The tyranny of ghosts

CHAPTER TWELVE

27 Aryth

Tariic’s summons came more than a week after Senen’s mutilation and exile. Ashi had been expecting it, and she told herself that it was just coincidence that it came at a time when Oraan was not her guard. Tariic couldn’t know the changeling’s identity-could he?

Woshaar was the guard who delivered her to the throne room of Khaar Mbar’ost. He saluted his lhesh, then retreated. The great door of the chamber, a titanic slab of dark wood, slid down behind him, sealing Ashi in.

Tariic looked down on her from the blocky throne of Darguun, the Rod of Kings in his hand, a look of distaste on his face. “You’re a scab, Ashi. You itch, you’re ugly, and I want to tear you off and be rid of you.”

She remembered the first time she’d entered the throne room. It had been her and Vounn’s formal presentation to Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor. The hall had been crowded with Darguun’s warlords and clan chiefs, the walls hung with banners depicting their many crests. It had been night, and a mantle of shadows, emphasized rather than dispelled by scattered everbright lanterns, had rendered Haruuc powerful, proud, majestic, and mysterious.

Tariic had chosen to summon her by day. The sunlight that streamed through the tall windows behind the throne glowed around him-his presence was blinding. There were no warlords or emissaries today, only Pradoor beside him on the dais and his three deaf-mute bugbear guards to the side.

The crests of the clans, Ashi realized, had been removed. The only banner that remained showed the black silhouette of a spiky crown above a purple bar. The crown of Darguun over the Rod of Kings. The symbol Tariic had taken as his own.

Ashi raised her chin and met Tariic’s gaze. For the last week, Tariic’s actions and Midian’s parting words-a surprise visit to some old friends-had eaten at her, yet without Senen’s aid, she’d had no way of warning Geth and Ekhaas that the gnome was on their trail. Oraan had kept her in her chambers, partly to avoid additional suspicion from Tariic, partly, she was certain, to give her rage time to cool. It hadn’t.

“If I’m a scab,” she said, “that makes you a bleeding wound.”

Tariic’s ears went back. He slammed the rod down onto the arm of the throne. “I am lhesh! You owe me respect!”

Ashi didn’t flinch. “I owe you nothing,” she said. She raised her hands, letting the sunlight flash on the silver wrist cuffs. “Feel free to take back these beautiful trinkets, if you want.”

His ears went back even farther, and he hissed a word between his teeth. The bracelets grew chill, then cold. Ashi kept her face hard and her eyes fixed on Tariic. If Oraan had been there, she knew, he would have counseled patience, a smile, dissembling words. Senen and Vounn would have done the same, but where had dissembling gotten them?

The skin around the cuffs turned white. Pain tingled in Ashi’s fingertips and climbed her arms. She kept her eyes on Tariic even as cold tears blurred her vision. When she could taste ice in the back of her mouth, she finally bent her head.

“Atcha’rhu,” she said in Goblin. Your honor is great. It was a fight to keep her voice from trembling.

Tariic smiled benevolently and whispered again. The cold ebbed immediately. The fire in Ashi’s belly only burned hotter. “You are merciful, lhesh,” she said.

The bite of the comment seemed lost on Tariic, but maybe he believed he was. He sat back and gestured with the rod. “I have questions,” he said. It was a command, not a request, but Ashi spread her aching hands in silent invitation. Tariic snapped his fingers. “Pradoor.”

The old goblin priestess crouched down beside the throne. Craning her neck, Ashi could see that a rough arc of symbols had been drawn on the floor around her. Pradoor reached out and, with a certainty that was eerily at odds with her clouded eyes, let a handful of powder sift over coals in a metal bowl. Smoke rose around. Pradoor breathed it in and began chanting the words of a prayer calling on the gods of the Dark Six to separate lies from truth. Ashi felt Pradoor’s magic brush against her, a sensation like questing hands on her mind.

They found no grip, though-the power of her dragonmark protected her against more than just Tariic’s commands. While it shielded her, her mind was a blank page to all forms of divination and magical domination. Tariic had underestimated her. The fire in her belly grew a little more.

Pradoor didn’t seem to notice anything amiss in her spell. The chant faded. “Ask your questions, lhesh,” she croaked.

