The tyranny of ghosts tlod-3

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Her tone left little doubt about who was in charge. Taak didn’t seem to resent the reprimand. His ears flicked again, more vigorously this time. His thin lips twitched as well, and he tipped his head to Ashi in the tiniest of nods.

  Riila moved in to take his place. “Taak honors you,” she said.

  “And I honor him,” said Ashi. “The skill of the Kech Shaarat is legendary.” Her hand finally left her sword. Onlookers turned away with an audible grumble of disappointment. Midian let his fingers relax.

  Only to tense them again as Ashi asked, “What brings Kech Shaarat to Rhukaan Draal?”

  The question was innocent-but something in the way it was asked brought Midian’s eyes back to Ashi’s face. Still hard from confrontation, it revealed nothing. Fortunately, neither did Riila’s, though Midian caught Taak’s quick glance at his counterpart. Riila ignored it and answered smoothly, “We come to celebrate Lhesh Tariic’s victory over the elves of Valenar, ancient enemies of Dhakaan. We extend the friendship of the Kech Shaarat to a great leader of the dar.”

  Someone less attentive might have missed the suspicion that flickered across Ashi’s face-but Midian saw it and alarm crept up his back again. Maybe she knew something after all. Delicate as a spider testing its web, he said, “Kech Shaarat are frequently in Rhukaan Draal, Ashi. We saw Kech Shaarat bladedancers in the arena during Haruuc’s funeral games.”

  Ashi looked down at him. There was calculation in her eyes, and Midian felt an answering stir in his guts. Maybe Ashi could stare down Taak, but a game of deception wasn’t one she was going to win. He smiled sweetly at her.

  “You’re right,” she said after a moment, and looked back to Riila. “They fought very well too. But I didn’t mean you or a handful of bladedancers. I was out in the city today, and I saw quite a number of Kech Shaarat. Are you all here to celebrate victory over the Valenar?”

  For a moment, their little group seemed like a bubble of silence among the noise of the hall-then Taak snorted again. Loudly. He gave Ashi a huge grin. Riila smiled, too, though she showed fewer teeth doing it. Midian even found himself smiling. The game was over before it had begun.

  “Ah, Ashi,” he said and it was difficult to keep the purr out of his voice. He felt almost ridiculous for having worried about what she might or might not know. Ashi’s face turned red beneath her dragonmark. Her mouth opened briefly, then pressed into a narrow line. Midian took her hand, holding tight when she would have pulled away. “You worry about entirely the wrong things.”

  As if the gods had decreed its timing, the butt of a staff struck against the floor near the door. Midian couldn’t see her through the crowd of taller figures, but he heard Razu, the mistress of rituals, call out, “Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn comes!”

  The entire crowd turned to the door in unison. Any noise that had filled the hall before was like a whisper compared to the thunder of voices calling Tariic’s name and fists thumping against chests in salute. Midian thumped his chest, too, and if there was some small part of him that said that this wasn’t right, that a Zil shouldn’t be cheering for the ruler of Darguun, he didn’t hear it over the din.

  The crowd parted as Tariic entered the hall, and allowed Midian to see him. Tariic wore formal regalia-the spiked crown of Darguun, a heavy cloak of tiger skin, polished armor of brass-chased steel-and carried the Rod of Kings high. Midian felt the rush of awe he experienced whenever he saw Tariic. In his head, he knew it was the power of the rod that lent the lhesh his majestic presence, but it didn’t matter. Maybe once he had served the Trust, the sharp blade of Zilargo’s government, but not anymore.

  His new master raised his hands, acknowledging the crowd, then searched the hall. His gaze settled briefly on Midian-the gnome stood straight and proud under his regard-then moved on to stop on those behind him. Tariic gestured with the rod, and the crowd opened farther, clearing a wide space before the lhesh.

  “Riila Dhakaan of Kech Shaarat,” Tariic said. “Taak Dhakaan of Kech Shaarat. I welcome you to Khaar Mbar’ost.”

  He had already welcomed the emissaries earlier in the day, of course. Midian had been there, privileged to witness a much quieter but perhaps even more important meeting. What happened here was just a formality and a bit of pageantry. As Riila and Taak put fists to their chests and bent their heads to Tariic, Midian squeezed Ashi’s hand.

