Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2 Read online

  Someone below laughed loudly. “A warband? A single warband? They must be junior warriors out to make honor for themselves! They can’t be much of a threat.”

  “Be quiet, you fool!” Tariic’s voice cracked like the thunder of a nearby lightning strike. He stood forward again, glaring down among the assembled warlords. “This isn’t just one warband. The territory of the Baar Kai is too far from Ketkeet or Tii’ator. There are at least four or five warbands working together, probably more. We know they’re a threat because they’ve destroyed at least three clanholds—and there has been no further word from Zarrthec.” He turned, snatched the paper out of Geth’s hand, and shook it in the air. “This is no missive from a true war leader. This is a boast sent out to the enemy by an inexperienced warrior drunk on a fleeting victory. If a junior warrior under my command did such a thing, I’d have him whipped.”

  The old hobgoblin’s staff tapped the floor. “Tariic of Rhukaan Taash, respect the order of assembly.”

  Tariic nodded. “Arbiter, there is more I have to say, but I will wait for recognition.” He turned to look at Geth. Before the shifter could open his mouth, though, Aguus had pushed forward.

  “Tariic has already spoken. I will speak now!”

  Garaad and Iizan weren’t far behind with their own protests and demands. Geth turned a bewildered gaze to the arbiter, then to Munta and Dagii. Munta pointed at one of the heirs. Ashi couldn’t be sure which one. Neither could Geth, it seemed, because Munta grimaced when he called out “Tariic of Rhukaan Taash will speak.”

  The banner of the lhesh came down from the pole and a banner bearing the crest of the razor crown rose in its place. Tariic nodded to Geth. The other heirs backed down—reluctantly, Ashi thought. Geth returned to the throne as Tariic moved forward. He stood straight and proud as he addressed the assembly.

  “Chiefs, warlords, elder warlords—warriors, heed me. Lhesh Haruuc was struck down at the height of his glory. We all know the last words he spoke. ‘Ancient blood demands an ancient enemy. As it was in the age of Dhakaan, the People shall go into battle against elves. Let our blades fall on Valenar.’ Haruuc’s murder robbed us of a great leader, one who deserves all of the honor that we give to him.” His voice dropped and he lowered his eyes. “But perhaps in honoring him with mourning and games, we have denied him the greatest honor of all. We have failed to follow his final words.”

  He paused for a moment and the hall was silent between his words. “‘Ancient blood demands an ancient enemy.’ We have let our recent history cover our glorious past. Haruuc signed the Treaty of Thronehold that brought an end to the Last War and recognition as a sovereign nation to Darguun—and yes, to Valenar. Yet fear of this document, fear of war, has held us back. Some have even claimed there could be no war.”

  Ashi saw Geth sit up, anger crossing his face. Tariic ignored him and continued.

  “Our hesitation has cost us. Valenar has struck the first blow. They have seen what Haruuc surely saw: that the Treaty of Throne-hold is a document drawn up by chaat’oor, defilers, strangers to the shores of Khorvaire.”

  His voice rose again, filling the throne room. “‘As it was in the age of Dhakaan’—our People ruled this continent before humans even dreamed of its existence. And in those days, only one enemy met us as an equal on the field of battle: the Tairnadal, honored ancestors of the Valaes Tairn. Those who wrote the Treaty of Thronehold are lovers of peace. They see war as unnatural. A temporary condition. There is a reason we do not number elves among the chaat’oor. Like us, they know that war is eternal, that struggle, not peace, is the true way of the world. Since the age of the Empire of Dhakaan, they have been an honored enemy.”

  “Their attack reminds us of who we are, of who we were meant to be. Now is the time to throw off illusions of peace. Now is the time to meet their attack. Now is the time to remember and honor Haruuc. The arch-traitor Chetiin silenced his voice, but he could not silence his spirit for it is the spirit of the People.” Tariic drew his sword and thrust it into the air. “Let our blades fall on Valenar!”

  There was not even a moment’s silence before a roar of approval rose from the warlords. Light reflecting from drawn blades flashed around the throne room and the thumping of fists on chests in the dar salute was like the sound of drums. The arbiter didn’t try to restore order, but simply stood and offered applause in the form of an open hand slapped against his chest. Aguus, Garaad, and Iizan looked sour, but they roared and cheered along with the other warlords—Ashi knew there was nothing else they could do now. Anything they said would sound like hollow imitation.