Tariic’s gaze hadn’t turned from Ashi. “How long have you known Geth and the others were in Volaar Draal?”

She thought quickly. “I found out when you did-when Senen confirmed it.” She let hate fill her voice, disguising the secret triumph she felt.

“Nu kuur doovol,” said Pradoor. “She speaks the truth.”

Tariic’s eyes narrowed. “Does she?”

Ashi wrinkled her nose and spat, “I do! How was I supposed to find out, Tariic? I haven’t had any contact with Senen. Your guards saw to that.”

“She speaks the truth.”

“Senen sang messages to Volaar Draal,” said Tariic. “If she could do that, she could sing a message anywhere in Khaar Mbar’ost.”

“She didn’t sing one to me,” Ashi snapped back. She folded her frost-numbed arms across her chest.

“She speaks the-”

“Just tell me if she lies, Pradoor!” roared Tariic. The old goblin’s blind eyes opened wide. She froze for an instant, then slowly bent her head. Tariic’s gaze came back to Ashi.

“Have you had contact with Dagii of Mur Talaan, then?”

“No.” A shiver of real fear crept across Ashi’s shoulders. If Tariic suspected Dagii, if he questioned him, he’d learn everything. She kept her voice firm. “Why would I jeopardize a friend after what you did to Senen?”

“Maybe you had contact with him before Senen’s treachery was revealed and punished.”

Ashi offered a silent prayer for the warlord’s safety. “I didn’t.”

Tariic’s eyes darted to Pradoor, but the priestess remained still and silent. He rested his chin on his fist and stared at Ashi. “The changeling who posed as Aruget?”

“I don’t know where he is.” The questions were too close. Her dragonmark might foil Pradoor’s spell, but Tariic was no fool. If he saw through her lies, they would all unravel. She had to turn the conversation back on him.

“I want to ask you a question,” she said. “In the hall of honor, when you tortured”-she put a hard emphasis on the word, but Tariic made no reaction-“Senen, Midian told me you were sending him on an errand. I think you sent him to try and kill Geth and the others.” She drew himself up. “Did he succeed?”

Tariic flicked his ears lazily, prolonging the answer. A fear that she hadn’t expected built in Ashi. Midian couldn’t actually have done it, could he?

“Yes,” said Tariic finally.

Her heart dropped. No…

Beside the throne, Pradoor’s expression tightened, and her face turned toward Tariic for an instant. The lhesh didn’t notice, but Ashi did. Tariic was lying-Pradoor’s spell had caught him! She felt her heart start beating again.

No, Ashi. She could almost hear Vounn’s voice. Tariic told that lie for a reason. Show people what they want to see, and they’ll believe it. Ashi swallowed her hope. She seized her despair and held onto it. She dredged up all her memories of loss-Vounn’s death, the death of her father, the realization that she was nothing more to House Deneith than an asset to be traded on-and hugged them close. Under such a burden, it was easy to crumble. Her shoulders went slack. Her breath stopped, then returned fast and shallow. Tears rose in her eyes.

She blinked them away-she’d never let Tariic see her cry, not for any reason.

And he was watching her, measuring her reaction. She found it easier than ever to hate him. “Do you have any more questions?” she asked harshly.

Again he paused before answering. “Those are all-for now.” He had the thin smile of a merchant who’d just come out on the better end of a bargain.

“Then if I may leave you,” Ashi said, taking refuge in formality, “I have duties to House Deneith that I must see to.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just bent her head once, then turned and marched to the throne room door. It was still closed, but she stood facing it, staring at the dark wood with her back to Tariic. After a long while, she heard the lhesh shout, “Open the throne room!”

As soon as the creaking door had risen high enough, she ducked under so quickly her appearance startled Woshaar, and the guard had to run after her. Ashi didn’t look back at him. She walked to her chambers with her head high and her expression hard, a mask to hide the racing energy inside.

Tariic had made a mistake. It was up to her to take advantage of it.

Oraan’s turn as her guard came that evening. No sooner had Woshaar walked away, than Oraan stepped into her chambers, closed the door, and hissed, “What were you doing? What were you thinking? You could have given us away!”

In the chair that had been Senen’s, Ashi glared back at him. “I didn’t exactly go looking for Tariic. He summoned me.”