  Tariic motioned for Taak and Riila to join him. They went forward, eyes wide with adulation. No matter what illusion of free will they might present, Midian knew they were already under Tariic’s spell. When the pair stood before him, Tariic looked around at the crowd in the hall.

  “Warlords of Darguun!” he said. “Honored guests from beyond our borders! It gives me great pleasure to announce that the excellent warriors of Kech Shaarat have chosen to join us in battle against the elves of the Valaes Tairn. Even now, the first company of their infantry-the finest warriors known since the fall of Dhakaan-are in the city. Soon they will travel east to take key positions among Darguun’s own soldiers.” He paused, a fine bit of effect. “But warriors are not all that the Kech Shaarat bring us. Riila Dhakaan, speak.”

  Riila raised her head, her ears standing tall. “Lhesh Tariic, we bring news of the traitors who made an attempt on your life. We know where they are.”

  The thrill that precedes triumph brought a lightness to Midian’s belly. He looked up at Ashi. She stood like a statue, all emotion wiped from her face. Vounn had trained her well. There were some reactions, though, that were impossible to conceal. Ashi’s fingers were cold in Midian’s grasp. He rubbed her hand gently and felt her stiffen, but she didn’t try to pull away.

  “Where?” asked Tariic, his voice low but clear in the silence of the hall.

  “They hide with the Kech Volaar, granted sanctuary in Volaar Draal.”

  Whispers and growls of surprise rose like a wind, but Tariic’s snarl broke above them. “Senen Dhakaan, stand forward!”

  Midian found the ambassador of the Kech Volaar easily-those who stood around her pulled away, leaving Senen isolated. For a moment, there was shock on her face, then it was wiped away. Midian saw her eyes dart to the nearest exits from the hall, but they were blocked. Guards positioned by Tariic stood ready for this moment. Senen’s gaze went back to Tariic, then she stepped out to face him.

  “The claim of the Kech Shaarat is absurd, lhesh,” she said bluntly. “Why would the Kech Volaar jeopardize their relationship with you? My clan shared a relationship with the throne of Darguun before the Kech Shaarat came crawling out of their caves to lick up the blood of your victory.”

  Taak growled and bared his teeth. Midian was certain he would have drawn his sword and struck at Senen except that Riila caught his arm. “Our word is true, lhesh,” she said. “Not all Kech Volaar stand against you. Our information comes from one who sends you her deepest respect.”

  Dismay broke through the ice in Senen’s eyes. “Who makes up such lies?” she demanded.

  Tariic spoke before Riila could. “Do not answer.” He appeared calm, but Midian had seen his reaction when Riila and Taak had first presented their news to him. The lhesh had taken the day to master his emotions. His control made his presence seem that much larger-the hall of honor could have been empty except for him and Senen.

  “Ekhaas, who was in your service, stood with Geth and Chetiin when they tried to take my life,” he said slowly, “and the Kech Volaar have long had an interest in the Sword of Heroes that Geth bears.” He raised the Rod of Kings. “I had not thought that the clan that helped Lhesh Haruuc find this great relic of lost Dhakaan would turn against me, but perhaps seeing it in the hands of a true ruler was too much for Tuura Dhakaan.”

  He leveled the rod at Senen Dhakaan. “By the blood of the Six Kings that you claim to honor, speak the truth, Senen Dhakaan. Do the traitors who sought to kill me hide in Volaar Draal?”

  It seemed to Midian that he heard an echo in Tariic’s words. Tell me everything, Midian… He swallowed hard, fighting to keep
his secrets from spilling out, but this time the power of the rod wasn’t directed at him. Senen faced Tariic and, without an instant of hesitation, said, “Yes.”

  Horror rose in her eyes as the word emerged from her mouth. Roars of anger erupted in the hall. It was difficult to hear Tariic as he shouted another question. “And you hid this from me? Answer!”

  Rage replaced horror. Senen drew a ragged breath and spat, “Yes!”-then opened her mouth even wider, the first note of song rolling up from of her chest.

  Midian’s gut flipped. The song of a duur’kala! But Tariic was ready. “Be silent!”

  The order was forceful enough to bring quiet to the entire hall. Senen closed her mouth so suddenly that her eyes bulged, and she gagged on the song sealed in her throat. Tariic pointed the rod at her again and said, “Do. Not. Move.”

