Tariic stared out from those eyes. Ekhaas’s stomach churned. Her grip on the shaari’mal tightened.
And for the briefest instant, the shadows parted. Just a bit.
Midian met Ekhaas’s eyes-and doubt tickled the edge of his mind. Not the doubt he would have expected, of whether he and Makka would be able to win this fight with two more enemies ready to enter combat. He’d already considered that, and if either of them could finish off their opponent in the next few moments, the duur’kala and the artificer wouldn’t stand a chance.
No, the question that slid like a worm into his head was whether he should be fighting at all.
His jaw clenched, and he tried to beat back the doubt, but it wrapped itself around him. Why fight? Why put himself in danger? What was so important?
Tariic was important, he told himself. Tariic Kurar’taarn, his lhesh and master, wanted Ekhaas and Tenquis and the others dead.
But did he want them dead right away?
Midian tore his gaze away from Ekhaas as Chetiin sent another kick at his head. Midian ducked under and feinted with his free fist at the goblin’s groin. Chetiin curled out of an instinct to protect himself, turning away as he landed. That gave Midian the instant he needed to step back and survey the clearing.
His eyes came to rest on Tooth.
Maybe Geth and his allies didn’t need to die immediately. He was getting tired of this open fight anyway.
Chetiin’s crouched landing turned into a leg sweep. Midian vaulted over it, not back or simply up, but forward. His free hand and all of his weight came down on Chetiin’s shoulder, shoving the goblin to the ground as Midian thrust off once more, tumbled through the air, and came down right beside Tooth. He heard Tenquis shout in alarm, but he ignored the tiefling. His knife plunged down-and stopped just above the sweat-slick skin of the stricken bugbear’s neck.
“Nobody move!” he commanded.
Ekhaas froze. So did Tenquis. Chetiin whirled and raised empty hands, but moved no closer. Geth and Makka’s fight crashed on. Midian raised his voice. “Geth! Makka!”
He saw Geth react to his name. The shifter’s eyes widened as he took in the threat to Tooth, and he tried to pull away. Makka wouldn’t let him go, though. The bugbear slammed his trident against Geth’s raised gauntlet again and again, every blow driving Geth back a step.
“Makka!”
“No!” roared the bugbear. “I swore revenge, and I will not be denied again. Tariic can keep you from me, but he can’t keep them. He promised them to me. The Fury promised them to me!” He bashed Geth again, forcing the shifter back once more.
Anger flashed through Midian-anger followed by a cold chill of fear. He glanced around at Chetiin, Tenquis, and Ekhaas. For the moment, they were all keeping their distance. Tenquis and Chetiin’s eyes were darting between him and the ongoing battle. Ekhaas, though, seemed to be looking only at him. He felt sweat roll down his back. “Makka, don’t be stupid!”
“Run if you want to,” Makka growled. “When they’re dead, Tariic’s command of alliance ends, and I will come for you.” He thrust his trident into the air. “Fury strike through me! I give my all!”
The symbol carved into his chest seemed to writhe. Dark radiance like black fire shot through with flashes of color flared around his weapon. Teeth bared, Geth brought up his sword, crossing it over his gauntlet. Makka whirled around, both hands on the trident shaft, and drove the triple points directly at him, all of his weight and power behind the blow.
At the last instant, Geth dropped his guard and turned, offering no resistance. Makka’s strike skimmed past the shifter, leaving tongues of black fire smoldering in his shirt and hair. Geth’s right hand seized the trident just below its blazing head-more fire licked up his gauntlet-and held it.
His sword slashed up under the trident’s shaft in a powerful backhand stroke.
The flames along the weapon vanished.
Makka’s black eyes opened wide with shock. For a moment, he just stood there, his mouth working. Nothing came out except for bubbling blood.
When he finally fell, he toppled backward, hands sliding off the trident. The wound from Geth’s sword stretched from his left hip to his right breast.
Bloodied and smoldering, Geth hurled the trident down on top of him. “That’s for Vounn,” he spat, then looked up at Midian and raised his sword.
