Maybe he mistook what he saw in her face for fear, but if he thought the threat or the sight of the stolen sword could frighten her, he was wrong.
A tremble ran through her. The world seemed to sharpen as blood roared in her ears. Her lips twisted to expose teeth stained red with her own blood. Goblin words tore themselves out of her, starting as a snarl and ending as a scream. “Give. That. Back!”
Ashi had moved like a weasel before. She moved like a tiger now, attacking with a ferocity that put Makka on the defensive. The bugbear stood a full head taller than her. He weighed probably twice as much as she did. She still forced him back. Her attacks fell with such speed and force that it was all he could do to block them, first with the bright Deneith sword, then with the shaft of the trident. Desperation started to show on his face-vengeance seemed forgotten and all of his attention was focused on Ashi as she pushed him step by step across the space between the buildings.
She chopped down with her sword. Makka raised his trident to block it-and the stout wooden shaft, already deeply gouged, snapped. Deflected, the sword nicked his arm. They staggered apart, but rage surged in Ashi and she lunged. This time her blade cut across his side. She felt it grate along Makka’s ribs, then catch flesh and plunge deep. He howled and dropped the broken trident to lash out blindly with a fist.
The blow was lucky. It caught her on the shoulder and threw her to one side, breaking her attack.
But Ekhaas was there. In the instant that Ashi fell, she heard the duur’kala’s song swell. The music was different this time though, not hard and battering, but strangely thick. Ashi saw Makka struggle, his movements slow and dragging as if he were underwater. For a moment, it seemed as if his muscles would lock, betraying him “No!” he roared-and smashed his arm into his wounded side.
Ashi saw pain cross his face and his limbs moved freely again, magic’s grip broken by the sudden agony. Ekhaas scowled and let her song fade, but raised her sword. Ashi rolled to her feet and faced Makka, ready to carry on the fight. The bugbear’s small eyes narrowed and his ears curled. Ashi slid close, blade ready.
Makka spun around and took two long strides to the corner where the hobgoblin children huddled and cried. He grabbed the first one his fingers found and dragged it up in front of him, the Deneith sword held across its squirming body. At the touch of the steel, the child went still and silent.
Ashi stopped. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ekhaas freeze, too.
Makka didn’t say anything. Moving slowly and leaving a bloody trail behind him, he slid sideway across the wall. The alley leading out of the yard was close. Ashi started to shadow him, but he pulled the bright blade tighter and the child whimpered.
She stopped. He would kill the child. She knew it in her gut.
Makka stepped into the alley, walking backward until he was out of sight. A moment later, the hobgoblin child came running out of the alley, face taut with terror.
Ashi was waiting for that. She leaped to the alley mouth, but the shadowed passage was empty. A swirling crowd filled the street at its far end.
The only signs of Makka were the drops of blood that ended where the crowd began, treading feet wiping away the trail as surely as flowing water. Ashi bit off a curse.
CHAPTER FOUR
19 Sypheros
Tradition dictated the opening battle of Haruuc’s games-two junior warriors of the warlord’s clan fighting each other to honor the departed chief. Now one of the junior warriors of the Rhukaan Taash lay with his life’s blood soaking into the sand of the arena floor, while the other faced the raised box where Geth sat and thumped a trembling fist against his chest in the hobgoblin salute. Geth stood, raising the Rod of Kings, and slowly the cheers that filled the three tiers of the arena subsided.
“Faalo of Rhukaan Taash, you honor Haruuc Shaarat’kor,” Geth called into the quiet. “Name your reward.” The Goblin words weren’t as elaborate as tradition demanded, but they were what he could manage. It had taken all of his concentration just to get the responses of Haruuc’s funeral right.
The young hobgoblin lowered his head for a moment, then looked up, his ears standing tall. Wrath translated his answer: “I want to lead a squad in battle against the Valenar!”
The crowd erupted again, but Geth felt his belly flip. “Boar and Bear!” he growled quietly in the human tongue.
Seated beside him as the new warlord of the Rhukaan Taash, Tariic leaned a little closer. “Geth-”
Geth glanced down at him. “There’s not going to be a war!”
Tariic’s jaw tightened. “I was going to say give him a rank and be done,” he said. “Make no promises about elves if you don’t want to. If there’s no war, he’ll lead border patrols.”
It was good advice. Geth felt heat flood his face. “What rank?”
Tariic’s ears flicked as he thought, then said, “Lhikor.”
Geth raised his voice against the noise of the crowd, speaking Goblin once more. “In the name of Haruuc, Faalo of Rhukaan Taash, you will be lhikorl”
The crowd answered with a wall of sound. A smile spread against Faalo’s face and the young warrior thumped his chest once more, then turned to face the crowd, raising his arms in victory. A pair of honor guards appeared to escort him through one of the arena’s two gates. From the other, a troop of goblins appeared, throwing down fresh sand and dragging off the body of the warrior who had not been so fortunate. From a raised platform, an announcer using a speaking trumpet called out descriptions of the spectacles that would follow through the first day of the games. Geth dropped back into his seat and didn’t listen.
“I would have thought you’d enjoy this,” said Tariic, sitting down as well.
“If I was sitting out there”-Geth gestured around the arena-“instead of up here, I probably would.”
Tariic laughed. “Geth, you realize that if the king of Breland had chosen to attend Haruuc’s funeral, he would be here beside you right now? You’ve put yourself on a level with monarchs and you’d rather be sitting with the people.” He stopped laughing when he realized Geth wasn’t smiling. “This isn’t where you thought you’d find yourself, is it?”
“No.” There was no point in lying about that.
“You did an honorable thing. It confused me at first, but then I realized that if you hadn’t claimed the duty of a shava, Darguun might have fallen into civil war. And after the chaos of the Gan’duur raids, with just one clan in rebellion, I don’t know if we could have survived. You’ve given us a chance to calm down.” Tariic considered him with a serious expression. “You think quickly.”
“Not quickly enough.” The words slipped out and Geth tried not to wince. “This isn’t my place,” he said. “I’m a fighter, not a talker.”
“That’s to be expected. You wield the Sword of Heroes, not the Rod of Kings.” On Tariic’s other side, another hobgoblin leaned forward so he could look at Geth. “But seizing control was the act of a hero. You’ll be remembered after you leave us.”
The first time Geth had encountered Daavn of Marhaan, the warlord had been trying to persuade Haruuc to allow his clan to raid into Breland. Haruuc had embarrassed him before his allies with a clever ruse, but since then, Daavn had found new favor with Tariic. Even before Haruuc’s death, the two had become close, as Tariic, confident his uncle would eventually name him as heir, looked for supporters. Vounn d’Deneith had suspicions that Daavn was even more ambitious than Tariic-and more ruthless. She believed Daavn might have been behind an attempt to kidnap her from Khaar Mbar’ost-an attempt that had been widely blamed on Keraal of the Gan’duur and that would have shamed Haruuc had it succeeded. They had no proof to confront Daavn with, however, and so Vounn’s suspicions remained just that.
Whenever Daavn spoke, though, his words left Geth with a sense that he was up to something. The shifter had fallen into a habit of turning them over in his mind, trying to find the hidden danger. “I… hadn’t thought about leaving yet,” he said cautiously.