“And what have I been telling you? Keep your head down and your voice quiet. All of Khaar Mbar’ost has been talking about your visit to the throne room. They say you came out looking like Tariic had slapped you. Tariic’s saying it was a reaction to bad news from House Deneith.” The changeling stood straight and crossed his arms, his ears flicking just like a real hobgoblin’s. “Tell me what really happened.”

Without getting up, Ashi did. Oraan’s ears went lower and lower. By the time she had finished, his lips had pulled back from his teeth. “You were lucky,” he said. “We were lucky.”

“Have you talked to Dagii lately?” Ashi asked. “I know Tariic hasn’t questioned him, but has he done anything to him?”

Oraan gave her a sideways glance, as if the question puzzled him. “I’m keeping my distance. I haven’t talked to Dagii, but I’ve seen him. Tariic has been forcing him out to more public appearance-rallies, speeches by the warlord who brought Darguun triumph over the Valenar, that sort of thing. He’s using him to keep the people at a frenzy. I wouldn’t want to be an elf in Rhukaan Draal right now.”

“Have you found out anything more about what the Kech Shaarat are doing here or why Tariic has been dealing so heavily with the dragonmarked houses?”

“I said I’ve been keeping my distance. This isn’t the time to draw attention.”

“We’re going to have to risk it,” said Ashi. “And you can start by making contact with Dagii. We need to know more about whatever he might have learned in the last week.”

Oraan’s ears stood straight. “Not at the expense of revealing ourselves, we don’t! Tariic’s already suspicious. An agent who’s caught is no good to anyone. We need to keep our heads down more than ever, move slowly-”

“No.” Ashi looked up at him. The rage that had simmered inside her since she’d left the throne room rose to a boil. “I’ve had enough of moving slowly. One of my friends is dead because of Tariic. Another one will never sing again. An assassin is hunting others. I’ve had enough. I want to stop Tariic, and hiding in my chambers isn’t going to make that happen.”

Oraan bared his teeth again. “Listen to me, Ashi,” he growled. “You’ve been very lucky so far, but this isn’t a game for amateurs. Midian may be gone, but anyone could be eyes and ears for-”

Ashi stood up and thrust her face into his. “When do I stop being an amateur, Oraan? When Geth, Ekhaas, Chetiin, Tenquis, and Dagii-and maybe even you-are all dead? When I have no allies left? I can’t just put on another face and become someone else. I only have one life. You’ve got the King’s Citadel of Breland behind you. I don’t even have the support of my house anymore.” She poked a finger into the middle of his chest. “Whatever Tariic is planning, I’m going to find out.”

He grabbed her hand and pushed it away. “Ashi-”

Ashi twisted her hand in his grasp, grabbed onto his wrist, and wrenched his arm around. Surprise crossed the changeling’s face, and he tried to twist back, but Ashi had grown up wrestling the other children of the savage Bonetree Clan. She kicked Oraan’s feet out from under him as he turned, and went down with him as he fell, pinning him under her.

Hunter of the Shadow Marches. Lady of Deneith. She was a child of both worlds-why deny either?

“Dagii and Senen asked me to find out what Tariic wants with the dragonmarked houses,” she said in Oraan’s ear. “I’m going to. You can help me, or you can get out of my way.”

She turned him loose and stood back. Oraan lay on the floor for a moment, then rolled over and looked up at her. He smiled, a grin without any humor or warmth at all.

“Welcome to the game,” he said. “Where do you want to start?”

She was ready for him. “A week ago, I could have followed the advice Senen gave me-trade on the other houses’ curiosity about Vounn’s death. I think that source of interest will have been overtaken by Senen’s mutilation now.” Ashi sat down. “Vounn always said that the essence of diplomacy is using what people want to get what you need. The only thing I’ve got right now that the other houses would want is a direct line of communication to Tariic.”

Oraan’s ears stood straight as he rose. “You don’t exactly have Tariic’s favor.”

“The other houses don’t know that.” Ashi lifted her chin. “As far as they know, I’m still Deneith’s special envoy to Darguun-Tariic made that clear, didn’t he? And he honored me today with a private audience to deliver bad news. I must be in his good graces.”

