The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 (41 page)

A crack like lightning split the air, and Dabrak was flung back. He slid across the floor of the cavern, smoke rising for a moment from his clothing, the rod still clutched tight in his hand. Geth
swung the twilight blade around as he stalked after him. “Wrath is the Sword of Heroes,” he said, showing his teeth in a savage grin. “It won’t accept the touch of a coward.”

Dabrak rose to a crouch, his teeth bared too. “Maybe the rod can’t affect you,” he said, “but I’ve spent a long time in the Uura Odaarii. I’ve learned its powers well.”

He closed his eyes.

Ashi’s heart seemed to clench. Uncertainty clouded Geth’s face, and he leaped to the attack, swinging Wrath high.

Dabrak’s eyes snapped open. No longer red-brown, they shone the same pale green as the symbols on the walls of the cavern. Smaller versions of the symbols glowed through his skin.

Geth froze in mid-leap, as still as the flame on Ashi’s torch. The faintest shimmer of green flickered around him. Dabrak rose and examined the unmoving shifter. His eyes flashed and Geth came crashing to the ground. He hit the cavern floor hard and curled up into a trembling huddle, his eyes wide and frightened. Wrath clattered down beside him. Dabrak looked at the weapon, snarled, then retrieved his own sword and walked back to his chair. The symbols faded from his skin and the glow from his eyes. Their passing seemed to leave him looking even more withered than before. Geth, however, remained curled on the ground.

Ashi stared at him. He’d been defeated. But he couldn’t have been—he
shouldn’t
have been. Rage welled up within her and she screamed in her mind, finally finding the strength to push back the rod’s power enough that she could focus her will. Dabrak’s legends might have said the Sword of Heroes and the Shield of Nobles were the only things capable of resisting the rod, but she had something the ancient emperor had never seen before. Something unknown in the time of Dhakaan.

Her dragonmark burned hot on her skin, and the burst of clarity that it brought shattered the rod’s hold on her mind. She stood, jaw clenched. “Release him,” she said.

D
abrak stopped halfway into his chair. His ears flicked up in disbelief, and the rod darted out. “By the Six Kings, you will
kneel!”
he commanded.

A tingle crawled across Ashi’s scalp as the order fell away from her. Dabrak’s eyes went wide—then he squeezed them shut. The glowing symbols darted across his skin again, as if they’d transferred there from the walls. His eyes opened and flashed green.

The foreboding stillness that Ashi had felt when she’d entered the shrine swirled around her, even heavier and more terrible than before. This time, though, she knew it for what it was: a dread of what might come to pass, a dark hint of the future preying upon her mind. But it couldn’t reach through the shield of her dragonmark. She shook her head, and it disappeared like a daydream.

The green drained from Dabrak’s eyes. Its passing left his flesh more shriveled, but he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was on Ashi. “You defy me,” he said in amazement.

She pointed at Geth again. “Release him,” she repeated, then expanded her gesture to include the others, as well. “Release all of them.”

A smile touched Dabrak’s sagging lips. “Why should I?” he asked and sat down. “We’ve already established that Aram can’t harm me, and you’re not even armed. What are you going to do?”

He was right, she realized. He couldn’t affect her with the rod or with his strange command of the power of the cavern, but at the same time, there was nothing she could do to him. She swallowed and
squeezed her fists tight, trying to think of something. Her dragonmark was only defensive. The ferocity and fighting skills she’d learned among the Bonetree clan and honed in Sentinel Tower weren’t going to help her. The only thing she had left to rely on …

Ashi almost bit her tongue at the thought that came to her, but she could see nothing else. She dragged her wits into line, forced all expression from her features, and asked in the calm voice that Vounn had taught her, “What do you want, Marhu Dabrak?”

“What do I
want?”
The withered hobgoblin glowered. “Until you came, I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. What else did I need? I was safe in the Uura Odaarii. Nothing could touch me. I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

“Can you go back to that now?” Ashi pointed at Ekhaas. “She was right. You vowed to confront your fears, but you didn’t. You just hid from them.”

