The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 (25 page)

Magebred horses purchased through House Vadalis would even the other. Ashi had seen some of the beautiful mounts for herself at Vadalis’s small enclave on the outskirts of Rhukaan Draal. Kravin d’Vadalis assured her that they were very nearly the equal of Valenar warhorses.

Vadalis’s dealings with Tariic had a more mundane side as well—magebred hogs and cattle, fat and meaty provisions on the hoof, passed along the roads of Darguun and out to supply bases. Other dragonmarked houses provided similarly mundane services. Tariic had hired stonespeakers from the gnomes of House Sivis and healers from the halflings of House Jorasco. Magewrights of House Cannith were in the field as well, providing maintenance for the arms and armor of Tariic’s soldiers. Pater d’Orien was probably the busiest viceroy of all. His caravans ferried dragonmarked personnel and supplies to the places Tariic needed them.

Only House Lyrandar was absent—they’d thrown in their lot with Valenar by providing their raiders with flying transportation above the dangers of the Mournland. Ashi was confident none of the other houses would make that mistake. Any services they offered to Darguun would also be offered to Valenar in a nod to the neutrality of commerce.

There was no neutrality in Rhukaan Draal, though. Every viceroy Ashi had spoken with had the same look of admiration whenever they’d mentioned Tariic’s name. She recognized the power of the Rod of Kings at work. If a matriarch or patriarch of one of the houses had chanced to visit Darguun, any illusion of neutrality would have vanished. For a while at least, the heads of the houses were content to keep their distance and collect the lhesh’s money as he orchestrated a massive mobilization of troops aimed squarely at an enemy that had attacked Darguun once already.

And just as Haruuc had foreseen, it seemed as if no one cared whether Darguun and Valenar—upstart nations carved out of human territory during the Last War—prepared to wipe each other from the map. So long as they kept things between themselves.

The problem was, as far as Ashi could tell, there was still no sign of Valenar response. The raiders Dagii had defeated seemed to have fled entirely. If there were Valenar lurking in the Mournland, they were staying very quiet. There were rumors that all of the elven warclans were gathering on the other side of the Mournland’s deadly expanse, but nothing confirmed.

Tariic was preparing a strong defense. What was wrong with that?

Everything, Ashi told herself. And nothing.

Skiirrr
, went the whetstone down one side of her sword, then
skiirrr
down the other.

The door opened and Oraan entered to start another evening’s “guard duty.” Ashi glanced up at him, then away. He would speak when he felt it was absolutely safe. Finally, he did. “Dagii has no news.”

Skiirrr. “Rond betch,”
muttered Ashi, an old Bonetree curse. She put the whetstone aside and took up a piece of soft cloth. “Can you be more specific?”

“Tariic’s still treating him like a hero. The Darguuls can’t get enough of him—”

“Goblins like their heroes,” Ashi commented.

“—but Tariic still isn’t telling him anything. Dagii’s worried that the Iron Fox company is turning into a ceremonial guard, so he’s had Keraal slip some hard fighting into their daily training.”

Ashi paused in her polishing. “He doesn’t worry Tariic will notice?”

Oraan’s ears twitched. “He has them fighting the Kech Shaarat. I think Tariic likes the conflict. The Iron Fox is in for a battle, though. Riila Dhakaan and Taak Dhakaan are settling a third contingent into the barracks tonight, and it’s the biggest yet.”

“Has there been any clue of where the last one was sent?” Ashi asked. The first Kech Shaarat to arrive in Rhukaan Draal had been worrying. To have a second and then a third pass through on their way to the border of the Mournland—that much they knew, though nothing specific—nagged at her.

Oraan shook his head.

Ashi grimaced. She gave her sword a final swipe with the polishing cloth, then slid the sword into its sheath. “We’re missing something.”

“Dagii said the same thing. But what?”

Ashi sat back. “We’re stalking a mud pig.” When Oraan looked at her quizzically, she shook her head. “It’s something adults in the Shadow Marches do to get rid of children for a while—send them off to look for an animal that doesn’t exist. It gives the adults some calm until the children give up, figure it out, or die trying.”

