The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 (13 page)

The Darguul carts were pulled out of the coach and towed by a small work cart off down a side line in the lightning rail yard. The day was hot, and the motionless carts rapidly grew warm in the sun. The distractions offered by the cart, well-stocked though it was, faded quickly and the members of the delegation were reduced to sitting around fanning themselves. Like the tigers in their cages, Ashi fell into a languid doze. Tariic and Vounn retreated to the private compartments that their rank afforded them. Ekhaas wished she could do the same, but the best she could manage was to sit in a sliver of the meager shade outside the cart and hope for a wind. Some of the Darguuls begged her for a tale from her store as a
duur’kala
to pass the time, and she put in a half-hearted effort. Inspired by the reliquary in her pack, she gave them a story of Duural Rhuvet and his battles against the nomadic halfling tribes that had harried the edges of the Dhakaani Empire as it faded into the lean centuries of the Desperate Times. Her enthusiasm grew in the telling of the tale, though, and when the story was over, she gave her audience another, then another, eating up the day. The soldiers lifted their ears to listen as well, and she told more tales, this time of the heroes of Dhakaan at its height—Kamvuul Norek, the slayer of illithids; Moorn Basha, who sang an island out of the sea; and Duulan Kuun, the first of the name Kuun and the hero who founded a line of heroes.

Night had fallen when she folded her hands and spoke the traditional words that finished the legends of Dhakaan,
“Raat shan gath’kal dor.”
The story stops but never ends.

Her audience of soldiers and councilors—the entire Darguul delegation, in fact—sat in silence for a moment longer, then rose in twos and threes and began to drift away, back to their places in the carts. Ekhaas let out her breath and allowed herself a smile. Enraptured silence was one of the greatest tributes a
duur’kala
could hope for.

“I can see why my uncle seeks an alliance with the Kech Volaar,” said a voice from above her. Ekhaas twisted around to find
Tariic leaning out of the open window of his compartment. “That was stirring.”

Ekhaas’s ears flicked. “We both know your uncle wants more than tales from the Kech Volaar.”

“True, but I wouldn’t underestimate the power of a good story, either.” He nodded across the yard in which the carts had been left. Ekhaas turned and looked. In the direction he’d indicated stood three grubby goblins, wavering back and forth as if uncertain whether to approach. They weren’t Darguuls. Ekhaas guessed that they must have been inhabitants of Sigilstar, probably employed at the lightning rail station in some menial job. She glanced over her shoulder to say something more to Tariic, but he had already left the window. She looked back to the three goblins and beckoned to them.

They came forward like nervous supplicants. The boldest of them dropped down to his knees in front of her, gesturing for the other two, maybe his sons, to do the same. “Thank you,” he said to her. “It’s been a long time since I heard anything so exciting.” He spoke Goblin with a distinctly human accent. “We can’t pay you for what we heard, but we want you to have these.”

He held out a dirty cloth on which were piled three greasy bundles. Ekhaas’s nose twitched at the smell of food. The bundles were likely the goblins’ dinners. “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I don’t need to be paid.”

The bold goblin looked at her, then at the bundles. He didn’t lower the cloth. “They say you should always pay what something’s worth. My Tunee, most people say she makes the best goblin food in Sigilstar. I think these might make a start at paying for your stories.”

“Won’t you be hungry tonight?”

“Your stories filled us up,
chib,”
said one of the other two, his big ears perking up.

Ekhaas smiled and took the bundles but returned the cloth. “I’ll remember your kindness,” she said.

The three goblins grinned as if one of the heroes from her stories had just come to life and thanked them. They stood up, dusted off their britches, and scampered back toward the lightning rail
station, all the time grinning like fools. Ekhaas shook her head as she watched them go, then turned back to the cart.

Ashi crouched by the door, watching her. Ekhaas gave her a mock scowl and switched back to the human tongue. “I’m getting tired of people coming up behind me!”

“Sorry,” said Ashi. “I was just waiting for you to finish. Those must have been some stories. I wish I could have followed them all.”