It took willpower to keep the knife at Tooth’s throat steady. “That’s enough,” Midian said. He looked around at all of them. “Well played.”
“You’re not going to get away this time, Midian,” Geth growled.
“I think I will.” He flicked the knife, drawing a bead of blood to remind them all of what was at risk. Tooth gave a little whimper. “This isn’t over.”
“You’re not going to surprise us again.”
“I won’t surprise you as easily,” Midian corrected him. “I don’t need Makka. Tariic wants you dead. You’ve only delayed it.” He glanced around at them all. At Geth, at Chetiin, at Tenquis, and especially at… Ekhaas?
The hobgoblin was still staring at him, as intent as if he’d sprouted a pig’s nose. Was that pity in her gaze? His anger rose again. Maybe Tariic’s enemies had won this round, but he could still hurt them. In her left hand Ekhaas held the Dhakaani disk, fingers clenched tight around it. Midian held out his hand. “Give me the shaari’mal.”
She blinked and sudden alarm replaced pity in her eyes. Her ears flicked back. “No.”
Midian pressed the tip of his knife to Tooth’s broad throat again and smiled at her. “I think Tariic is going to want to see it,” he said, “and I don’t want to take the chance that you’ll try to hide it before we catch you again. Give it to me.”
Ekhaas bared her teeth and clutched the disk close. Midian let his grin grow.
Tenquis’s golden eyes darted between them, then he blurted, “Do you really think Tariic will want it?” The tiefling plunged a hand deep into a large pocket in his vest that must have been magically concealed. Midian was certain there’d been no pocket there before. “Because if he does, I think he’d really want these.”
He pulled out two more shaari’mal.
Midian actually felt his heart skip in surprise. Ekhaas hissed sharply. “Tenquis, don’t!”
The tiefling flipped the two disks so that he held one in each hand and lifted them up, wiggling them on either side of his head. “How about it, Midian? Does Tariic want these?”
Rage burned cold in Midian’s gut. “Give those to me, Tenquis.”
The tiefling’s face tightened. “Go and get them.” His hands snapped forward and the shaari’mal skimmed through the air. Midian’s head jerked up as he followed them.
It was no random throw; he saw that in an instant. One disk went to Geth, the other to Chetiin. Midian twisted back around in time to see Tenquis thrust his suddenly empty hands out in the gestures of a spell. Magic rippled through the air, trying to wrap itself around Tooth like some sort of shield. The tiefling was quick, but not quick enough. Midian stabbed down through the still gathering force
Ekhaas saw Tenquis reach into his pocket and knew what he was doing before he’d even pulled out the other two shaari’mal. Fear raced through her. Before, when the disks had seemed like nothing more than hunks of metal, she’d been willing to use one as a distraction. But with one pulsing softly in her hand, the thought of tempting Midian with them was just wrong.
How could the tiefling not feel the power in the disks? “Tenquis,” she said, “don’t!”
He already had them raised beside his head. “How about it, Midian? Does Tariic want these?”
The gnome’s face twisted. “Give those to me, Tenquis.”
“Go and get them.” He flung the disks away-to Geth and Chetiin. For an instant, all Ekhaas felt was a sense of relief, even if she already knew in the back of her mind that Tenquis’s defiance had doomed Tooth.
Then Chetiin’s hand closed on the flying shaari’mal.
— and the tickle at
the edge of Midian’s mind tore wide open. Hard-edged clarity rose up from inside him and shattered into a hundred jagged, conflicting emotions.
Tariic was his master.
Tariic had stood over him with the Rod of Kings and commanded him to rip open his own belly.
He’d do anything to please Tariic.
Tariic wanted him dead.
He served his lhesh and Darguun.
His soul belonged to Zilargo. He’d killed for his country. He’d killed one king for Zilargo and tried to kill another.
Hurled stones found him as he tried to flee. An agent of the Trust, brought down by a mob. When he returned to consciousness, it was already too late for him. Tariic raised the rod. “Sit still and be quiet.” He had no choice. The power that had once belonged to the emperors of Dhakaan gripped like a wolf’s jaws. He sat still and was quiet.
