The tyranny of ghosts

CHAPTER TWO

7 Aryth

Ashi d’Deneith stood on the dais of the throne room of Khaar Mbar’ost, stared out over the mob of Darguul warlords, and remembered another moment, just a week shy of four months earlier, when she had stood on a similar dais. The occasion had been the arrival of Tariic, ambassador of Darguun and nephew of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor, in Sentinel Tower, home fortress of House Deneith. Ashi had been waiting to perform for Tariic, her mentor Vounn d’Deneith’s firm hand restraining her eagerness.

But Vounn was dead. Ashi stood at the left hand of Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn in his fortress, restrained by the threat of a sharp knife.

And yet she was still performing.

Drums beat slowly as two guards marched down the central aisle of the throne room. They dragged a gruesome burden behind them-the corpse of a bugbear with every scrap of skin flayed away, from foot to face. The thing had been laid on a mat of coarse burlap to keep it from leaving a trail of blood across the floor, but even so, red smears-and the turning heads of Darguul warlords-marked its progress through the room.

The guards brought the corpse to the foot of the dais and stepped aside so that Tariic could look down on it. He did, then looked to the crowd. “This was Makka,” he said, “who shamed me by murdering a guest and an ally and by nearly doing the same to another.” He spoke formal Goblin but Ashi understood it easily-Ekhaas had taught her the language. Tariic looked to his right. “Pradoor, is this just?”

The elderly goblin priestess whose prayers had dragged Ashi back from sharing Vounn’s fate glanced with disdain at the tortured corpse of her former servant. Or rather seemed to stare with milk-blind eyes that saw more than they had any right to. “It is just, lhesh,” she answered.

Tariic turned and looked at Ashi. “Ashi d’Deneith, does this cleanse the honor of Darguun in the eyes of House Deneith?”

Ashi stood straight and spoke, also in Goblin, the words that were required of her. “It does, lhesh.”

“Then let this thing be taken from our presence,” Tariic said, his words rising. “Take it through the streets, and throw it in the dust beyond the city. Let all Darguuls know Makka’s fate and let them learn from it. For I am Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn, and their honor belongs to me!”

Cheers and applause-predominantly goblin applause, an open hand slapped against the chest-filled the throne room. The guards gripped the burlap cradling Makka’s corpse and dragged it back up the aisle. The nearest warlords leaned out and spat on the corpse as it passed. Cheers and applause settled into the buzz of any crowd.

Ashi’s hands clenched into fists. Tariic looked up at her from the throne. “Well done, Ashi,” he said in the human tongue. “Be patient.”

For anyone else in the great hall, the words would have been a command. Tariic held the Rod of Kings, braced casually against his knee, in his right hand. Ashi felt the power of the artifact try to take hold of her-and felt it skitter aside like a blade against armor as it encountered the power of the dragonmark that patterned her body. Maintaining the power of the mark that shielded her from the rod’s influence had become her new discipline. On each of the four days since Vounn’s death-and, very nearly, her own-she’d risen with the sun, reached into herself, and drawn up the clarity of the mark’s protection.

She gave Tariic a thin smile. “You can convince everyone in this room that what happened was Makka’s fault alone, Tariic,” she said quietly, “but Breven d’Deneith is beyond your reach.”

Tariic’s ears just twitched, and he looked back out to the waiting crowd. He lifted a hand, and half the warlords, thinking he was pointing to them, started calling his name. He indicated Ashi, and there was a smattering of renewed applause. In the gallery above the hall, the envoys of the dragonmarked houses and the ambassadors of the nations beyond Darguun looked down on her with nothing but pity. Pradoor’s voice rose in an ear-pinching cackle unmoved by Makka’s harsh death.

“They would welcome the Fury’s kiss if you suggested it, lhesh!”

Ashi’s stomach twisted, but she kept her face still. By rights those in the throne room should have glared at her with hatred or at the very least mistrust, not offered her applause. Only six days ago, she’d been part of an attempt to kill a king. Every one of them had witnessed it. In any other nation, she would already have been executed as an assassin. The Rod of Kings had changed that.

