The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 (15 page)

Ashi considered the map again and a mad idea occurred to
her. So mad it might have occurred to Tariic himself. “Could Tariic be planning a counterattack on Valenar?” she asked. The stretch of the Mournland that lay between Darguun and Valenar was relatively narrow. A madman or a tyrant might try marching a force through the nightmare landscape.

“Not even Tariic would be that crazy,” said Dagii. “It would be a massacre. Any troops that survived the Mournland would be easy prey for the Valenar on the other side. Besides, his forces are spread out, not concentrated for a swift strike east. And there’s more.” He nodded to Senen, who took up the thread of evidence.

“I’ve heard it spoken in Khaar Mbar’ost that Tariic is demanding tribute of the Ghaal’dar clans of the lowlands and of the loyal Marguul tribes of the mountains.” Her ears flicked. “Tribute in the form of coins and gems.”

The disgust in her voice was biting. Ashi waited for her to explain further but there was nothing. The ambassador of the Kech Volaar sat back as if she’d already proved her case. Ashi raised an eyebrow. “In the Five Nations, that’s called taxes.”

“But it’s not how things are done among the
dar
,” said Senen. “Tribute is paid in service or possibly goods, not with money. That is the way it has always been.”

“Maybe Tariic is trying something new.”

“At the same time he clings to the old?” asked Dagii. “He levies warriors from the clans as well. With the power of the Rod of Kings behind him, no one in the assembly of warlords says no.”

“He spent a lot of money buying popularity among the people after Haruuc’s death. Maybe he’s trying to replenish the treasury,” Ashi suggested. “He must have debts.”

“He doesn’t pay them,” said Senen. “His creditors meet with him and go away with full smiles but empty hands.”

Ashi wrinkled her nose. “The rod again. What’s he doing with the money then?”

“Deneith isn’t the only dragonmarked house he courts favor with.”

“But Deneith is the only house interested in what Darguun
has to offer—” She broke off as she realized what Senen was really saying. “He’s
buying
from the other houses.”

“And they seem to appreciate the business,” said Dagii. “Tariic needs money because he might be able to control the local viceroys and envoys with the rod, but the lords of the houses beyond Darguun would notice if debts went unpaid. But we haven’t been able to find out what he’s buying. We need someone who can move among the viceroys.”

“Me,” Ashi said. Her part in the gathering of intelligence fell into place. “I’m not exactly in demand at the enclaves of the other houses right now, though.”

“You underestimate yourself,” said Senen, leaning forward. “The viceroys inquire after you. Vounn’s murder is still the subject of much speculation and—forgive my bluntness—no one was closer to her at that moment than you.”

A vague feeling of nausea swirled at the back of Ashi’s throat. “You want me to use Vounn’s death to get close to the representatives of the other dragonmarked houses.”

“It sounds dishonorable to her memory,” Dagii said, “but it is for a greater good. I think Vounn might have approved.”

Ashi gave him a hard glare. Aruget’s ears dipped. “There are other ways, Ashi. All you need to do is find out what Tariic wants from the other houses—and you are the one of us with the best chance to do it.”

She turned her glare on the changeling. “You brought me here to ask me this?”

To her surprise, Aruget looked to Senen and Dagii. Senen sat stone-faced. Dagii’s ears flicked, then flicked again. “Not entirely,” he said. “If we could have, we would have waited longer. But we had to move today. Something happened last night.”

It was probably a mark of how much time she’d been spending around hobgoblins that she almost felt as if her ears perked up. “What?”

Dagii rose and went over to the shuttered windows. Easing one open just a little way, he gestured for her to look outside.

The window overlooked a wide yard of beaten earth. At first glance, she saw only ranks of hobgoblin soldiers performing drills while others practiced combat in small groups. Across the courtyard, she recognized the standard of the Iron Fox. There was another standard beside it, though—an upright sword blade mounted within a ring at the end of a pole. But if there was a second standard on display … Ashi looked at the soldiers in the yard again.