“But the dragonmarked houses are already doing fast business with Tariic. How can you offer the viceroys a closer connection than that?”

“You don’t understand the mindset of the houses,” said Ashi with a smile. “They’ll always want more. Special treatment, secret information, whatever they can get to give them an advantage.” She sat back in her chair. “We should start with Redek d’Deneith. Baron Breven put him in charge of day-to-day Deneith operations in Darguun. I think it’s time I found out what my own house has been up to.”

9 Vult

However much energy she had, there were still civilities and practical matters to deal with. Ashi couldn’t just march up to the viceroys of the dragonmarked houses that maintained enclaves in Rhukaan Draal. Some, like Pater d’Orien, she knew fairly well. Others, like the viceroys of Houses Vadalis and Sivis, she hardly knew at all. Not all of the viceroys were immediately available. Redek operated from the large Deneith enclave at the Gathering Stone, two days’ ride north of the city-it took time to summon him and for him to arrive. Nor was he in a talkative mood when he finally did. It took considerable charm to persuade him that she had a right to know what was happening with Deneith’s resources.

The viceroys-and often their staffs-weren’t her only obstacles. As much as she might disdain him, Ashi was sharply aware of Tariic’s attention. He could put a stop to her investigations with a word, even if she claimed to be about the business of House Deneith. She could still only make her calls on the viceroys when Oraan was her escort. At least she was doing something, though. She woke up every day ready to face the wall of Tariic’s ambition. If she didn’t know whether Geth and the others had survived Midian’s visit, she tried to believe that they had. After all, there was no sign of Midian, either.

The information that flowed to her was slow but sweet like honey. The problem was that it didn’t fit together in any but the most obvious of ways.

Twelve days after Tariic had summoned her to the throne room, she pulled out her grandfather’s sword and began to sharpen it. The bright blade never actually needed sharpening or polishing, but it had been her duty to do so as a child when the sword had belonged to her father, then huntmaster of the Bonetree Clan. The sound of the whetstone against the steel was like meditation. It kept her sane.

Senen and Dagii’s assessment had been correct. Tariic was paying the dragonmarked houses with the tribute he exacted from the adoring clans of Darguun. A portion of that money went to House Deneith for the hiring of mercenaries-quite a reversal for the house that more typically made money by brokering the services of Darguul warriors. Squads of war wizards and battle-hardened warlocks had joined the hobgoblin troops that ranged along the border of Darguun and the Mournland. That was sensible, Ashi knew. The elves of Valenar had an edge on the goblins of Darguun in both magic and mobility. The mercenary spellcasters provided by Deneith would even out one of those advantages.

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-”

“Wait.” Munta stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Skullreave?” She nodded. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?” Ashi tried to remember what Pater had said of the place. “It’s halfway between Olkhaan and Gorgonhorn.”

“And just as far from the Mournland as it is from either of them.” Munta hauled himself out of his chair and went to a shelf on the wall. Sorting through several rolls of paper, he selected one and unrolled it on the table. It was a map of Darguun and the surrounding regions, Ashi saw. Not terribly recent, but recent enough. Munta pointed at the location marked Olkhaan, northeast of Rhukaan Draal. “Less than a day’s march to the border of the Mournland.”

His finger moved to Gorgonhorn in the extreme north and east of the country. “Right on the border,” he said. His finger went to Skullreave, midway between the other two locations-but much father west. “Nearly a week’s march,” Munta said. “Useless if you’re fighting anything coming out of the Mournland.”

“But relatively safe from Valenar attacking across the border. That makes it a perfect supply base.” Ashi looked up from the map to see tension in Munta’s face. “Doesn’t it?”

“It looks like the perfect supply base,” the old warlord said somberly. “Haruuc thought the same thing twenty years ago. I helped him with the plans.”

“Plans for defense against the Valenar?” Ashi asked, then realized her mistake. “No, twenty years ago there was no Mournland. The Last War was still raging. Haruuc was planning a defense against reconquest by Cyre.”

“A good guess,” said Munta, “and that’s what outsiders were intended to assume. But the defense against Cyre was a ruse. The plans were for attack.” He put his finger back on Skullreave and moved it again, this time northwest around the end of the Seawall Mountains-and into Breland.