The rod-and Vounn’s murder and her own near death at Makka’s hands. She could still feel the sword, her own grandfather’s honor blade, in her chest and the weight of Vounn’s body against hers. She suppressed a shudder.

Tariic had needed an explanation for what had taken place. Why had former friends attempted to so publicly assassinate him? Why had a member of his entourage attacked and killed two highly placed members of House Deneith? The answer to one question would have revealed the powers of the Rod of Kings to the world; the answer to the other would have destabilized any confidence other nations or the dragonmarked houses might have had in his reign. And yet, Ashi had to admit, Tariic had brilliantly turned both events to his benefit.

The rod’s powers of command could be subtle, it seemed, as well as overwhelming. Tariic had spoken, the Rod of Kings in his hand, and earlier reports rushed out of Darguun by means magical and mundane were recanted. In the minds of the warlords, envoys, and ambassadors, Geth and the others had become traitors intent on upsetting the fragile reign of the new lhesh and destroying Darguun-never mind that they’d all been hailed only weeks earlier as the saviors of the nation. Makka had become one of the traitors, trying to destroy the vital relationship between Darguun and House Deneith. Ashi-her role in the attempt virtually erased-was a lucky survivor and Vounn an unfortunate martyr.

Makka’s execution in the dungeons of Khaar Mbar’ost had been as much about reinforcing Tariic’s lie as it had been about honor or justice. She should have felt satisfaction at the bugbear’s death, but all she felt was a sharp fear. Every morning when she renewed her own protection against the Rod of Kings, she offered a silent prayer to unnamed powers that Geth, Ekhaas, Chetiin, and Tenquis were far from Tariic’s reach.

Soon she would be too. Tariic might hold her as a “protected guest,” but even he wouldn’t dare keep her in captivity if the patriarch of House Deneith, Darguun’s greatest ally among the nations and powers of Khorvaire, demanded her return. No matter what false reports emerged from Darguun, Ashi knew that Breven d’Deneith would be suspicious. Her house would look after its own, and she would be free to take the truth out of Darguun. The powers of Khorvaire would learn of Tariic’s ambitions and the danger he posed to them all.

She lifted her head, raising her chin defiantly. It only earned her more applause from the warlords and even a bit from the ambassadors. Ashi couldn’t think of a time she’d ever felt more isolated.

Yet there were a few who understood the situation, even if they didn’t dare speak of it. Senen Dhakaan looked down from the gallery, though never directly at Ashi. The ambassador of the Kech Volaar had risked much to deliver a message of hope-Ashi had woken one night to whispered song, the magical communication of the duur’kala, and the news that Ekhaas and the others were on their way to Volaar Draal. Out in the crowd of warlords, Dagii of Mur Talaan stood in a place of honor. The gray-eyed and gray-haired-in spite of his young age-warlord hadn’t tried to speak to her, and Ashi knew he couldn’t without sacrificing his own freedom. He understood the effect of the rod and probably hated every action that its influence forced on him, but there was little he could do. Even if he hadn’t been directly involved in the attempt on Tariic’s life, Tariic knew that he’d been involved in the plot to substitute a false rod for the true Rod of Kings. But Dagii was also a hero, victorious in battle against the elves of Valenar. The warlords and people of Darguun loved him. Even with the power of the rod at his command, Tariic would have been hard-pressed to find a good excuse to execute a popular hero. Dagii lived-so long as his loyalty never wavered. Friends who stood close at hand, but they might as well have been in distant Sharn.

She thought of the changeling she knew both as Aruget, a hobgoblin guard, and Benti Moran, a half-elf, but who was actually an agent of Breland. He’d vanished after the assassination had failed, saving his own shifting skin. Maybe he’d made his way back to Breland. Maybe news of the danger brewing in Darguun was already abroad in the world.

Then why did the ambassador of Breland laugh and chat as if there were nothing wrong?

“Do you see something that interests you, Ashi?” asked a voice from her left.