There were two groups, she realized. They trained together, but not as comrades. In fact, one of the groups appeared to be thoroughly dominating the other in every combat and at every drill. The losing soldiers looked like those she was familiar with seeing around Rhukaan Draal—warriors from disparate clans united in a military company. Many of them wore the sign of the Iron Fox.

The dominant soldiers were different. They were subtly bigger. They were better armed and armored. They had a unified look, as if they’d all received the same training since they were young. Since they were
very
young, judging by the way they fought and moved. Many of them bore brands on their faces that resembled the sword blade standard.

“Kech Shaarat,” said Senen softly from over Ashi’s shoulder. “Warriors from another of the Dhakaani clans. They arrived last night.”

“Tariic instructed them to take quarters here with the Iron Fox,” Dagii said. “They claim that they’re here to aid the patrols against the Valenar.” He closed the shutter.

“Are they?” asked Ashi.

“Fight the Valenar? Perhaps,” said Senen. “Patrol under the command of lowland clans? Never.” Her ears bent. “Something is going to happen. That’s why we needed to talk to you today. Will you do it, Ashi? Will you find out what Tariic wants with the dragonmarked houses?”

“Will you do it for Vounn’s memory?” asked Dagii.

Ashi’s jaw tightened. “I will.”

Aruget didn’t want to stay at the barracks too long, and they left quickly. On the street, he became Oraan once more, reassuming the demeanor of a resentful guard escorting his willful charge on a damp morning. For appearances, Ashi continued her walk down to the river’s edge before turning back to Khaar Mbar’ost. The wandering gave her time to think. How best to approach the viceroys of the other dragonmarked houses? If Senen was right—and she probably was—they would be eager to gossip with her, but Ashi was certain they would also be tight-lipped about their dealings with Tariic. Approaching one before the others would also raise their suspicions and close their mouths. She needed a way to greet all of them casually at or around the same time.

The opportunity came more easily than she had hoped. As she turned the corner of the hallway outside her chambers, she found two figures waiting for her. One was another of her escorts, Woshaar, ready to take over the duty of watching her—Oraan nodded to him, released her into his care, and departed without even glancing at her. He played his role flawlessly.

The other was a goblin wearing the red corded armband that indicated his service to the lord of Khaar Mbar’ost. “Lhesh Tariic sends a message to Lady Ashi d’Deneith,” he said. “There will be a feast tonight in the hall of honor. You will attend.”

The command drew out a flash of anger, even if the feast was the answer she was looking for. The viceroys and envoys would attend, and she could move among them without her conversations seeming out of place. She bit back her anger. “Tell Lhesh Tariic I am honored,” she said.

“He does not wish a reply.” The goblin bowed and departed.

Ashi’s anger burned a little higher. She turned on Woshaar. “I require hot water and a bathing tub. Demand them of the next servant that passes.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing a startled expression on the guard’s face before she marched into her chambers and slammed the door behind her.

When she had first come to House Deneith and Vounn, one of the house’s most talented ambassadors, had begun the task of turning a barbarian hunter of the Shadow Marches into a proper lady of Deneith, Ashi had chafed at her mentor’s lessons. Particularly those on dress and style. What was the use, she had thought then, of knowing which kinds of sleeves and collars were in fashion, or of knowing that yellow didn’t suit her complexion? Understanding the value of what Vounn taught her had come slowly. Too slowly maybe, Ashi suspected. She’d eventually made her peace with Vounn, and they’d found a respect for each other, but there were some things Ashi hadn’t really found a true appreciation for until after Vounn’s death. The value of masking her true emotions. The necessity of submitting to demands in the short term with an eye on the future.

The potential power in her own appearance.