Oraan’s ears rose up high. Ashi shrugged. “It’s a hard place. The game teaches children too. The mud pig is supposed to be able to move without making any noise and without leaving any tracks. The only way to catch one is to be just as quiet as it is, to act like it would, to think like it does—”

The insight that burst into her mind surprised even her. She sat up straight. “That’s what we’re missing,” she said. “We need to think like Tariic. Like a hobgoblin.”

“I have some experience in that sort of thing,” Oraan pointed out. “And Dagii
is
a hobgoblin.”

“But you’re not a Darguul warlord, and Dagii’s not the right kind of hobgoblin. He thinks about
atcha
and
muut
. He’s too damn noble. We need someone who has Tariic’s kind of ambition and guile.”

“Aguus of Traakuum,” said Oraan. “Or Daavn of Marhaan. But they belong to Tariic. We couldn’t ask them without him finding out.”

“I have someone else in mind,” Ashi said. She stood and grabbed a cloak. With the year turning toward mid-winter, even
Rhukaan Draal was becoming cold by night. “We’re going for a walk.”

The guards at the gates of Khaar Mbar’ost let her and Oraan pass without comment. If there was one good thing about living in a fortress with creatures as comfortable by night as by day, Ashi thought, it was that no one paid much attention to when you came or went.

She led Oraan in the direction of the
Khaari Batuuvk
, the Bloody Market. It was quieter by night than by day, though even more dangerous with only desperate or particularly unsavory merchants remaining open through the late watches. Ashi turned aside before the street opened onto the market and its maze of stalls, though. For a city founded only thirty years before, this area of Rhukaan Draal was relatively old—some of the first structures built, after Haruuc had more or less razed the Cyran market town that had once stood on the site, had been built here. Haruuc himself had made one of the early buildings his base of power while Khaar Mbar’ost was built. Tradition held strong, and while there were better parts of Rhukaan Draal, the warlords of some of the largest and most powerful clans still kept their city seats there.

A banner with a crest depicting a fanged maw wreathed in flames hung on the house where she stopped. A hobgoblin guard stood before the door. “Ashi d’Deneith will see Munta the Gray of Gantii Vus,” she told him in Goblin.

The guard looked her over, a glimmer of recognition in his eye, but his ears flicked back. “Munta sees no one,” he said. He sounded a little sad about it.

“Announce me,” said Ashi. “Munta will speak to me.”

“He sees no one. By his command, he is to be left alone.”

Ashi held down a growl of frustration and stepped a few paces back from the front of the building. The house had been built
like a miniature fortress with the windows small and high above the street. Many windows still showed light, though, including one that was slightly larger than the rest and commanded a view of the Bloody Market. Ashi cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed up, “Munta! Ashi d’Deneith wants to talk to you. Get your nose out of your cup and let me in!”

She was no
duur’kala
, but she could still summon up an impressive shout. Her call echoed along the street. The guard looked startled, uncertain of how to handle this challenge. Oraan just looked nervous. He swept the street with his gaze as if checking who might have heard.

Up in the window, a fat figure moved. Ashi called again, this time more respectfully. “Elder warrior, speak to me. I need your experience!”

She lowered her hands and waited. After a long moment, she thought she heard someone shout a command inside the house. A few moments more and the door of the house opened. A goblin servant stuck his head out. “Munta will speak with you,” he said, and stood aside to let them in.

By human standards, the city house of the Gantii Vus was barren, but after weeks among Darguuls, Ashi could recognize signs of the clan’s proud history in the weapons hung on walls and the carvings of battle and triumph on the sparse furnishings. There was a fine layer of dust over everything, though, a sense of wear to edges and corners, as if the clan—or its warlord—had lost some of that ancient pride.

Munta met them in a room hung with trophies—more weapons, pieces of armor, a few grislier relics of past fights. The room smelled strongly of old sweat and alcohol. Ashi guessed that this was where Munta had been spending most of his time recently. The old warlord who had been Haruuc’s first ally waited for them by the window. When Ashi had first met him, she’d seen a hobgoblin well past his prime but still vigorous and keen-eyed, his remaining muscle hidden behind a padding of fat. She hadn’t seen Munta since the day of their failed assassination of
Tariic. The change in him was sad. He truly looked old. If there were muscles left behind his fat, they were slack and weak. His eyes were dull and bloodshot.

