Diitesh? Geth watched the pale hobgoblin nod to Tuura as another wave of whispers passed through the elders. Kitaas had passed beyond startled to thunderstruck. She grabbed Diitesh’s sleeve and spoke into her ear. Diitesh just shook her head and gestured for her to step back.
Ekhaas held her gaze on Tuura. “What punishment?” she asked.
“You came to Volaar Draal seeking sanctuary from Lhesh Tariic. You will be returned to Lhesh Tariic to face his judgment.”
There were mutters of confusion among the elders, but Geth also heard murmurs of approval. Chetiin’s scarred voice echoed in the chamber. “Tariic’s judgment will also be death.”
Kurac Thaar drew breath, but Tuura gestured for him to hold his tongue. “Death in Volaar Draal or death in Rhukaan Draal. The honor of Kech Volaar is satisfied either way,” she said.
A vague sense of hope stirred in Geth. It would take time to get to Rhukaan Draal. Even under heavy guard, there was a chance that they might be able to escape-certainly a better chance than if they were to be executed in Volaar Draal. But another thought tugged at him. Why would Diitesh of all people propose a deal like that, a break from tradition? What did she gain by sending them back to Tariic?
Except-He looked up at Tuura and Diitesh. “And the Kech Volaar,” he said in his thickly accented Goblin, “will gain Tariic’s favor by turning his enemies over to him.”
“Sometimes such things must be considered,” said Tuura. “You should understand-you sat on the throne of Darguun as Haruuc’s shava.”
“Geth, don’t,” whispered Ekhaas. “This is our way out of Volaar Draal.”
She’d seen the same thing he had. He shook his head though. He couldn’t let go of his suspicions. And he knew it wasn’t just him-he could feel a stirring across his connection with Wrath. The Sword of Heroes didn’t share memories with its wielder in the way that the Rod of Kings did, but it had been created to inspire. A hero did more than fight. A hero questioned.
“We brought you a warning about Tariic when we came, Tuura Dhakaan.” As he spoke, his accent faded-the work of Wrath. Geth could feel it putting a hero’s words into his mouth. “Do not trust Tariic. Our lives are worth more than his favor.”
“Close your mouth!” Kurac roared, driven beyond tolerance. “I said that chaat’oor have no voice here-”
Fury caught Geth. “You will respect me, taat! I am the bearer of Aram. I hold the honor of the name of Kuun.” He drew Wrath, the twilight blade a dull shadow in the dim light. “Fight me, and test your atcha!”
Kurac’s hand went to his axe, but before he could draw it, Tuura said sharply, “Kurac!”
He froze. Tuura rose to her feet, her face as dark as a thundercloud. “Perhaps Tariic is not to be trusted,” she said. “But I have muut to my clan. As it has been since the Age of Dhakaan, I lead them and I protect them. I stand between them and forces greater than ours. When Haruuc ruled Darguun, I saw the potential in an alliance with him.”
“Tariic isn’t Haruuc.”
“Even if all that you have told me about Tariic is true, I must consider Kech Volaar. Diitesh offers a way to make the lhesh of Darguun a friend instead of an enemy while punishing those who break our traditions. Two armies fight one battle.”
Geth looked at the High Archivist. “I have been told that the archivists guard the history and traditions of Dhakaan,” he said. “Aren’t you breaking traditions by handing us over to Tariic instead of allowing our deaths here?”
“Geth!” Tenquis said in a low, strangled voice, but his exclamation was almost drowned out by mutters of discontent that made their way around the benches of elders. Apparently Diitesh’s suggestion wasn’t as popular as it might have seemed. Tuura looked around at the dissenters, but Diitesh raised her head high.
“I have said before that Tariic holds the hope of restoring the Empire of Dhakaan, just as he holds the Rod of Kings,” she declared. “He respects the traditions of the ages and restores those that Haruuc stripped away. This is the time the Kech Volaar have waited for. Our legacy is upon us. We must support him!”
As many elders slapped their chests in approval as had raised their voices in dissent. Many of them, Geth noticed, wore the black robes of archivists. He spoke over the noise. “The same argument she used, Tuura Dhakaan, when the Kech Shaarat sought to draw you into an alliance under Tariic.”
The applause faltered. Tuura’s eyes whipped back to Geth. “The Kech Volaar might ally with Tariic,” she said, “but we will not bow before him. That is why I rejected the approaches of the Kech Shaarat.”
Diitesh’s ears went back. “If Tariic Kurar’taarn is the emperor returned, it is the muut of all Dhakaani clans to follow him.”
Geth bared his teeth, feeling the full power of the sword flowing through him. He felt powerful, one hero standing before the assembled elders of a clan, fighting a battle as dangerous as if he stood in the path of an army. “Which is it?” he asked. “Will you follow Tariic or not? I tell you that if you send us back to him-or execute us here-the Kech Volaar will bow before him. Tariic’s power is irresistible. He doesn’t need the Kech Volaar, but if you give yourselves up to him, his ambition will consume you.”
He paused to look over the crowd of elders, at Tuura and Kurac, at Diitesh and Kitaas, all staring at him in consideration or in anger. At Ekhaas, Chetiin, and Tenquis, likewise caught up in the words of a hero. He felt Wrath’s approval and let his voice rise until it rang from the walls and ceiling of the room. “We seek a way to stop Tariic, and we may have found it in the vaults of Volaar Draal, among the knowledge safeguarded through the ages by the Kech Volaar. If you’re willing to break with tradition by leaving our fate to Tariic, consider instead leaving Tariic’s fate to us!” He thrust Wrath triumphantly into the air “No!” Kitaas pushed past Diitesh to point a trembling finger at him. “By the Six Kings, don’t listen to him. They mean to destroy the Rod of Kings! They intend to destroy an artifact of Dhakaan!”
All faces turned to Kitaas. The silence that fell over the chamber was shocking-then the tiered room seemed to explode as every elder present tried to shout louder than the next. “Kill them!” one voice shrieked out above the others. “Kill them where they stand!” Even Tuura looked stunned at the revelation.
Geth felt the pinnacle of triumph crumble under him. The magic of Wrath’s power vanished like a winking spark, and the sword almost fell from his hand as he stumbled back. Ekhaas caught him. “Tiger dances!” he gasped. “What-?”
“The Kech Volaar collect history, remember?” Ekhaas said through clenched teeth. She pushed Geth back onto his feet and grabbed for her own sword. “There’s one crime worse than breaking into the vaults.”
“They didn’t know? Why didn’t Kitaas tell them before? Why didn’t she tell Tuura?” Geth heard the doors of the chamber open as the guards outside responded to the noise within, but he couldn’t help looking back to the lowest tier of benches — just in time to see Diitesh turn and slap Kitaas. “By the Six Kings, I said hold your tongue!”
They weren’t the only ones to see it. Tuura Dhakaan’s voice howled over the din of the elders. “Diitesh! You knew about this?”
The elders closest to the leader of the Kech Volaar fell silent instantly. Kurac Thaar, ready to leap to the floor of the chamber with his axe raised high, paused in midstep. The guards rushing into the room stopped where they stood. Diitesh’s already pale face turned even paler as she whirled around. For an instant, terror showed in her expression, then was wiped away as she struggled to compose herself.
“Let them go to Tariic, Tuura,” she said. “They’ll die just as surely.”
Tuura’s ears went back. “I wouldn’t have even considered it if I knew. You held it back from me.”
“I wanted to tell you, Tuura Dhakaan,” Kitaas blurted. “She wouldn’t let me.”