She was staring, she realized. She forced her gaze away from the gallery and down to the speaker, a gnome with bright eyes and a shock of pale hair. Midian Mit Davandi had once been a friend, a scholar of the great Library of Korranberg joining them on their quest for the Rod of Kings, but then his true nature had shown itself. An agent for the gnome nation of Zilargo, neighbor of Darguun across the Seawall Mountains, he was the true assassin of Haruuc, a crime widely laid at the feet of Chetiin. Midian’s many treacheries were also the reason that their attempts to keep the Rod of Kings from falling into Tariic’s hands had failed. He’d paid the price, though. When Ashi had returned to consciousness after Pradoor’s prayers had healed her, she’d found Midian was also Tariic’s captive.

Unlike her, however, the gnome had no protection against the Rod of Kings. Later that night, Tariic had made her watch as he demonstrated his mastery over the rod’s power. He’d broken Midian with words. The agent of Zilargo had become a loyal servant of Darguun, and Tariic knew everything that Midian knew.

Officially, Midian was Tariic’s royal historian. Unofficially, he was Tariic’s assassin-and the sharp blade at Ashi’s back. Her dragonmark could block the rod’s influence, but it wouldn’t stop a poisoned dagger.

“Vounn should be up there,” she said, nodding to the gallery.

“If Vounn were up there, you wouldn’t be down here,” Midian replied without a trace of irony. Ashi wasn’t sure he even remembered his former allegiance to Zilargo. For a moment, she considered reaching out and touching him. With an effort of will, she could channel the power of her dragonmark perhaps twice in a day, but no more. Surely it would break the hold of the rod over Midian, at least temporarily.

And if it did, what then? She was surrounded by enemies. Even reaching for Midian could be a risk. The friendly scholar was only a mask. Midian was like a cornered rat. Just putting out her hand could provoke him, and her act of protection would result in a slash from Midian’s poisoned dagger. Ashi kept her hands to herself.

“Have you spoken to Esmyssa lately?” she asked instead. The ambassador of Zilargo stood near the front of the gallery.

A smile flickered across Midian’s face. “I tell her what she needs to know.”

Tariic’s assassin and his mouthpiece to Zilargo. Ashi glanced at the lhesh and found him watching her with glinting, clever eyes. She looked away again just as Razu, the old hobgoblin mistress of ceremonies who stood by the throne room door, rapped her staff on the floor. The crowd fell silent.

A human man appeared in the wide doorway and walked with a measured pace down the throne room’s central aisle. Ashi knew him: Viceroy Redek d’Deneith, a thin and leathery man whose long service to House Deneith in Darguun had been supplanted by Vounn’s arrival as special envoy to the court of Haruuc. Normally his place was at the Gathering Stone, the Deneith compound and training center two days’ journey outside of Rhukaan Draal. With Vounn’s death, however, he’d once again become the most senior member of the house in Darguun. He stopped before the dais and bent his head to the lhesh.

“Who comes to the court of Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn?” asked Tariic, returning to Goblin as he raised his voice.

“Redek of Deneith, son of Kain, comes. He brings a message for Lhesh Tariic from Baron Breven d’Deneith.”

Tariic sat back in his throne. “Speak,” he said.

Ashi felt a prickle across the back of her neck. Tariic was calm. Too calm for someone on the verge of losing his prized prisoner. Her eyes darted back to Redek as he produced a folded piece of heavy paper. Holding it high so that all could see, he broke the seal. Pieces of blue wax, the color favored by Breven, scattered across the floor and Redek read in Goblin:

“To Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn-greetings.

“Since the time of Cail d’Deneith, House Deneith and the dar of the territory that is now Darguun have enjoyed the strongest of relationships. House Deneith values the support of the lhesh of Darguun and hopes that the lhesh values our support as well.

“In the wake of the tragic death of our envoy, Vounn d’Deneith, we thank you for your condolences and what we trust will be the swift delivery of justice to the one responsible. We thank you also for the care that you have shown members of our house remaining in Rhukaan Draal. Violence is a regrettable danger in our world. Vounn d’Deneith served her house with honor and in her last days worked to bring Deneith and Darguun closer.

“We do not wish to see her legacy wither. It is our wish that Vounn’s aide, Ashi d’Deneith, remain with your court-”

Ashi stiffened and drew a sharp breath. In the attentive silence of the throne room, the sound was loud. Redek paused to look at her, but Tariic gestured casually with the Rod of Kings. “Continue,” he said.