She emerged from her chambers as the sun set, striding past Woshaar without pause. Her escort fell in close behind her, and turning her head slightly, Ashi caught him giving her surreptitious glances. He seemed to carry himself with more pride than she’d seen before as well, as if suddenly she was worth keeping watch over. He wasn’t the only one whose reaction changed at the sight of her. Servants looked away from her, turning their faces to the ground. Hobgoblin warriors whom she recognized from their service around Khaar Mbar’ost glanced at her, and then looked back and stared. She passed a warlord, Iizan of the wealthy Ghaal Sehn clan, on his way to the feast and deep in conversation with another clan chief. Iizan actually paused, mouth closed, eyes wide, to watch her go by. Ashi raised her head and swept on, up the broad stairs of Khaar Mbar’ost to the hall of honor, the vast chamber that ran from one side of the fortress to the other.

She wore the clothes that Vounn had given her for their first presentation to Haruuc only three months before. A gown
suitable for a feast in the Five Nations would do little to impress the goblins of Darguun, so the outfit resembled a parade uniform with polished boots, trim trousers, and a cropped jacket bearing the crest of House Deneith in silver thread. Her sword hung from a belt likewise trimmed with silver. But tonight the Darguuls weren’t the only ones she wanted to impress, and Ashi had taken more care with her hair than she’d ever taken in her life. Washed and brushed, it shone like old gold. She’d pulled it back in a style that was stern but not severe. Commanding, Vounn had called it. Ashi had even raided the small pots of cosmetics her mentor had left. The patterns of the dragonmark that curled over her cheeks made rouge ridiculous, but a light hand with powders around her eyes gave her gaze a startling intensity.

She was a lady of Deneith, and none of the envoys of the other dragonmarked houses could dare deny it.

Ashi paused in the doorway of the hall of honor just long enough for those near the door to get a good look at her—and for her to scan the vast room for familiar faces. The hall was crowded. A long table ran much of the hall’s length, taking up space, but even so there were more bodies present than could have sat at it. That was tradition at hobgoblin feasts, she’d learned. Important guests sat and were served. Less important guests lingered on the fringes.

She spotted Pater d’Orien and Dannel d’Cannith. They would make a good place to start her inquiries. Ashi took a goblet of wine from a passing servant and moved into the crowd to join them.

She didn’t get far. A hand reached out from among the shifting bodies and caught the hem of her jacket. “You’ve put an effort into looking your best tonight, Ashi,” said Midian.

Disgust mingled with fear raced through her, but she kept it from her face. Did Midian somehow know what she was up to? Had the puppet already told his master? Ashi forced herself to answer. “Tariic commanded my presence, and I am the face of Deneith in Rhukaan Draal, aren’t I?”

She poured acid into the words as if her appearance was just some attempt to defy Tariic’s power. It seemed to work. Midian’s eyes narrowed briefly, and he gave a mocking little bow.

“Your clothes complement your bracelets,” he said. “I’m sure people will be asking about them all night.”

“Blood in your mouth, Midian.”

“Now, now. No need for obscure Shadow Marches insults, as colorful as they might be.” He took her hand. “There are people you need to meet.”

“I don’t think so.” Ashi tried to take her hand back.

Midian clung to it like a clam to a rock—not with any particular strength but with a determined attachment. “I do. You’re the face of Deneith after all.”

Ashi threw a glance at Woshaar, standing poised in her shadow, and briefly wished Oraan were the one with her tonight, then realized how pointless that would be anyway. In a room full of witnesses, Oraan would do nothing to betray himself. He would do the same thing as Woshaar—follow blank-faced as Tariic’s royal historian dragged her off into the crowd. She caught another glimpse of Pater d’Orien and Dannel d’Cannith watching as well, probably jealous of the special favor she was being shown.

Ashi gave in and let Midian lead her. She’d have another chance with Pater and Dannel. This might even give her a better chance to talk to them. They’d want to know whom she had met. Through the crowd, she caught the eye of Dagii and, a moment later, Senen. The gaze of the ambassador of the Kech Volaar slid over her without acknowledging her presence, but Dagii’s gaze lingered for just an instant. His lips pressed tightly together, and his ears flicked back.