And she needed all the weapons she had. She forced a smile onto her face. Her reflection smiled back at her.
“Are you ready?” asked Oraan quietly.
She answered without looking over her shoulder at him—although it was tempting, because he’d dressed formally as well, in light armor with a red sash around his waist. “I’m ready.”
“Did you eat well today?”
Her smile became less forced. “Very well.”
“Good.”
They turned into the antechamber outside Tariic’s throne room—and were engulfed in a crowd of junior warriors, minor functionaries, and merchants of little consequence. Oraan stepped around her and walked ahead, clearing a path with his shoulders and elbows. Ashi followed close behind, hand on her sword, the subject of a few disdainful glances but of many more jealous glares. Anyone in the antechamber was there because they hadn’t been invited into the throne room.
And with the entire throne room turned into a feast hall, if those in the antechamber hadn’t been invited, they really were unimportant.
Near the top of the stairs, a line of guards held back the uninvited. Razu, the mistress of rituals, waved Ashi to the top of the steps. She gave Oraan a disparaging look, but Ashi’s invitation to the feast had specified that she be accompanied by one of her guards. The old hobgoblin stepped into the doorway of the throne room, rapped her staff of office on the floor, and announced, “Special Envoy of House Deneith, Ashi d’Deneith, shares the celebration of Darguun’s birth!”
Ashi strode up the last few stairs and down into the seething chaos of the feast.
The mood here was different than it had been at the ill-fated feast in the hall of honor, not least because it was simply larger. That feast had been in honor of the arrival of Riila and Taak of the Kech Shaarat. This, as Razu announced with every new arrival to the hall, celebrated Darguun’s birth. Or at least what Tariic claimed to be Darguun’s birth. Vounn had taught her that Haruuc had declared Darguun’s independence from Cyre after a summer campaign in 969 YK.
No one seemed to mind the contradiction. True or not, it was a reason for Tariic to hold a feast big enough to reward the warlords who’d been most supportive of him, to show the dragonmarked houses that he still had the wealth to pay them, and to reassure the ambassadors of the Five Nations that he had interests beyond preparing his nation for conflict with the Valenar.
A feast big enough, fortunately, to provide Ashi and Oraan the opportunity they needed to find proof of tariic’s true plans to attack Breland.
Munta had started them along the path to the truth. The difficulty was in getting anyone to listen. Wearing the face of a dwarf merchant, Oraan had approached Laren Roole, the ambassador of Breland to the court of Darguun—and returned shaken.
“I didn’t even try to mention it to him,” he reported. “I could see his eyes fade as soon as I started discussing the buildup of forces. Tariic has gotten to him. He probably has Laren reporting back to King Boranel that everything is just fine in Darguun.”
The results were the same, no matter whom they tried talking to. Tariic had subverted every ambassador from beyond Darguun’s borders, along with their diplomatic staffs, just as he’d subverted the dragonmarked envoys. Some, like Laren Roole, were deeper in thrall to the lhesh than others, but none of them seemed interested in any danger that might befall Breland. At worst, they simply declared anything Oraan told them a hoax.
“Tariic can’t have used the Rod of Kings directly on everyone, but its power is insidious,” he said, returning from another failed attempt. “Anyone who has heard him speak adores him.”
“You said that other nations have spies in Rhukaan Draal,” Ashi said. “What about them?”
“They’d have the same trouble getting a message out.”
“What about smuggling a message to someone you know outside of Darguun? A coded letter sent by Orien post.”
Oraan grunted. “The problem is proof. We don’t have details. Even if I get a message out and it reaches the right people in time, what do we tell them? All we’ve got is the suggestion that Tariic’s plans for fighting the Valenar are suspiciously similar to a decades-old plan for an invasion of Breland.” He sat down in a chair and looked at her. “Ashi, maybe we should wait. If we give him time, Tariic may braid enough rope to hang himself. The Brelish border isn’t undefended. Rogue Darguul clans raid across it all the time, and Breland stops them.”
