Free Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2 by Don Bassingthwaite Page A

anyone could provide the evidence that would link Daavn of Marhaan to the plot and show Tariic just what kind of serpent he was dealing with, it might be this Ko.
    “Take him out,” said Geth. “Put him in the empty cell. He’s not going to the arena.”
    The storm that command produced made his sparing of Pradoor seem like the smallest act of charity. Howls of outrage sprang from the other prisoners—and from the guards, who this time did nothing to silence their charges. Munta and Tariic both came forward to press Geth. The big hobgoblin prisoner who still held Ko bellowed in anger. “You’re sparing this cowardly piece of filth?”
    He punctuated his words by driving Ko against the door of the cell with bone-shaking force, forcing gasps out of his captive. The thick hair on Geth’s arms and on the back of his neck rose. The hand that gripped Wrath’s hilt tightened and he wrenched the sword free of its sheath. “Silence!” he roared in Goblin, thrusting the weapon high.
    When she had first seen the sword, before she had guessed at its true nature as the Sword of Heroes, Ekhaas had proclaimed it a
lhesh shaarat
, a blade so fine that any descendant of Dhakaan instinctively recognized it as a weapon of kings and warlords. Just the act of drawing a
lhesh shaarat
proclaimed the wielder’s might.
    Wrath didn’t have the power of the Rod of Kings to force obedience, but it could command respect.
    Silence fell over the dungeon. The big hobgoblin released his hold on Ko, who slid down out of sight. Geth gestured to the keeper with Wrath. “Get him out of there.”
    The keeper moved to obey him.
    “What are you doing, Geth?” Munta asked softly. “You can’t keep all the prisoners from the arena.”
    “He might know something about Vounn’s kidnapping.”
    “He’s been questioned,” said Tariic. “A hobgoblin in a mask and using a false name hired him. We know that was Keraal. The changeling has outlived his usefulness.”
    Geth wanted to ask how Tariic could be certain the masked hobgoblin had really been Keraal, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “He tried to hurt a friend.”
    “Then send him to the arena,” Munta said. “You’re causing unrest!”
    The keeper had the cell door open. Waving his club to keep those inside back, he kicked and dragged Ko clear. Geth stood over the battered prisoner and looked down at him. Ko’s eyelids flickered, then his face seemed to blur and run. A shifter’s dark hair turned pale, animal eyes became blank and white. His features grew soft and strangely ill-defined, his skin turned a dusky gray, and his body became a little taller and a little leaner. The scrapes and bruises on his face didn’t disappear, though. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick.
    “Don’t thank me yet,” said Geth. He turned to the keeper. “Watch him. I’ll be back to talk with him when I can.”
    The scarred hobgoblin grumbled something under his breath but grabbed Ko by the front of his shirt and shoved him into the recently emptied cell. The other prisoners jeered and grumbled again. The keeper slammed the door on Ko, then pointed at the chain of prisoners destined for the arena that day. “Take them away!” he ordered the guards. His eyes swept the other cells. “You shut your mouths. You’ll all have your turns.”
    The prisoners just laughed and shook the cell doors. The keeper’s remaining ear went back flat. “No food tonight, then! Maybe you’ll fight better on empty bellies!”
    “Nicely done,” Tariic whispered in Geth’s ear. “You’re right. You aren’t much of a talker.”
    Geth didn’t answer that, sliding Wrath back into its sheath instead. “Are we done?”
    “I wish we were,” said Munta. “There’s one more prisoner we need to see.” He gave Geth a hard look. “Don’t pardon him.”

    Keraal had a small cell to himself. The defeated rebel sat on a heap of straw, arms restrained by a length of chain running through rings set into the wall,