  Even those dar in the gallery were applauding. Ashi saw Senen beating a hand against her chest, eyes wide and ears high in admiration. At her side, Ekhaas applauded as well, though when her eyes met Ashi’s there was worry in them.

  Among the ambassadors and envoys—the chaat’oor—in the gallery, there was only mechanical applause, if that. Even Pater who had moments before greeted the prospect of war with greed looked stunned. “Lords of the Host, I’ve never seen Tariic like this before. He always talked about how Haruuc brought Darguun into the world but that he would bring the world into Darguun.”

  “He wants the throne,” said Vounn. “Haruuc told me once that Tariic valued atcha over muut. He’s willing to play any game of politics to reach it.”

  “Including starting a war?” asked Ashi.

  Vounn sat back in her chair. “He didn’t start it, Ashi. He’s only using it—just as all of us will.”

  Ashi looked back down into the throne room. Geth had stood up, an expression that mixed fury and confusion on his face. His hand was tight on the Rod of Kings and Ashi suspected that if it had been possible for him to use its power, he might have done so at that moment. Tariic spoke a few quiet words to him, but the shifter just jerked away. The warlords were growing quiet again, and the arbiter rapped his staff on the floor. Tariic turned away from Geth to give the old hobgoblin a nod. The banner of the Rhukaan Taash descended on the pole of order.

  But another shout rose from the crowd. Ashi recognized Daavn of Marhaan’s voice. “Who will lead us?”

  The descending banner paused. Tariic turned back to the warlords.

  This time Garaad was the first heir to protest. “No!” The lean warlord still had his sword drawn. The blade rose to point at Tariic. “You will not take this honor! There are two days of games left. Haruuc’s successor will only be chosen then. You are not lhesh yet!”

  The words sounded hollow and desperate even to Ashi, but Tariic only bent his head to Garaad. “It is as you say,” he said. “I wouldn’t dare to act as lhesh while we still honor Haruuc. But we can’t sit on our swords while Valenar raiders sweep Darguun. We must act now, don’t you agree?”

  He looked at each of the other contending heirs in return and once again Ashi knew that there was nothing they could say. Garaad’s ears went back flat against his skull. “Yes,” he said, lowering his sword. “But it will not be you leading the battle.”

  “Not any of us. We’ve been too busy fighting each other. But there is one who has recently fought on behalf of Darguun.” Tariic looked down among the assembled warlords. “Dagii of Mur Talaan, named lhevk’rhu by Haruuc, will you recall the army that defeated the Gan’duur?”

  The warlords around Dagii seemed to draw back a little bit, leaving him to stare back at Tariic like a sentry caught off guard. Then his face hardened and he stood straight. “Mazo,” he said.

  Tariic looked back at the other heirs and at Geth. “Dagii’s troops will be a vanguard, moving swiftly to meet the threat presented by the Valenar. His loyalty to Darguun cannot be questioned. Does this satisfy you all?”

  Ashi could see the heirs’ ears flick as they thought through the merits of the suggestion. One by one, they nodded. Tariic glanced at Geth. “And you, shava of Haruuc? You hold the throne in trust. Do you grant your approval?”

  Geth’s expression was hard as he looked down at Dagii. The young warlord gave him back
a slight nod. Geth looked up at Tariic and bared his teeth. “How can I refuse?”

  Tariic met his bared teeth with a fierce smile, but didn’t bother to answer the question. There was, Ashi knew, no need to. Instead, he gestured for Iizan, Aguus, and Garaad to stand forward with him. “It is decided!” he said. “The reign of a new lhesh will begin with glory and war on Valenar as Haruuc wanted. The assembly of warlords is ended!”

  The gathered warlords cheered again, some closing on Dagii to congratulate him, but most saluting the four heirs gathered on the dais. Ashi wondered if she was the only one to notice the old arbiter look to Geth for confirmation of Tariic’s words and to see the shifter nod like a weary fighter defeated in battle.

  Ashi turned away and founded herself facing Esmyssa Entar ir’Korran once more. The Zil ambassador’s face pinched up into a smile. “Better to have Darguun and Valenar at each other’s throats than ours, at least,” she said. “If they want to break the Treaty of Thronehold, I don’t imagine the other nations of Khorvaire will rush to aid either of them.”