“Are border defenses that catch raiders enough to handle a full army?” demanded Ashi. “Tariic has planned ahead. I think he’ll have thought of that. Oraan, even if he succeeds, the backlash will devastate Darguun.”
“There are a lot of Brelish who wouldn’t see that as a bad thing.”
She glared at him. “Are you one of them?”
He met her gaze, then after a moment, shook his head. “No.”
“Then we need to find evidence that people will pay attention to. We need the details of what he’s planning.”
Oraan sat back in his chair. “That’s not exactly the sort of thing anyone leaves lying around. I’ve looked in Khaar Mbar’ost’s map room and council chambers just to be sure. I don’t think Tariic is even using them. He’s keeping his plans very closely guarded. We might find something in his chambers, but that’s risky. You might not have noticed, but he’s there a lot. I’d need to find a time when I could be sure he wouldn’t interrupt me.”
“We’d need to find a time,” Ashi said. “If you’re doing this, I’m going with you.” He raised his ears, but she just raised her head stubbornly. “If you’re captured, Tariic will know I was involved anyway. He’ll ask, and you’ll have to answer.”
His ears flicked, and he nodded. “Fine. But we still need to find the right time to get in.”
Ashi smiled and held out the invitation she’d received that day.
They moved through the crowded throne room, Ashi with a goblet of wine in her hand, Oraan a pace behind her, glaring like the guard he was supposed to be. For all that the crowd was composed mostly of hobgoblins with a few goblins and bugbears among them, it wasn’t that much different than a feast in Sentinel Tower. Various warlords approached her, seeking favor or contracts with House Deneith. Dragonmarked envoys—Pater d’Orien, Kravin d’Vadalis, and others—stopped to chat. Ashi’s efforts to find out what Tariic was up to had inevitably made her more friends than she really wanted. She followed the lessons Vounn had taught her, though, and kept herself moving around the room, waiting for Tariic’s entrance and the beginning of the feast.
She did encounter one person who she hadn’t expected to see. Or at least who she hadn’t expected to see up close. As the crowd shifted, Ashi found herself face to face with Dagii.
The young warlord stiffened immediately. “Lady Ashi,” he said formally. His eyes darted around as he looked for somewhere to get away from her.
Ashi glanced around. It was a sign of her distraction that she hadn’t noticed him—Dagii wore the battered ancestral armor of a warlord of Mur Talaan, the distinctive tall tribex horns mounted on his back and shoulders standing out above the crowd as they would have stood out above a battlefield. No one who she knew to be particularly close to Tariic was nearby, though. Before Dagii could move away, she said quickly, “We’re friends, Dagii. No one is going to notice if we spend a few moments talking in the middle of a crowd.”
He didn’t relax. “Your guard,” he growled under his breath.
She realized that he didn’t know Oraan’s true identity. Although the changeling met with him often, it was always as Aruget. She looked back at Oraan and twitched her head. Obediently, he moved a few paces away.
Dagii’s ears flicked back, and his eyes narrowed. “Tariic allows you that much control over your guards?”
“Let’s say that he doesn’t know my guards as well as he thinks he does,” Ashi said. “Have you heard anything from Ekhaas yet?” She had told him, through Aruget, of Tariic’s lie that the duur’kala was dead. She still hel
d out hope, however, that Ekhaas might try to contact Dagii, that maybe some message from her had come in the last few days.
He shook his head, then asked in return, “Has there been any sign of Midian?”
She shook her head too. Dagii’s ears bent back, then flicked nervously. “There is something,” he said quietly. “I was going to send word the next time I met with Aruget. Tariic has decided the Iron Fox company has done all it can in Rhukaan Draal. We’re going to be sent to the border of the Mournland sometime next week.” His voice dropped even lower. “We’re being posted to Skullreave.”
Ashi tried to cover her shock with a sip from her goblet. She felt as if he’d just slapped her. They’d shared what they’d discovered from Munta with Dagii. He knew as well as they did what a posting to Skullreave might mean. “You—no,” she said. “He can’t do that.”