  Senen went still. Tariic allowed silence to linger in the hall for a heartbeat more before he spoke again. “Pradoor, I will listen to the teachings of the Six.”

  Pradoor, standing in Tariic’s shadow the whole time, stirred. “Lhesh,” she said in her high, thin voice, “the gods of the Six speak to this in many ways. The Shadow decrees that a slave who conceals knowledge from her master has stolen that knowledge from him. The Mockery prescribes that the hand that steals shall be struck off. The Fury demands that vengeance suit the offense.”

  “Ta muut, Pradoor.” Tariic looked back to Senen, his eyes running over her body before pausing at her belt where a knife was sheathed. Once again, he let silence take hold. Midian could feel the crowd in the hall holding its collective breath, waiting for the lhesh to pronounce his judgment. And finally… finally…

  “Senen Dhakaan,” said Tariic, “take the knife at your belt and cut out the tongue that dared hide knowledge from me.”

  The unnatural stillness that gripped Senen vanished, replaced by a straining as she fought to resist the command. Tariic thrust the Rod of Kings at her. “I said, cut out your lying tongue, Senen!”

  Senen’s hands seemed to move of their own accord, the right snatching the knife from its sheath, the left reaching past lips and teeth to pinch the red muscle of her mouth and stretch it taut Memories flowed unbidden out of the dark places of Midian’s mind. Memories of himself in Tariic’s chambers, a captive only a short time after he had tried to take the lhesh’s life. Memories of writhing on rich carpets as Tariic stripped his knowledge, his identity, from him. You serve me now, Midian. You serve Tariic. Zilargo is nothing to you. You are not worthy to kiss the ground I tread. Pradoor, watching and cackling. Tariic’s deafened bugbear servants holding Ashi and forcing her to watch as well. Tariic himself, hated-and adored.

  If he’d been able to take up a knife, Midian would have leaped across the hall of honor and driven it into Tariic’s eye socket, the same way he’d killed Haruuc.

  No. He would rather have plunged the knife into his own eye. Another memory: ripping a knife through his own belly and offering the bloody blade to Tariic. Tariic laughing. You live by my kindness, Midian. You will do as I say, now and forever.

  Midian crawled to him through a pool of his own blood and kissed his boot, and in return Tariic gestured for Pradoor to go to him. Stop the bleeding.

  “Stop the bleeding, Pradoor.”

  Memories folded like a piece of black paper, disappearing back into the shadows. Senen was on her knees, hands limp at her side, mouth bloody, knife and severed flesh on the floor before her. Pradoor was feeling her way forward, milky eyes staring at something only she could see but that brought a smile to her withered face. Tariic…

  Tariic stood triumphant, his gaze sweeping the hall. “Let her be returned to Volaar Draal!” he said. His voice rang like a battle cry. “Let her be a message for the Kech Volaar to consider. Let them weigh whether they will please me and surrender those they shelter. Let all consider”-he thrust the Rod of Kings into the air-“the justice delivered to those who defy Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn!”

  The roar of the crowd was all-embracing. Even the representatives of the Five Nations and the dragonmarked houses looked at each other and nodded as if in agreement that yes, the lhesh of Darguun was justified in what he had commanded. Midian looked up at Ashi and found her still staring at Senen as Pradoor murmured prayers over the broken duur’kala.

  Awareness of intense pain filtered into his brain. Ashi’s fingers had tightened on his in a crushing grip. Midian drew a hissing breath through his teeth and grabbed for her arm, poking hard in just the right spot. Ashi grimaced and her grip loosened. Midian jerked his hand free and flexed aching fingers.

  “You couldn’t have done anything,” he said. “Not with your dragonmark, not without it. She was doomed. You should thank Tariic for his mercy in sparing you a similar fate.”

  Her eyes narrowed. He smiled at the unspoken admission. She knew about the Kech Volaar. Of course, she did. And she knew that they knew it. He gave her a graceful bow.

  “Maybe we can discuss it when I get back,” he said. “I have to meet someone. Tariic has a little errand for the two of us-just in case the Kech Volaar don’t find the right answer to the message that he’s sending. A surprise visit to some old friends, if you will.” He ran a hand over the hilt of his dagger.