“We need to start on your Goblin lessons then. Why don’t we begin with food?” Ekhaas passed one of the greasy bundles to her.

They climbed up onto the roof of the cart, the better to catch the evening breeze. Four moons had risen above the horizon, casting enough light for Ashi to see what she was eating. Ekhaas, of course, could see the contents of the bundles with no difficulty, and as they were unwrapped, she taught Ashi the names for the food within and for the words associated with eating. The goblin had been right: His wife did make good food. The bundles contained chewy sausages pickled with bitter herbs, big steamed dumplings of starchy
noon
mash, eggs boiled in broth, and—to Ekhaas’s surprise and Ashi’s delight—tiny but sweet
shaat’aar
. They ate them all, sharing the third bundle between them, then sat and watched as a fifth moon, pale yellow Nymm, rose low in the southeast and began to climb up against the bright haze of the Ring of Siberys.

“The thing that you can’t tell me about,” Ashi said into the silence. “It’s happening tonight, isn’t it? That’s why we’ve stopped here.”

“It’s supposed to happen tonight. We hope it happens tonight.”

“And you still can’t tell me anything more?”

Ekhaas shook her head. “No, not yet. But soon, I promise.”

Out by the wall that surrounded the lightning rail yard, something moved. It was too far away for even Ekhaas to see clearly, but there was, for an instant, a brief eclipsing of the lights from the city over the top of the wall. Just a flicker. It might have been nothing at all. Ekhaas’s breath caught in her throat, though, and she paused, watching.

“Ekhaas?” asked Ashi softly. She was alert and tense, staring after Ekhaas into the darkness. Her hand was on her sword. “Is something wrong?”

The flicker came again—and kept coming. One after another, dark bodies swarmed over the wall, caught briefly by the dim light before dropping again into shadow. Ashi whispered a curse and started to rise. Ekhaas grabbed her arm and held her down.

“Don’t move,” she said.

Ashi froze and sank back down into a crouch. Ekhaas crept to the edge of the cart and peered into the yard. Everything was as motionless and quiet as before, the silence broken by murmurs from the soldiers as they played some game and by crews laboring around the station. Beyond about twenty paces, she could see nothing more than Ashi, but the colorless nightvision of her people cut through the closer shadows. She watched and waited for the first hint of movement. The moment stretched out …

Then they were there, not just at the edge of her vision, but slipping out from behind another stationary lightning rail cart parked in the yard, so close that even Ashi could see them. Ekhaas heard her draw a sharp breath. She came close to gasping as well, and she had been expecting this.

A dozen black-clad goblins flowed through the moonlight like rats or ferrets.

“Who are they?” Ashi whispered.

“Shaarat’khesh
and
taarka’khesh,”
said Ekhaas. “Goblins of the Silent Clans.”

“The assassins?”

“When they need to be.”

Sentries posted outside the delegation’s carts looked studiously away. The goblins went to the third cart, the one that carried the tigers and that, as Ashi had observed, seemed so empty. One of them tapped a soft rhythm on the cargo door. A moment later, the door slid open and the goblins of the Silent Clans vanished into the cart. The door closed and they might never have been there at all, except for one goblin who remained outside—and looked up at Ekhaas and Ashi with glittering eyes in a dark stained face. They’d been seen. The goblin pointed at Ashi, his eyebrows and
ears lifting in an unspoken question. Ekhaas nodded. The goblin turned back to the cart from behind which he and the others had emerged. He beckoned.

Another figure stepped into the moonlight, a shifter with a pack over one shoulder and the heavy shape of a hobgoblin sword at his side. Ashi started. “Geth?” she said, then “Geth!”

Before Ekhaas could say anything or even move, Ashi was on her feet and clambering down to the ground. Below, Geth stared, then ran to meet her. Ekhaas closed her eyes for a moment and let out a sigh of relief before climbing down the ladder as well. Inside the cart, the rest of the delegation was stirring in curiosity at the commotion outside. Ekhaas heard Tariic telling them to be calm and to remain in the cart.