Redek’s eyes went immediately back to his letter.

“It is our wish that Vounn’s aide, Ashi d’Deneith, remain with your court as a sign of the faith we hold in the relationship between our house and your nation. Redek d’Deneith will be responsible for the operations of House Deneith in Darguun, but it will fall to Ashi to see that the bond between Darguun and Deneith grows ever more cordial and profitable.

“May your reign be long and glorious-Breven, patriarch of Deneith.”

Redek folded the letter and bowed low to Tariic, but Ashi barely registered the gesture. One thought filled her mind. Tariic had known what Breven’s letter would say. No wonder he was calm. No wonder he’d allowed Redek to read it openly. Somehow he’d been in communication with House Deneith.

Then a second revelation broke over her like a blow to the head: She wasn’t leaving Darguun. Breven wouldn’t be bringing her home. Her belly clenched. She felt sick.

While she stood, stunned, Tariic rose. He wore a smile, his sharp teeth bright against deep red-brown skin. “We acknowledge Breven d’Deneith for the honor and respect that he shows Darguun. I mourn the death of Vounn but embrace Ashi as Deneith’s new envoy.” He turned to her. “How do you greet this news, daughter of Deneith?”

Deep inside Ashi, the part of her that had once been a savage hunter of the Bonetree, the most feared clan of the Shadow Marches, rose up. She wanted to strike Tariic down. Tear open his throat with her bare fingers. Snatch the Rod of Kings from his grasp and beat his face in with it.

But she didn’t. Another part of her, the part that had been Vounn’s reluctant student in the ways of civilization, pushed her anger aside. Attacking Tariic would solve nothing-she’d be dead before he was. Ashi bent her head.

“It is an honor,” she said, her voice tight, “that I did not expect.”

Tariic’s smile grew just a little wider, and he spoke through his teeth at a pitch only she could hear. “Of course you didn’t.” He looked out over the gathered warlords and up at the watching ambassadors and raised his arms. “Hail to Deneith and Darguun!”

Shouts and applause filled the throne room. Ashi watched Redek bow again, face shining in innocent triumph as if he had just achieved the pinnacle of his career.

There was another message, one just for her.

I know what happened. I do not want to know why it did.

By your actions you have cost House Deneith the life of a valuable servant in Vounn d’Deneith and nearly severed the connections that she worked to strengthen. The bonds between Deneith and Darguun are not just pretty words to be spoken at ceremonies. The mercenaries hired to Deneith by the lhesh of Darguun are worth more than the life of any member of this house-including that of a bearer of the Siberys Mark of Sentinel.

You are fortunate that Lhesh Tariic understands the demands of politics and economy and sees that Darguun benefits more from fighting with Deneith than fighting against us. He is more understanding to accept your continued presence in his court than I would be.

Remain in Rhukaan Draal. Carry out Vounn’s mission to Darguun and you may be redeemed. If you are found beyond the borders of Darguun before that day, however, you are excoriated. -Breven

Ashi ground her teeth together so hard they hurt. To be declared an excoriate was to be exiled from a dragonmarked house, the worst punishment the members of the great houses could inflict on one of their own. In the distant past, it had been both a symbolic and a literal severing of connections; the offender’s name would be stricken from the rolls of the house and the dragonmark that swirled over her skin cut away. Ashi had heard rumors that a secret gallery in the heart of Sentinel Tower held grisly relics of those nameless excoriates who had been expelled from Deneith in ancient times. Excoriates were no longer flayed alive, but for many dragonmarked, to be cut off from their house, the source of much of their identity, was still a terrible punishment.

Ashi had lost her identity before, when she abandoned the Bonetree Clan for House Deneith. The threat of taking away her connection-already tenuous-to Deneith held little power over her. What hurt more was Breven’s accusation. By your actions, you have cost House Deneith the life of a valuable servant in Vounn d’Deneith.

He might as well have written, You killed Vounn.

Ashi raised her head to glare at Tariic. “What did you tell him?”