  Ashi stiffened and drew her lips back from her teeth-a shockingly savage expression in someone dressed with such elegance-but Midian was already slipping back into the cheering crowd and out of the hall of honor. He followed the edge of rumor as word spread through Khaar Mbar’ost of what had just taken place. A moment in his room was all he needed to change courtly clothes for traveling gear. His companion in Tariic’s errand was already waiting for him in the courtyard when he reached it, their packs ready along with a horse.

  He hadn’t wanted aid in the errand. He’d argued to Tariic that he was capable of dealing with Geth and the others by himself. That it was a point of pride. That it would be easier to slip into Volaar Draal if he were alone. Tariic had overruled him. “Geth, Chetiin, Ekhaas, and Tenquis will die,” he’d said. “Get yourself into Volaar Draal, then call on Riila and Taak’s informant. It shouldn’t be difficult to find her. If she wants to show her respect for me, she can help you get him”-he’d thrust the Rod of Kings at Midian’s companion-“into the city as well. Until the traitors are dead, you’re allies. I command it.”

  The command had been unnecessary. Midian might have protested, but he would have done whatever Tariic asked. He crossed the courtyard to his new ally.

  “It’s done,” he said, reaching into his pack and drawing out a silver horseshoe. Tariic would gather an escort of soldiers-he probably already had one waiting-to see Senen safely returned to Kech Volaar territory. They would ride ahead of the escort, an unseen vanguard. Midian threw the horseshoe to the ground and spoke a word. The horseshoe bounced twice in perfect rhythm, then suddenly there was a white pony cantering in a circle around them. Midian whistled. It came to him. He mounted and looked up at his companion.

  The big bugbear with the serpentine symbol of the Fury, dark goddess of vengeance, carved into his chest glowered down at him. He looked considerably more alive and angry than someone who had supposedly had the skin flayed from him should have.

  “Tariic commands this, but I don’t like it,” Makka growled, tamping the butt of the trident that was his chosen weapon against the ground. He hadn’t escaped Tariic’s wrath at the death of Vounn d’Deneith entirely-he was pale from imprisonment in an isolated cell below Khaar Mbar’ost-but he was in better shape than the anonymous bugbear who been put in his place to satisfy the vengeance of House Deneith. “The wolf does not run beside the hound. I swore revenge against you as well as the others for turning my tribe against me.”

  Midian met his gaze without fear. “After what you did, Makka, you should be glad Tariic finds you more useful as his hound than as a sop to keep Deneith quiet. If it had been my choice, you would have been a naked corpse rotting outside Rhukaan Draal weeks ago.”

  He turned his back on the bugbear and ro
de for the gate.

  CHAPTER NINE

  22 Aryth

  As they approached the edge of Kech Volaar territory, the soldiers-seven strong hobgoblins and three burly bugbears-escorting Senen started getting skittish. First one, then another glanced around at his companions, until they were all looking at one another. Finally the leader of the expedition put his ears back and muttered something. Within moments, they had all turned and were galloping away in full retreat.

  Midian sank a little farther back into his hiding place among the trees and watched them go. He was fairly certain that Senen, swaying in her saddle, head hanging down on her chest, was barely even aware they had left. Two nights before, Midian had crept into the escort’s camp after the soldier who was supposed to be on watch duty turned his attention to the stars and moons overhead. Senen’s skin had been hot. He strongly suspected that Pradoor had done no more than close the Kech Volaar’s wounds with her prayers. Infection and fever had set in-probably Pradoor’s twisted intention all along.

  But Senen’s fever suited him too. The more confusion there was over exactly what had happened to her when she arrived in Volaar Draal, the more time he’d have to get Makka into the city and approach his targets. They would be busy cursing Tariic, ignorant of the assassin in the shadows behind them.

  Geth would be the first to die, he’d decided. Then Chetiin.

  Below, Senen crossed some invisible boundary, and the Kech Volaar patrol that had been lurking among the underbrush-Midian had spotted them immediately, even if Tariic’s soldiers had only guessed at their presence-emerged. The sudden appearance of the great mist-gray leopards that were their warmounts startled Senen’s horse, but the scouts surrounded it swiftly and slid Senen out of the saddle. They were too far away for Midian to hear their words, but the anger that showed on their faces told him all he needed to know. A messenger falcon was dispatched and a warning horn blown in a series of trills. Two members of the patrol bore Senen deeper into Kech Volaar territory, and a third rode off to track the fleeing escorts. A fourth, the one with the horn, waited where he was. Midian waited too.