The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 (5 page)

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.”

O
n the fourth day after their skirmish with Tariic’s soldiers, Ekhaas began recognizing landmarks. Not in the way that she knew landmarks across a vast swathe of the continent of Khorvaire—from the ramshackle streets of Rhukaan Draal to the towers of Sharn to the dangerous wilds of southern Droaam—but in a much more familiar way. There in the distance was the white mountain Gim Juura. Closer, the weathered remains of a slim spire stood against the sky, the ruins of Bran’aa, where ancient seers had watched the stars in the Age of Dhakaan. Closer still, the steep depths of the valley they skirted, a cursed place where the ancestors of her clan had once trapped and slaughtered raiding rivals during the Desperate Times that had come after the fall of the great empire.

A sense of ease and belonging rose inside her. She sat up a little straighter in her saddle. “We’re in Kech Volaar territory.”

Geth roused himself from a weary doze, opening one eye to look around. “How much longer until we reach Volaar Draal?”

“Just after noon.”

“Are there patrols?” asked Tenquis.

A hawk burst up from the trees on the hillside above them and flew southwest. Ekhaas bent her lips in a smile and flicked her ears. “Yes. We’ll be expected.”

The territory claimed by the Kech Volaar was not large. With every valley slope they crossed and every mountain flank
they rode around, Ekhaas’s sense of familiarity increased. Kech Volaar was one of the smallest of the clans that held true to the traditions and glories of Dhakaan. Other Dhakaani clans, like the militaristic Kech Shaarat might try to defend larger territories, but the strength and wealth of her clan was in the ancient lore preserved in its vaults and in the stories of its
duur’kala. Kech Volaar
, meant “Word Bearers,” and Ekhaas had never imagined a life that did not center around the venerated heritage of Dhakaan.

Never, a small part of her said, until now.

It was difficult to believe that only a week ago she’d been watching Dagii of Mur Talaan command an army against Valenar raiders in defense of Darguun. The gray-eyed young warlord’s cunning tactics, combined with Chetiin’s timely rallying of the wolf-riding cousins of his clan and her own songs of inspiration, had turned what might have been a massacre of
dar
into a rout of the elves. It had been a triumph for Darguun.

And flush with triumph and the excitement of battle, Ekhaas and Dagii had faced each other and expressed the love and respect that had grown between them, exchanging endearments of
taarka’nu
—wolf woman—and
ruuska’te
—tiger man.

He’d replaced some of her love for her clan. Every familiar place she saw reminded her that he wasn’t there with her. He had a sense of
muut
and
atcha
, the twin imperatives of duty and honor that held
dar
society together, that would have impressed even an elder of the Dhakaani clans.

It had impressed her. Her ears drooped a little at the thought of him.

The last time she had seen Dagii, the light of intelligence and honor in his eyes had been dimmed by the fanaticism inspired by the Rod of Kings. That betrayal hadn’t been his fault—only the influence of Aram, the Sword of Heroes, and the shield of Ashi’s powerful dragonmark could have offered protection from the rod’s power—but it still struck her like a knife in the belly.

“Dagii will be fine,” said Chetiin from beside her. Ekhaas’s ears rose again as she gave the old goblin a sharp stare. Chetiin gave her back a thin smile, his head with its cobweb-fine hair bobbing slightly in time with Marrow’s loping gait.

“It’s not a difficult guess,” he said. “Among the clans of the Silent Folk, death has its own language. You have the look of mourning someone who is absent rather than someone who is dead. Dagii is the only one I know who fits that description. But don’t worry about him. Tariic has more to gain by keeping him close than by imprisoning or killing him. After his triumph over the Gan’duur rebels and victory in the Battle of Zarrthec, Dagii is a hero to the people.”

“Legends are full of lords and kings who set aside inconvenient heroes.”

Chetiin bent his neck in acknowledgment. “I will not argue legend with a
duur’kala
. But don’t give up on Dagii. The absent return more readily than the dead.”