. She’ll wake when she’s ready.”

“If she doesn’t, I’ll tear this camp apart with my teeth.”

Dagii sat back and stared at her. “You fight like a wolverine.”

“I come from a clan in the Shadow Marches,” she told him. “Raiding between clans was common. If you don’t fight, you’re too weak to live.”

His ears flicked in surprise. “You weren’t born to Deneith? But you act so much like one of them, I thought—”

The assumption stung Ashi. She acted like any member of Deneith? “You thought wrong,” she said, cutting him off. She wondered what Vounn would have said.

She looked around the hut. The light that filtered through the walls revealed bundles of stiff hides, maybe intended for trading with other bugbear tribes. There was nothing that could cut her bonds or be used as an effective weapon, even if she could get them loose. The bugbears had taken her sword and all of her knives. Dagii had been stripped of weapons, too, and Ekhaas as well.

“What are they likely to do with us?” she asked.

“Slavery. Sacrifice. They probably aren’t going to kill us outright. They would have done it already.”

“Ransom?”

“Not likely.” He clenched his jaw and looked her in the eye. “We have to assume we’re on our own.”

Ashi knew what he meant. Geth, Chetiin, and Midian hadn’t been captured, but that didn’t mean they were still alive or in any situation to come to their rescue. In her mind, she saw again the two trolls that had come crashing out of the thorns in the valley. Geth wouldn’t have let them pass without trying to stop them, but then again Ekhaas had caught five trolls in her spell. Five to three—bad odds for Geth and the others to hold back all their opponents.

Bad odds to survive.

She put steel in her heart and turned her attention to the cracks in the walls of the hut. They probably could have broken through the walls, but the shadows that moved frequently against them suggested the camp beyond was busy. They wouldn’t have gotten far, especially with Ekhaas still down. Ashi crawled to the wall and squatted at one of the wider gaps, peering out.

The camp was as busy as she’d guessed. The fire in the great pit had been built up high, and torches stuck into the ground burned everywhere that she could see. Bugbear children were busy scooping pine pitch out of crude troughs made from hollowed logs, transferring it into smaller pots. Older youths were preparing the leather slings by which the burning pots could be swung and hurled. Most of the adult bugbears were standing by the barricade, watching the darkness beyond. It looked like the tribe was afraid the trolls might come back in the night.

“How many trolls did we see, Dagii?” Ashi asked. “Ten?”

“Nine,” the hobgoblin said, speaking through his teeth. He was still crouched beside Ekhaas, his arms straining as if he were trying to snap the leather thongs that bound him—or maybe just stretch them enough to work a hand free. He relaxed for a moment and caught his breath. “Chetiin described a nest of them, but I don’t think there could be many more. Trolls are ravenous. Even if the bugbears are throwing meat to them, I don’t see how the valley could support many more.”

“There are at least twenty adult bugbears out there, and they’re armed with fire. Why do you think they leave the trolls in the
valley? Wouldn’t it be easier to burn them out instead of trying to appease them?”

“There’s something strange about these trolls,” said Dagii. “They’re organized. They use tactics. I’ve never heard of trolls doing that before. It makes them more dangerous. Usually they just charge into battle and fight until their opponents are dead. You might as well ask why the trolls tolerate the bugbears living here.” He strained against the thongs again.

Ashi shifted to another crack in the wall and found herself with a view of the massive bugbear with the trident, presumably the chief of the tribe. He stood close to the fire with three other large bugbears. They were speaking emphatically, but with low voices as if they didn’t want other members of the tribe to hear. Every so often, one of them would gesture toward the hut from which she watched. Their fate, it seemed, was still being decided.