“Ban
. What if I did? If what you say is true, my vow is meaningless. Dhakaan is gone. I’m emperor of nothing but a pack of trolls!”

“If you’re emperor of nothing, then you don’t need the Rod of Kings,” Ashi said. “If you give it to us, we’ll leave you alone. You’ll still have the Uura Odaarii. You’ll still be safe, and you won’t be afraid.”

His ears flicked and his eyes narrowed. “But as you say, it’s a false safety. Can I go back to that? You’ve also shown me that fear can come for me here.” He gestured with the rod, though this time Ashi, protected by her dragonmark, felt no swirl of power from it. “When you threatened to take this, I was terrified. That’s a future the Uura Odaarii can’t protect me from. It’s no safer in here than it was out there now.”

“Then come with us,” she suggested. “You must have learned something about controlling your fear from sitting here for five thousand years. The world has changed. Come see it! The Kech Volaar would probably give anything to learn about the empire from you, and I’m sure Lhesh Haruuc would welcome your experience.”

“Lhesh Haruuc?” Dabrak almost sneered. “That’s the name of the great ruler you follow?”

“Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor,” Ashi said. “Yes. He united the
dar
and carved out a new homeland for his people.”

“And he claims the title of lhesh. A lhesh is a general. You think an emperor should be satisfied with giving advice to a general?” He held up the rod. “Do you think I would be content to share this? For generations of emperors, it was only a trinket. I’ve unlocked its powers. I’ve bonded with it—over five thousand years, if you’re to be believed. You think your Haruuc would be able to use the rod as I have?”

“He doesn’t want it for that,” said Ashi. “He wouldn’t use it that way. He only wants it as a symbol.”

Dabrak sneered. “If he won’t use it, he doesn’t deserve it—I wouldn’t show him how. I would as soon stay here.”

Frustration surged up her throat like bile, and she had to clench her teeth to keep it inside.
“Marhu,”
she said bluntly, “I think you lost all claim to the Rod of Kings when you abandoned your empire to hide in a cave like a mole. We need it. What do you want for it?”

He gave her a level glare. “Who taught you negotiation? They should be whipped.”

“We agree on that.” She met his eyes. “What do you want in return for the Rod of Kings?”

Dabrak Riis leaned forward. “I want you to die. Right here in the Uura Odaarii.”

Ashi started. “You want me to die? Here? But that’s—”

“Impossible. Yes.” He sat back. “But those are my terms. You die and I’ll give you the Rod of Kings. I’ll even release your friends.

She stared at him—then felt a flood of inspiration. “Done,” she said. “I accept. But I’ll need a sword and I’ll need her.” She pointed at Ekhaas a second time.

Dabrak smiled again. “Very well. She’s yours.” He gestured with the rod and Ekhaas sagged abruptly, then caught herself and looked at him with hatred in her eyes.

Ashi caught her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Not now,” she said in the
duur’kala’s
ear. “Have you heard what I’ve said?”

“Yes, but—”

Ashi shook her head, cutting her off. “Don’t argue. I need you to hold a rhythm for me.”

Ekhaas’s ears and eyebrows rose at the same time.

Ashi smiled. “You saw the sword dance at Sentinel Tower. While we were in the guard station, you clapped some of the drum rhythm from memory. Can you do that again for the whole dance? Slow opening, quick first part, slow second part, quick third part, slow end. Watch me for cues if you need to.”

“I can sing the viol part if you need me to. What are you doing, Ashi?”

“What Vounn had me trained to do. Give me your sword.”

Ekhaas started to draw the weapon, but Dabrak coughed like a courtier. “Not that sword,” he said. He pointed across the cavern to Wrath. “That one.”

Ashi looked at the twilight blade, then at Dabrak. Geth had put her hand on the sword once so that she could use its gift of understanding Goblin. That wasn’t exactly the same as trying to wield the weapon. Would the sword let her use it? She could only try. Bracing herself, she went over to the sword. Geth was still huddled and trembling beside it. She tried to ignore him, dropping her torch on the ground and bending over the sword. “Wrath,” she murmured. “I need to use you to help Geth and the others, and to get the rod. Please accept my touch.”