“
Saa
, Ashi,” he said. He gestured with a cup, a simple pewter tumbler, to the flagon that stood on a table.
“Korluaat?”

She shook her head at the offer of the fiery liquor. Munta shrugged and drained his cup, then looked at Oraan. “Who are you?”

“Oraan of Rhukaan Taash.” Oraan thumped his chest in a salute.

“My escort,” said Ashi. “Tariic wants to be sure I’m protected.”

“Tariic?” A little life returned to Munta’s face. “You’re still in favor with him. Could you pass a message to him? Tell him I want to serve. Ask him to put me out in the field. I may not be as strong as I used to be, but my mind is still sharp.”

“I’ll tell him,” Ashi promised.

Munta smiled and nodded. Wrinkled old ears twitched. “I think the lhesh doubts my loyalty,” he said. “When he first took the throne, I spoke harshly of his decision to exclude me from the battle with the Valenar. Then when the traitors tried to kill him, I failed to capture that
taat
Geth. Lhesh Tariic needs to know that I only want to serve him. I need to be useful.”

The insidious influence of the Rod of Kings on a proud warlord made Ashi grind her teeth in anger. She remembered standing with Munta in the hall of honor and listening to his complaints before Tariic had gotten his hands on the rod. The lord of the Gantii Vus had been angry, not mewling and servile. That was as compelling a reason as any to block Tariic’s plans!

“Tariic doesn’t invite you to court?” she asked.

“He invited me to stay away,” Munta said bitterly. “I’ve been set aside, an ‘honor’ for my service to Haruuc. I haven’t seen the lhesh in weeks.”

“Good.” Ashi reached out, laid a hand on Munta’s arm, and drew on the power of her dragonmark. It flashed hot across her
skin, then passed into Munta. He drew a sharp breath, as if he’d been plunged into icy water, and stumbled. Ashi caught his arm and held him up. “Munta?”

“Maabet!”
he cursed. He blinked as if waking from a dream. “What was that?”

“My dragonmark shielding you. How do you feel?” She looked at him closely. “How do you feel about Tariic?”

“Tariic? I … he …” Munta frowned. “Why do I want to drop down on my knees before him?”

“Oraan, watch the door,” said Ashi. “Make sure no one disturbs us. Munta, you need to sit down.”

She told him the story of the Rod of Kings as quickly and briefly as she could. Haruuc’s fall under the rod’s curse and Tariic’s discovery of its power. The truth of their attempt to kill Tariic before he could take possession of the rod. Their failure. Tariic’s utter dominance of the warlords—including him. “The protection of my dragonmark will only last for a day,” she said. “If you want to stay free of the rod’s power, you need to leave Rhukaan Draal and avoid Tariic.”

Munta bared teeth that were yellowed but still sharp. “I’ll be leaving,” he said. “Tariic has earned an enemy in the Gantii Vus!”

“Don’t defy him,” said Ashi. “He has all the power. He could destroy your clan without hesitating—I know that he would.” She’d left Oraan’s true identity and Dagii’s most recent involvement out of her story, just in case Munta fell under Tariic’s influence again after all. She hoped it wouldn’t happen, but Tariic seemed to have a way of defying hope itself.

Munta nodded. “We’ll join the Silent Clans and go into hiding if we have to.” He looked at her, though, his eyes glittering with his old cunning. “But you didn’t free me just to give me a warning, did you? You could have done that weeks ago. What do you want from me?”

“What I said in the street. Your experience.” She rose from a crouch beside him and paced the room. “Tariic is building up
an army along the border of the Mournland, but that doesn’t make sense. I know I’m missing something. Tariic says it’s all to counter the Valenar, but there’s been no Valenar activity since Dagii defeated them at Zarrthec. Tariic has been buying the services of dragonmarked houses too. He’s got troops and supplies and hirelings pouring into the Darguul towns and villages closest to the Mournland.” She ticked off on her fingers the destinations of Orien caravans that she’d learned from Pater. “Zarrthec, Olkhaan, Skullreave, Gorgonhorn—”