Seated in the best chair in the chambers she had, until only a few days before, shared with Vounn, Tariic gave a thin smile. “The truth, of course. That when Geth and Chetiin moved to seize the Rod of Kings, you were with them. That in a misguided attempt to protect you, Vounn put herself in the path of Makka’s blade as he tried to defend me-”

“That’s not the truth!” Ashi snarled. The heavy paper crumpled in her fist, and she drew back her arm to hurl it at Tariic.

A massive hairy bugbear hand caught her wrist and squeezed. Ashi hissed in pain. The paper ball fell. The bugbear-one of three who surrounded her, loyal servants who had been deafened to preserve secrets spoken in their presence-glanced at Tariic, who gestured casually. The bugbear’s grip eased. Ashi slipped her hand free. Her wrist throbbed, but she refused to give Tariic the satisfaction of seeing her rub it.

He ignored her discomfort anyway. “It’s all the truth that Breven wants to hear. He knows that by blaming poor, faithful Makka, we preserve the fiction that Deneith is blameless. Kings make their own truth, Ashi.”

“Breven isn’t a king.”

“He holds your life and obedience in his hands. He has the power to command armies. He brokers deals with nations and places envoys in the courts of monarchs.” Tariic’s ears twitched. “Breven could seize power with half-a-dozen commands. I guarantee you that he’s thought of it. He probably thinks about it every day. Breven and I are more alike than you think.”

The crumpled letter had rolled close to his boot. He stretched out and kicked it back at Ashi. “You’re to stay at my court under pain of excoriation, yes?”

Ashi clenched her teeth again. “How did you talk to Breven?” she asked through them.

“The gnomes of House Sivis-unlike the gnomes of Zilargo-take their neutrality very seriously. They were happy to relay my messages to Sentinel Tower for their customary fee. As you’ve seen, the dragonmarked houses generally listen when money talks.” His ears twitched a second time. “Although, it was your friend Pater d’Orien who opened the channels to Breven. Did you know that when he used his mark to teleport away from Khaar Mbar’ost after Vounn’s death, he went to Deneith instead of his own house?”

Anger flared again in Ashi as she realized there was one friendly face she hadn’t seen in the gallery of the throne room. She would have lunged for Tariic, but the bugbears reacted swiftly. All three of them grabbed her, leaving her struggling against thick, muscular arms. Tariic just sat back. “Calm down, Ashi. You don’t have to worry about Pater. I… talked to him when he returned to Rhukaan Draal, that’s all.” He tapped the Rod of Kings against his knee for emphasis. “I know he had nothing to do with your plot.”

“Then where is he?” Ashi asked through the cage of muscle.

“Safe in the Orien compound, sticking close to his wagons and horses. Do you think I’m so weak that I need every foreign dignitary attending my every word? Besides, he’s no more a challenge to me now than Midian. Or you.”

“Or Geth?”

That wiped the smug look from Tariic’s face. “He and the others will be found. Chetiin. Ekhaas. Even the Brelish changeling. I know where they’re headed. It’s only a matter of time. Every route into Breland is being watched, from the Marguul Pass to the humblest mountain path.”

Ashi did her best to keep her expression neutral, hiding her elation. Tariic thought Geth and the others were heading to Breland? Then they would be safe in their haven at Volaar Draal. And if Aruget was with them, so much the better!

Tariic must have mistaken her stony silence for an attempt to hide another emotion. His lips curled in renewed smugness. “Afraid for them, Ashi? Shouldn’t you be afraid for yourself?”

The bugbears had dragged her upright again. Ashi raised her head and glared down at Tariic. “I don’t think so. If I’m to be House Deneith’s new envoy to your court, you can’t very well keep me prisoner. You may have made a deal with Breven, Tariic, but you’ve traded away some of your hold on me.”

This time, though, the lhesh’s expression didn’t waver. Ashi felt unease reach into the pit of her stomach. “If you do anything to me-”

“I wouldn’t think of it, daughter of Deneith,” said Tariic. His words sounded like a serpent’s hiss. He raised his voice slightly. “Midian!”