She felt stupid talking to the weapon, but her first light touch on the sword’s hilt was still tentative. Nothing happened. She curled her fingers around it and raised it, offering a mock salute to Dabrak. The emperor, risen from his chair to stand and watch her, looked disappointed. Ashi walked to an open part of the cavern and nodded to Ekhaas. It was time to see who had been right all those weeks ago in Sentinel Tower: Vounn, who’d said she couldn’t do it, or her old instructor Baerer, who’d believed she could.

Ekhaas took a deep breath and raised her voice in a long, clear note. Ashi swept into the rigid first position of the sword dance, held it for a long moment, then dropped her blade and walked around it.

Wrath wasn’t the best sword for the dance. A proper human sword would have been slimmer, with a pointed blade instead of the broad, forked tip of hobgoblin swords. At least the ancient weapon was well-balanced and surprisingly light for its size. She completed the walk-around without letting the blade waver at all.

In Sentinel Tower, the difficult step would have earned applause. Dabrak gave no reaction at all. Ashi ignored him and focused on the music. The hardest part of the dance was yet to come.

Ekhaas’s hands began to clap along with the rise and fall of her voice. Ashi moved into the attack phase of the dance, lunging and stamping her way across the cavern. Baerer had made this part of the dance look light and precise. She couldn’t match that precision. Instead, she threw herself into the raw energy that Baerer had said was her greatest strength.

She imagined that a sea of enemies stood between her and her goal. As they came rushing at her, she met each one, cutting her way through them. She could almost let herself go, could almost lose herself in the dance as Baerer had taught her. Her body knew what to do. She couldn’t do that this time, though. She kept her focus, and when Ekhaas’s song and rhythm slowed, she was ready. She entered the second part of the dance, the battle, as easily as stepping into real combat.

The unseen fight slowed along with Ekhaas’s song, but in Ashi’s mind it only became more intense. Each blow was deliberate, drawn out so that the audience could appreciate the sweep of the blade, the unfolding of a bent arm into an elbow strike, the long lines of her body as it extended into a kick. The battle was grace and power combined. Ashi didn’t look to see Dabrak’s reaction. She concentrated on the battle as if her life depended on it—which, in a way, it did.

Ekhaas’s voice rose again. The slap of palm on palm became increasingly rapid. It was different from dancing to viol and drum, but that was good. It was more primal, more suited to Ashi’s style of dance. Baerer had been elegant like the viol. She was unshaped, like a wild song. The battle she fought in her imagination took place on an open hill beneath the light of many moons. Wind lifted her hair, and the smell of churned soil filled her nose. Her enemies came at her faster and faster, in time with the rhythm of Ekhaas’s clapping. Ashi fought them off, but her movements become tighter as they pressed at her. She backed across the battlefield in the dance’s third phase, the defeat. Her enemies pursued her. She blocked their blows, feeling the impact.
The song whirled faster. Her enemies crowded in close, so close she couldn’t move. Her sword rose, perhaps in an effort to parry once last attack, before a body that stood rigid once more. The dance was almost over—

Now, she told herself, and broke free of the movements Baerer had trained into her. In Deneith tradition, the sword dance ended with defeat, the warrior caught among the blades of his opponents. Ashi had to take it one step farther. In her imagination, a sword thrust up into her breast. Cold metal pierced flesh, forced ribs aside, and buried itself in her heart. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened slightly. Her rigid body arched backward.

And she died. Ekhaas’s song rose briefly into a keen of mourning, then fell away like a fading wind.

Ashi held her pose in silence, then gulped air and straightened up. Across the cavern, Ekhaas stood still, but her eyes were shining and her ears were tall. The dance had been perfect. Ashi could feel it. She turned and looked at Dabrak. The withered hobgoblin watched her with undisguised appreciation.