Rage at himself for thinking he could try to save Haruuc’s dream of Darguun as a homeland for the dar, the three related races of hobgoblins, goblins, and bugbears. The disaster in Rhukaan Draal was his making.
As the last hobgoblin passed, he tightened his grip on his sword, tensed his muscles-and exploded out of hiding, his roar shattering the silence.
Already on edge, the patrol whirled, and Geth buried Wrath deep in the gut of the first of Tariic’s soldiers. The hobgoblin’s falling body trapped the sword for a moment. Geth whipped his right arm up to catch on the armored sleeve of his great gauntlet the swift blow of a second soldier. The soldier’s blade skittered across black, magewrought steel, then Geth had Wrath free. With a grunt, he sliced at the soldier’s legs. The hobgoblin hopped back just in time.
At the fire, Ekhaas and Tenquis rose from their position as decoys. Out of the corner of his eye, Geth saw Chetiin, wrinkled face stained dark for stealth in the night, drop from the shadowed branches of a tree onto a bugbear. The goblin’s arm went around the soldier’s head, the unexpected weight dragging it back and exposing his throat. A dagger flashed-the ordinary dagger Chetiin sheathed on his left forearm, not the soul-stealing weapon that he kept on his right and that Midian had used to kill Haruuc-and the bugbear groped at the gaping, bubbling wound that opened across his neck. Chetiin kicked away as the sword of another soldier skimmed past him to plunge into the back of his already dying comrade. The dagger flashed again and the second soldier fell with a shriek, clutching at a crippled leg.
Geth didn’t see the killing blow that ended the shriek. Two of his opponents came at him together and he whirled aside. He blocked one sword with his gauntlet, turned Wrath in his grip, and caught the second in the jagged teeth that formed the back of the ancient blade. A twist of his wrist locked the weapons together. Geth kicked underneath them, driving a foot hard into the belly of the soldier and sending him reeling away. The other soldier tried to catch him off balance with a sweeping blow. Geth threw himself away-or tried to. The blood of the first hobgoblin slid under his feet. He fell to his knees, hand slamming into the gory muck to keep him from pitching forward onto his face. The soldier of Darguun loomed over him and raised his sword high — and jerked back as a crossbow bolt punched through his armor to bury itself in his chest. Geth reared up and slashed out with Wrath, shearing through chain mail, thick padding, and flesh. More blood soaked the ground. Geth rose and spared a glance for the source of the bolt. Tenquis cranked back the string of a crossbow for another shot while Ekhaas, sword out, moved to meet two more soldiers.
The hobgoblin who had led the patrol snarled and lunged for Geth. Most dar swords were forged in the same traditional style, millennia old, as Wrath-heavy blades sharp on one side and deeply serrated on the other, their broad ends slightly forked but not pointed. They were weapons for hacking and chopping and slashing but not for thrusting. The patrol leader, however, carried a human sword, narrow tip ground sharp. Geth jerked to one side as the sword darted at him, stepped inside the hobgoblin’s extended reach, and punched him hard in his flat-nosed, sharp-boned face. The hobgoblin’s ears sagged, his eyes rolled up, and he toppled backward.
Near the fire, the soldiers who faced Ekhaas hesitated. Half of their patrol was dead, and their leader was down. Geth saw them glance at each other, weighing the option of retreat.
Ekhaas didn’t let them decide. She thrust out her free hand and sang a burst of song that cracked and popped with wild energy. Brilliant light flared from her palm, bright at a distance, blinding close up. As the soldiers yelped and squinted, Ekhaas struck. One soldier went down with a bloody gash from shoulder to navel. The other got his sword up, parrying Ekhaas’s in a clang of metal. The two hobgoblins traded blows back and forth-until Ekhaas suddenly jumped clear. The soldier held his next strike, confused.
Then Chetiin slipped in front of him and thrust his dagger up under the soldier’s ribs. The soldier’s confusion drained away into the shock of death. Chetiin pulled his dagger free, and the hobgoblin sank to the ground.
The soldier Geth had kicked in the stomach, the last one standing, stared in dismay at the devastation inflicted so swiftly on his patrol. Still wheezing and hunched over, he turned and fled.
Tenquis raised his crossbow and whispered a word. Blue light flared, lighting the dark skin of his face. He pulled the trigger of the crossbow, and the bolt leaped away in a hissing blue streak — that missed. It hit the trunk of a tree and stuck there, crackling and spitting sparks. The soldier ducked and kept running.
He took perhaps six more strides before a shadow seemed to separate itself from the night and leap on him with a terrible snarl. Teeth flashed as they closed on the back of the hobgoblin’s neck. Powerful muscles bunched and shook the soldier like a toy. The snap of his neck was loud. Marrow tossed the soldier away, then sat back on her haunches and licked her bloody muzzle. Chetiin’s big, black, wolflike mount had caught up to them on the first day of their flight. Chetiin had been evasive about whether the worg had found them on her own or if he had somehow summoned her. Geth hadn’t pressed the question. One more ally was one more ally. Silence returned to the night.
“Better?” Ekhaas asked Geth as she wiped her sword.
“Not really, no,” he said as he straddled the unconscious leader of the patrol, and slapped the hobgoblin.
His eyelids fluttered open. Geth put Wrath across the hobgoblin’s throat, steadying the blade with his gauntleted hand. “How many patrols are in the hills?” he asked in Goblin. The words were awkward, his accent thick-Wrath’s magic might allow him to understand the language of the dar, but it didn’t enable him to speak it.
The soldier’s ears flicked as the others gathered around. His eyes darted between Geth and Ekhaas, with side trips to Chetiin and the dagger still in his hand, and to Tenquis, running fingers along his crossbow. Geth pressed down a little on Wrath to encourage a swift response. The soldier’s eyes widened and came back to him.
“Lhesh Tariic ordered the Gold Hand battalion into the foothills under the command of Daavn of Marhaan.”
Geth glanced up at Chetiin. The goblin gave a nod of approval.
Senen Dhakaan had told them to seek refuge in Volaar Draal, stronghold of the Kech Volaar-southwest of Rhukaan Draal. But Tariic, whatever else he might be, was no fool. Traveling south with a duur’kala of the Kech Volaar among them would have given away their destination. So they’d turned their flight from Rhukaan Draal to the northwest instead, hoping that the lhesh would believe they sought to reach Marguul Pass and Breland beyond it.
If Tariic had ordered one of his most trusted advisors into the mountains, their ruse had worked-maybe too well. A battalion’s worth of patrols searching the hills…
Geth looked back down at his prisoner. “Did you signal another patrol that you’d found us?” he asked.
Desperate guile stirred in the soldier’s face as he tried to think of an answer that would save his life. Geth pressed a little harder with Wrath. “Doovol,” he said. Truth.
“Daavn commanded it.”
Fresh anger twisted in Geth. He leaned hard on Wrath’s blade.
Sharp metal with the weight of a shifter behind it sliced through the hobgoblin’s throat. The patrol leader barely had time to look surprised before the sword crunched through bone and his head separated from his body.
It wasn’t as good as killing Tariic, but it was good enough. Geth rose. “More patrols coming,” he said.
“Khaavolaar,” Ekhaas said between her teeth. “I should have finished Daavn when I had the chance at Haruuc’s tomb.”
“Regret is the blade that wounds over and over again,” said Chetiin. “We haven’t come to the end yet.”
“The farther we go, the longer the journey back to Volaar Draal will be.”