“He can,” Dagii said. “He’s the lhesh. It’s our muut to obey.” He nodded toward the tables that had been set up on the dais. “I’m sitting at the high table as a hero of Darguun, but the commanders of other companies are there tonight as well. I think we’re all leaving Rhukaan Draal soon.” His ears flicked again as he looked back to her. “I will send information to you if I can. Great glory, Ashi.”
The formulaic response caught in her throat—and before she could force it out, Oraan was at her elbow. “Lady Ashi,” he said, “we should find your seat. Lhesh Tariic is about to enter.”
Ashi looked back to Dagii, but he had already turned to head to the high table. She curled a hand into a fist and let Oraan lead her away. The entire crowd was in motion as people looked for their places. Fortunately, they already knew where Ashi would be sitting—Oraan had found that out a few days ago. In fact, it was key to how they would be able to both attend Tariic’s feast and use the opportunity to break into his chambers.
Razu appeared on the dais and rapped her staff against the floor. “Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn comes!”
The voices of the crowd rose as Tariic entered, striking in tigerskin cloak and spiked crown. He gestured with the rod, acknowledging the crowd and silencing it. “On this night,” he called out, “we celebrate the night that Haruuc of Rhukaan Taash met with his closest allies to plan a grand strategy that would carve out a homeland for the dar. Because of that night, Haruuc of Rhukaan Taash became Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor. Because of that night, we stand as Darguuls.” He raised the rod as if in blessing. “Eat, drink, and celebrate the birth of Darguun!”
Once again, voices rose. Tariic let the adulation of the crowd wash over him briefly, then turned and took his place behind the high table. At that signal, servants entered the throne room carrying dishes and platters, bowls and tall pitchers. The feasters took their places on long benches, chatting with those around them and helping themselves as food was placed on the table. Unlike the feasts and formal dinners of the Five Nations, there was no waiting until everyone had been served.
Ashi’s nearby table companions were people she knew only in passing: a couple of lesser warlords, the chief of a small but disciplined clan, another human who was an apprentice to the viceroy of House Cannith, a goblin with one eye who had served as a scout under Haruuc. She recognized the choice of seating as a deliberate slight. By rights, she should have been seated closer to the high table or at least with people of higher standing. It was easy to imagine that at other tables, people would be gossiping about her.
She didn’t care. It didn’t really matter where she was sitting because she wouldn’t be there long. Ashi fell into the small talk of the table with an ease instilled by Vounn’s training. She knew several warriors from the chief’s clan had been placed with Deneith mercenary units, and praised them accordingly. She discussed hunting with the goblin scout, weapons with the warlords, and events across Khorvaire—such as she was aware of them—with the Cannith apprentice. All the while, servants brought their burdens to the table. Pale, slightly sour hobgoblin wine. Small cups of korluaat. Starchy noon prepared in a variety of ways, from small balls in sauce to big steamed dumplings stuffed with bits of meat. Chewy sausages pickled with bitter herbs. Meat and fowl of various kinds, roasted and stewed and smoked.
Ashi ate—and especially drank—sparingly. Vounn had shown her the art of making it seem like she was keeping up with those around her, when in fact very little was passing her lips. She didn’t feel a particular need to gorge herself on Tariic’s bounty. For one thing, she had, as Oraan had confirmed, already eaten well and wasn’t hungry. For another, she was watching for a particular dish to make it to the table.
It was good that she was watching, too, because when the dish appeared, the clan chief’s eyes lit up, and he reached for the bowl. “Black noon with mushrooms and braak greens! Lhesh Tariic feeds us well.”
Ashi beat him to the bowl. “Allow me,” she said and scooped a generous helping of noon balls threaded with black mold, pale straw mushrooms, and limp, dark green leaves onto his plate before taking some for herself. It looked unpleasant at best, but she had to admit that it did smell very appetizing. She offered the bowl to the Cannith apprentice, who looked at it dubiously but relented when Ashi insisted it was a Darguul delicacy.
The goblin scout declined to partake, but the two warlords finished off most of the bowl before it made its way farther down the table. Ashi glanced at Oraan. If he noticed her, he gave no sign of it. Bracing herself, Ashi picked up her spoon and dug into the mess.