He emerged just as she reached the ground. “So he’s here,” he said. “They found him.”

“Did you doubt it?” Ekhaas asked.

“I sometimes doubted that they’d bring him in alive.”

Ekhaas couldn’t say anything to that. The same fear had nagged at her. She turned away and went to her friends, grateful that death hadn’t been a necessity.

Ashi was talking more than Geth was, spilling her reasons for being in Sigilstar with a delegation of Darguuls and asking after him seemingly in the same breath. “What are you doing here? Where have you been? Where are Singe and Dandra?”

“Bear and Boar!” said Geth. “One question at a time! I wasn’t expecting to find you here either.” He pulled himself away from Ashi and gestured to the black-clad goblin who still stood by the lightning rail cart. “This is Chetiin. He’s an elder of the
taarka’khesh
. Him and his people found me in Lathleer in Aundair. We almost fought until Chetiin explained why they’d come looking for me.”

Chetiin bent his head to Ashi. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes lingered on the lines of the dragonmark that patterned her face. She bent her head in return, but Ekhaas saw her self-consciously tug her scarf into place as she looked back to Geth. “What were you doing in Aundair? How did they find you?”

Ekhaas raised her voice. “I told them where to look,” she said. Both shifter and human turned to her. She held her ears proudly
stiff and reminded herself she’d done nothing wrong. “It’s good to see you again, Geth.”

Ashi and Geth both spoke at the same time, Geth greeting her with the same respect, Ashi staring and spitting out, “You? You knew he was coming?
Khyberit gentis
, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” said Ekhaas. “I—”

“She had orders not to say anything about it,” said Tariic as he joined them. “Not to you, not to anyone. What is happening is larger than your friendship. Chetiin,
ta muut.”

“Cho, chib,”
said Chetiin. His voice was thick and strained like a scar. He spoke in the human language, following Ekhaas and Tariic’s example. “It was a small task. Ekhaas
duur’kala’s
magic guided us to the right area, and the
taarka’khesh
among my band were able to locate him easily enough. He travels quietly for someone not of the Silent Clans.”

“High praise from you,” Tariic said. He looked to the shifter. “Geth, I’m Tariic of Rhukaan Taash, nephew and emissary of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor.”

“I know,” said Geth. “Chetiin told me who you are.”

“What else has Chetiin told you?”

Geth scratched the thick stubble on his chin. “Enough to persuade me to follow him and meet you. That Haruuc needed me”—his hand dropped to the ancient sword at his side—“and Wrath. That Ekhaas was involved, too, which is really why I came. He didn’t say anything about Ashi.”

“He didn’t know about her,” Ekhaas told him. “None of us did. Ashi wasn’t part of our plans initially.”

He gave her a long look. “I think it’s time I heard more about these plans. Chetiin got me this far on your name, Ekhaas, but I didn’t agree to go any farther until I know more. I’m not sure I like people making plans around me without asking first.”

“I want to know what’s going on, too,” agreed Ashi.

“So,” said Vounn, “would I.”

The lady seneschal stood behind them, wrapped in a shawl against the night air. Her face, as ever, was expressionless, but her voice was firm.

Tariic scowled. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the cart?”

“You told your people to wait in the cart. Your authority doesn’t extend to me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Nor does it extend to my charge, yet it seems she’s become part of something. Please, enlighten me.”

“Who is this?” growled Geth.

“Geth, may I introduce Lady Seneschal Vounn d’Deneith, envoy of House Deneith to Lhesh Haruuc,” said Tariic tightly. “Lady Vounn, Geth.”

“She’s my mentor,” added Ashi.

Geth looked Vounn up and down and grunted.

Vounn’s lips pressed together. “Another figure from Ashi’s past,” she said.

Color rushed into Ashi’s face. “He’s my friend!”

“And mine,” said Ekhaas.

“He may be the one person,” said Tariic, his ears twitching, “who can prevent the collapse of Darguun when Haruuc dies.”