  Ashi couldn’t hold back a snort. “And that’s what Haruuc really wanted.”

  Esmyssa looked puzzled.

  Ashi shook her head. “Never mind,” she said and stood up. “Please excuse me.”

  She managed to spot Ekhaas before the hobgoblin left the gallery. Ekhaas and Senen Dhakaan were standing in a corner, arguing with quiet words. By the time Ashi reached the spot, the two duur’kala had separated and Ekhaas was on her own, glaring at Senen’s retreating back.

  Ashi caught her arm. “What do we do now?”

  Ekhaas’s amber eyes flickered to her, then went back to Senen. “Carry on as planned, I think,” she said, her voice hard.

  “You think?” Ashi tried to keep her own voice both level and quiet. “Ekhaas, we’re losing Dagii. He’s going to be …” She stopped, following Ekhaas’s gaze after Senen. “What’s wrong?”

  “Senen wants me to go with Dagii,” said Ekhaas. Her ears were back against her head. “She wants a representative of the Kech Volaar along. She wants a duur’kala to witness the great clash of hobgoblins and elves.”

  Ashi’s hand fell away from Ekhaas’s arm. “No. She can’t.”

  “Unfortunately, she can,” said Midian.

  Ashi twisted around to find the gnome leaning against a chair.

  Midian thrust out his jaw, tipped back his head, and said in an arrogant tone, “You serve the Kech Volaar and the memory of Dhakaan, daughter of the dirge. You will do as I say!”

  It was a flawless imitation of Senen Dhakaan. “How long have you been listening?” Ekhaas asked.

  “Long enough. Ashi’s right. This is bad timing.” He raised an eyebrow “But you look as tired as Geth and Dagii this morning and I don’t think they were just out seeing the city last night. Did you find—?”

  Ekhaas flicked a finger to silence him, glanced around, then jerked her head toward the stairs leading down from the gallery. The antechamber outside the throne room was hardly less crowded when they reached it, but the envoys, ambassadors, and their various assistants who frequented the galleries were always listening for bits of information. The warlords who had flooded into the antechamber were thinking of nothing but war. Ekhaas found a momentarily quiet corner, beckoned them into it, and whispered, “We found an artificer who can make what we need—in five days.”

  Midian wrinkled his nose. “Three days after the end of the games.”

  “Two if we count today.”

  “Even if you do, Tariic won’t want to wait that long for his coronation.” The gnome folded his arms around himself. “He’ll want to take the throne immediately.”

  “You think it will be him?” Ashi asked.

  “Do humans hit their heads in gnome houses? Even if it’s not, it doesn’t matter. We need to find a way to delay the coronation.” Midian tapped his fingers against the wall. “I’ll talk to Razu. Maybe I can put a knot in her plans or persuade her that the ceremony needs to be more elaborate.”

  “Anything to buy time.” Ekhaas’s ears stood tall suddenly and her already soft voice dropped even more. “Ashi, Vounn is here.”

  Ashi looked over her shoulder. Vounn stood a discreet distance away with Aruget and another hobgoblin guard, Krakuul, just behind her. As Ashi met her gaze, she raised one eyebrow. “I’m returning to our chambers,” she said. “Would you like to come with me?”

  Her tone said clearly that it was neither a question nor an invitation. Only a month ago, Ashi would have rebelled against the command, but the new understanding that had grown between her and Vounn was stronger than that. She looked briefly at Ekhaas. “I’ll find you tonight,” she said, then went to fall in beside Vounn.

  Her mentor said nothing as they swept out of the antechamber and nothing as they climbed the stairs up through Khaar Mbar’ost. Not until they had reached the chambers Haruuc himself had assigned to them and were inside with Aruget and Krakuul standing outside the heavy door did she speak—and when she did, it was without turning to look at Ashi.

  “I think,” she said, “it’s time you told me what’s going on.”

  Ashi glanced sharply at the gray-haired lady seneschal. Vounn ignored her, instead walking to look out of a window that presented a wide view of the city below. “I know there’s more going on than you’re telling me,” she said. “You know that I know. I am your mentor and your superior in the house. If there’s something happening that could put either of us or the operations of Deneith in danger, I should know about it.”