The outer door of the chamber opened. Ashi twisted her head around enough to see the gnome enter. Before the door closed, she saw hobgoblin guards outside-Tariic’s honor guard, plus a trio of guards she didn’t recognize. The unfamiliar guards wore ornate, polished armor as if ready for some ceremonial parade. Two of them looked back at her curiously. Both had the forehead scars of the Rhukaan Taash, Tariic’s clan.

They vanished as Midian closed the door. He made an elaborate, mocking bow. “Lady Ashi.”

She offered him no reply, but he didn’t wait for one. He glided up to Tariic and went down on one knee as he offered a square wooden box to the lhesh. “House Cannith sends its highest regards.”

Ashi’s unease grew. House Cannith bore the Mark of Making. Their artificers were capable of creating all manner of wonders-and dangers. The box was featureless, offering no clue of what it contained. Tariic flipped it open.

Nestled against black velvet inside was a pair of polished silver wrist cuffs.

In the moment that she stared, Tariic gestured. One of the bugbears holding her wrenched her right arm out straight. She gasped in surprise and started to pull back, but Tariic was quicker. Snatching up one of the cuffs, he closed it around her wrist just above the bugbear’s meaty hand. The delicate clasp closed with a deep clack that was louder than it should have been.

“Now the other one,” said Tariic, gesturing again. Midian, grinning like an idiot offered him the box once more.

The bugbears didn’t have the advantage of surprise a second time. Ashi screamed fury and fought them, but together they were far stronger than she. Her shoulder throbbed as a bugbear twisted her arm away from her body, then came a second deep clack and the faint pressure of the matching cuff on her wrist.

Then the bugbears let her go.

The release came so suddenly that Ashi stumbled before catching herself and dropping into a crouch, ready for whatever might come next. But the bugbears were already backing off-one favoring a shin that she’d stomped on, another cradling an injured hand and glaring at her-while Midian tucked away the empty case and Tariic returned to his chair.

For a moment, the hobgoblin’s back was to her. Rage surged inside her. She leaped at him.

Cold so intense it burned seized her, turning her leap into a sprawl that ended at Tariic’s feet. The snarl on her lips became a hiss of agony, then a choke as her arms went numb. Ashi forced herself onto her knees and stared at the wrist cuffs. Frost coated the bright metal. Around the cuffs, her skin had already started to turn white as it froze. The blue-green lines of her dragonmark stood out in colorful contrast.

“The emperors of Dhakaan presented similar creations to those they wanted to keep on a short leash,” said Tariic calmly. Ashi wrenched her eyes away from the cuffs to glare at him. “They can’t be broken or removed except by me,” he continued. “Left long enough, the cold will kill you, but frostbite will ruin your fingers and then your hands before that.”

He murmured a word under his breath, too low for Ashi to hear, and the cruel cold vanished. Her pride couldn’t stand up to the release and the feeling of warmth-she slumped back on her heels, chest heaving in relief. Tariic sat forward.

“Breven may believe that the threat of excoriation is enough to keep you in Rhukaan Draal, but I don’t. Travel north of the Ghaal River or south of the city’s edge, and the cuffs will be activated. Try to attack me, and they will be activated. I promise you I won’t turn them off a second time. Do you understand?”

Ashi drew a deep breath and stood up. “Won’t it look suspicious if the envoy of House Deneith is found frozen to death, Lhesh Tariic?” she asked, holding her head high.

“Accidents happen, Lady Ashi. Don’t worry, you’ll have an escort to keep you safe.” Tariic raised his voice again. “Warriors, enter!”

The door opened for a second time, and the Rhukaan Taash warriors Ashi had glimpsed entered the chamber. They fell into a perfect line behind her, heads up, hands on the hilts of their swords. All three hobgoblins were young and in prime fighting condition, their armor bright, their eyes alert, and their ears tall and straight. Ashi had no doubt that they were the most skilled and loyal in Tariic’s clan.

“Trusted warriors to ensure that you are able to go about your duties as envoy untroubled,” said Tariic. He gave her a hard look. “And only your duties. One of them will accompany you at all times.”