It didn’t take long before the Cannith apprentice started looking distinctly pale. Ashi felt it too—a nauseating roiling in her belly accompanied by an uncomfortable swollen sensation. A belch forced its way up her throat and escaped from her mouth to leave a foul taste on her tongue and a pungent odor in the air. A light sweat shone on the face of the clan chief. He pushed his plate away and started to rise. “Miin eshoora,” he said in Goblin, excusing himself from the table.
It was someone else from farther down the table, one of the last to eat the black noon, who vomited first, however. A goblin in merchant’s robes turned suddenly away from the table and, without even rising, was noisily sick on the floor. The clan chief made a noise halfway between a burp and a gurgle, and fled. It was too much for the Cannith apprentice. She jumped up from the table and ran for the wall, huddling down to try and conceal her shame. Ashi might have grinned at the way Oraan leaped to get out of her way if she hadn’t been concentrating on not throwing up herself.
Heads all over the throne room were turning to look at their table as feasters cleared away from those being sick. Another feaster down the table fled for the door, though he didn’t make it quite so far as the clan chief had. The two warlords looked at each other in alarm. Both of them were starting to sweat. Ashi clamped down on her teeth, trying hard to keep her stomach from rising as servants raced in with empty buckets.
The goblin scout pulled the Cannith apprentice’s plate over and inspected what was left of her meal. He sniffed at it, then pushed it back. “The black noon is off,” he said calmly.
Across the throne room, plates scraped as feasters shoved them away. A servant reached Ashi with an empty bucket that smelled like it had recently held mop water. She ignored the smell and buried her head in it.
When she looked up, Tariic’s eyes were on her. She nodded at him politely. One of the seats at the high table was empty. Tariic’s lackey Daavn was down on the throne room floor talking to the viceroy of House Medani. The half-elf rose and came over to her table. He held out his hand, and the dragonmark that patterned the back of it seemed to flash brighter for a moment. He swept his hand across the table, pausing over the Cannith apprentice’s plate.
“There’s no poison,” he said. “The noon in this dish was simply spoiled.”
The goblin scout muttered something under his breath as the Medani walked away. Tariic gave Ashi another long look, then made a dismissive gesture. Razu came trotting over to the table. “Those who are ill may leave the feast.”
Ashi cleared her mouth and spit into the ree
king bucket once more, then handed it back to the servant. She rose, nodded again to Tariic, and, along with the others who’d eaten the tainted dish, walked out of the throne room with all the dignity she could manage. The noise of the feast returned, and the last she saw of Tariic, he had turned back to his conversation.
As soon as they were alone on the stairs leading back to the upper floors of Khaar Mbar’ost, Oraan slipped a vial into her hand. Ashi pulled the cork from it and swallowed the liquid inside in a single gulp.
Her queasiness vanished instantly. Her stomach settled, and even the bad taste in her mouth vanished, replaced with a sweet flavor vaguely reminiscent of cherries. “Rond betch,” she said. “That was unpleasant.”
“But necessary,” said Oraan. “If you’d been the only one to claim illness—”
“I know.” Tariic would have been suspicious. He might not have allowed her to leave the feast at all. And while no one who hadn’t eaten from the dish at her table would actually fall ill, the remains of a lone vat of spoiled black noon in the fortress kitchens would back up events. A cook might be beaten for carelessly preparing the tainted dish, but Ashi suspected that he or she had, along with the servant who’d brought it to the table, been very well compensated for their trouble.
They reached the floor where Ashi’s chambers were located and turned onto it, but didn’t stop. At the end of the corridor, a smaller servant’s staircase gave more discreet access to the levels of Khaar Mbar’ost. They climbed again until they reached the floor with Tariic’s quarters.
“Will there be guards?” Ashi asked.
Aruget—Oraan had changed faces again as they climbed—shook his head. “Not tonight. Tariic generously sent word for the guards on duty to relax and join in the celebration, so long as they’re back before he returns from the feast.”
The Tyranny of Ghosts: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 3 Page 24