  Ashi tried to think of what to say. Perhaps mistaking her silence for reluctance, Vounn continued. “Just before Haruuc’s assassination, Geth summoned you away with no words other than, ‘Haruuc needs your dragonmark.’ Whatever he needed it for, I presume you were too late. I have not asked for an explanation.”

  She finally looked at Ashi. “The night Haruuc died, I was prepared to send you out of Darguun with the next Orien caravan. Circumstances prevented it. War has arrived—between Darguun and Valenar perhaps, but still war. When I report what happened here today to the head of the house, I expect that he will demand that you, as the bearer of the Siberys Mark of Sentinel be moved out of Darguun for your own safety. Give me a reason to keep you here.”

  “I … I can’t.” Ashi clenched her teeth and lowered her voice. There was no lie she could think of that would cover everything, not with the looming possibility of being sent away from Rhukaan Draal just when the others needed her most. “Vounn, something is going on, but I can’t tell you what. I’ve made an oath. All I can say is that it doesn’t present a danger to you or Deneith. You have to believe that. It may even save—”

  Vounn held up a finger, silencing her. “If it’s so important you’ve taken an oath to keep it secret, don’t say anything more.” The older woman studied her. “Whatever is going on doesn’t present a danger to me or Deneith. What about you? Does it present a danger to you?”

  “Yes,” Ashi said bluntly. “But it’s a danger I’m willing to face.” She raised her chin. “It’s a danger I have to face.”

  Vounn’s eyebrow twitched. “Will it advance House Deneith when it becomes known?”

  Ashi felt an ache like a punch in the gut. “If it’s successful, it can never become known. No one will ever know about it.” She drew a breath and stepped closer. “Vounn, you know what I’m capable of. I can look after myself. I’ve proved that.”

  “I know,” Vounn said. “That’s why I’m not sending you back. Baron Breven d’Deneith can rant all he likes. You’re in my charge.” She reached out and took Ashi’s hands. “But promise me that if you ever need my help, then you will come to me. I can keep secrets, you know.”

  Relief put a smile on Ashi’s face. “I know.”

  “Good.” Vounn held her hands a moment longer. “I want you to do one thing though. Whenever you can, take Aruget with you. Two swords are better than one, and I know that he can keep a secret, too.”

  “I will, Vounn.” Ash
i fought to keep her smile from getting wider. She didn’t think her mentor would appreciate knowing that her guard already knew more than she did.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  21 Sypheros

  Moving through Rhukaan Draal with Pradoor on his shoulders gave Makka a feeling like nothing he had felt before. On the one hand, he felt very small and very humbled. The wizened goblin had saved his life. Now he was her beast of burden, guided by her taps, and sometimes her punches, on the side of his head. He strode along streets not knowing when Pradoor would catch some clue—a familiar odor or sound, he still wasn’t sure how the blind woman found her way—that would prompt her to pull on his ear and command him, “Turn!” At times it was almost as if he had a god or some divine spirit on his shoulders directing the order of his existence, a sensation intensified by Pradoor’s spontaneous recitation of stories and lore of the Dark Six.

  On the other hand, he felt as large as if he had blundered into the middle of a duur’kala’s tale. At times, he didn’t carry a divine spirit—he was a divine spirit. Everywhere that Pradoor directed him, people stepped aside. That, Makka was used to, but what he wasn’t used to was the respect with which they looked at the pair of them. People nodded to them and lowered their eyes. Dar who wore the muu’kron touched it as they passed. They knew Pradoor by name and while they might not have known Makka, they included him in their greetings not with a casual saa but a formal saa’atcha.

  But it wasn’t just goblins and hobgoblins and bugbears who moved out of their way. In the rush of his first day in Rhukaan Draal, Makka hadn’t understood how many different races inhabited the city. Nor had he appreciated the range of those who made prayers to the Six. A stout dwarf merchant dressed in fine silk bent his head to Pradoor. A shifter with feral eyes and matted hair simpered and whined like a dog. A rangy gnoll, as tall as Makka and with a head like a hyena, bowed low and forced the coffle of slaves she led to their knees as well. Even a fey eladrin, wrapped in a silvery cloak that the ilth of the streets did not seem to touch, lowered pearly eyes as they passed.