The cuffs prevented her from leaving Rhukaan Draal, but the presence of the guards would keep her from causing trouble within the city. She would be a prisoner in Khorvaire’s largest prison, a puppet moved by Tariic’s strings. Ashi clenched her teeth and for a moment the temptation to attack Tariic again made her pulse throb in her ears. If she was fast enough…

But the part of her that Vounn had trained from a barbarian of the Shadow Marches into a lady of House Deneith held her back. Attacking Tariic would kill her. Patience would keep her alive.

Ashi bent her head with stiff dignity. “Your kindness is appreciated, lhesh.”

Tariic hadn’t been expecting that. His ears went back and his thin lips pulled away from sharp teeth as he considered her. At his side, Midian, too, looked suspicious. “Tariic, she’s up to-” he started to say.

The hobgoblin silenced him with a gesture of the Rod of Kings. “She does what is commanded of her. I would do the same.” His ears flicked. “And I would search for my opportunity later.”

He lifted the rod and pointed it at the three guards. “Warriors of Rhukaan Taash,” he said in Goblin, “you will report any unusual or suspicious activities by the envoy of House Deneith to me. No bribes or tricks will prevent you.”

Ashi saw a flickering in the eyes of the guards as the power of the rod forced the command upon them. The hobgoblins beat their fists against their chests in salute and said in unison, “Mazo, lhesh!”

Tariic nodded in satisfaction and rose from his chair, stepping close to Ashi. “You can’t stop me,” he murmured.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” he said with a smile, then moved past her. “Oraan, you have the honor of first duty. Give Lady Ashi the present you carry.”

“Mazo,” the young warrior said again. He took a step forward and reached behind his back to produce a sword sheathed in a plain scabbard. He offered it to Ashi.

It was the honor blade of her grandfather, the sword that had been the first clue-even before the manifestation of her dragonmark-that she carried the blood of House Deneith. It was the sword she had lost to Makka. The sword that had killed Vounn and almost killed her. Ashi stared at the weapon but did not reach for it.

“You see how certain I am,” said Tariic. He turned away and walked out the door, gesturing for the bugbears and the two other hobgoblin warriors to follow. Midian was the last one to leave, sliding past Ashi like a weasel.

“The Rod of Kings teaches power,” he said. “Tariic will be an emperor. It would be better for you if you recognized that.”

She didn’t move. The gnome left, closing the door behind him. Oraan still stood with her sword held out to her, a final taunt from Tariic. Slowly the despair that Ashi had held off began to creep back into her, eating away at her anger and defiance until she was almost ready to admit that Tariic had won.

The opening of the door broke the moment. Oraan twisted around. Ashi looked up. Framed in the doorway was a hunched old bugbear woman with an armload of firewood. She froze under the combined gaze of Ashi and the warrior, then hefted her burden and nodded silently toward the fireplace. Oraan grunted. “Be quick.”

The old servant bobbed her head and entered, bumping the door closed with a hip as she came through. Oraan returned his gaze to Ashi. “Take Lhesh Tariic’s gift, Lady Ashi. It is an honor that he-”

Wood clattered as the servant dropped her burden. Oraan turned again, ears going back, mouth opening in anger.

The slim dagger that the old bugbear had concealed among the sticks of wood punched through his throat and up under his jaw, pinning his mouth closed. His eyes went wide. “Catch him!” ordered the servant in a tone that was harsh but quiet. She shoved hard on the dagger and twisted. Oraan went limp.

Ashi reacted without thought. She stepped sharply around the dead warrior and grabbed his corpse under the arms. The old bugbear kept her dagger pressed tight into the wound, stemming the worst of the blood, as her other hand grabbed the honor blade before it could fall to the floor. Her voice rose in an uncanny imitation of Oraan’s-“Clumsy fool!”-then dropped back into the broken cackle of age-“Forgive me, chib!”

Anyone outside the door would have thought two people were speaking. The bugbear looked at Ashi with sharp black eyes, then let her take the full weight of Oraan as she stood straight and her features began to flow like wax. Aged female bugbear servant became a vital, young male hobgoblin warrior. Oraan, alive and well, faced her.

Except it wasn’t Oraan, of course. Ashi sucked in her breath. “Aruget?”

The changeling flicked hobgoblin ears. “You’re not alone, Ashi.”