Later, in the privacy of his chambers with only Pradoor to watch and cackle and Ashi d’Deneith to stare in horror, Tariic tore Midian’s mind to pieces-and put it back together again in a way that pleased him.
Midian screamed until his new master commanded him to stop.
He screamed again and fell back away from Tooth as the work of the Rod of Kings unraveled. Every memory of that tortured night came rushing back over him. Irresistible. Undeniable.
The warmth and power that Ekhaas felt in her shaari’mal exploded the moment that Chetiin took hold of his. The sense of purpose became an unwavering certainty-not of the shaari’mal telling her what to do, but of it telling her to do what she knew she had to.
Telling her to follow her muut.
Understanding came between one blink and the next.
Geth had said that the Sword of Heroes showed him memories of those who’d wielded it before, guiding him along their path. The quality of heroes was wrath. Aram. The Rod of Kings, Ekhaas knew, taught its holder to rule with the uncompromising power of the emperors of Dhakaan. The quality of kings was strength. Guulen.
Heroes inspired. Kings commanded. And nobles… served. They did their duty. Their muut.
But muut had two sides, didn’t it? Tuura Dhakaan had said she had muut to the Kech Volaar, that she led them and protected them “as it had been since the Age of Dhakaan.” And what had Senen Dhakaan once said of the Shield of Nobles when she’d told the tale of the three artifacts? That the ancient daashor Taruuzh had given it into the care of the lords and ladies of Dhakaan, that it represented both the fealty that the nobles owed to the emperor and the protection that was their responsibility to the people.
Muut wasn’t something that could rest in the hands of just one person.
There’d never been an actual Shield of Nobles in the way there was a Sword of Heroes and a Rod of Kings, Ekhaas realized abruptly. There had never been fragments for them to find. The shield, the protection that the nobles owed to the people of Dhakaan, had shattered because the nobles had failed in their duty. But muut couldn’t truly be destroyed-though it could be forgotten, just as stories could be confused and misinterpreted.
Like stories of what Taruuzh had created for the nobles of Dhakaan and what they had lost to Tasaam Draet. The Dhakaani had known at least some of the truth. Giis Puulta had carved three shaari’mal into his Reward Stela. Maybe later emperors had deliberately let memories of the Shield of Nobles, of Muut, fade, just as they let Suud Anshaar lie abandoned. Maybe as the empire slid toward the Desperate Times, the emperors didn’t like the idea of a shield standing between their power and the people.
A shield between their power and the people.
The disk in her hands shifted at that thought, and a feeling of clarity flooded through her. She remembered the sense of Tariic’s eyes staring out from behind Midian’s.
Ekhaas met Chetiin’s gaze and knew that he’d felt the same thing she had. Why didn’t Geth? Why hadn’t Tenquis? Maybe because they weren’t dar. Maybe because they didn’t live with muut as the Dhakaani had. She raised the shaari’mal, the ancient symbol of Dhakaan that Taruuzh had chosen to represent the collective muut of the empire’s nobles, and opened herself up to it. Chetiin did the same.
The shadows shrouding Midian flickered-and vanished. The gnome stiffened, the knife in his hand stopping just above Tooth’s throat. For a heartbeat there was silence.
Then Midian started screaming.
Geth and Tenquis stared between him, her, and Chetiin. “What just happened?” Geth demanded.
Ekhaas lowered her fragment of Muut. The shaari’mal was cold again, but she could feel its power lurking under the rune-carved surface of the byeshk. Her heart was racing in her chest.
“We’ve found our shield,” she said, “and our weapon against Tariic.” She looked up at Geth. “It’s time to go back to Rhukaan Draal.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
19 Vult
Ashi looked at herself in the polished surface of a shield. For the first time since Senen’s exile, she was wearing her formal outfit of trim trousers and cropped jacket. Her boots were freshly polished, her hair was pulled back, and her eyes were once again highlighted with Vounn’s cosmetics. The clothes and cosmetics were her tools. Her weapons.
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 hi
s 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.”
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