He whirled. Glimpsed Midian perched on the railing high above. Saw Ashi’s face behind him. Recognized the madness in Midian’s eyes. Spun back around and heard the hiss of the gnome’s loosed bolt as he did.
At Tariic’s side, Pradoor leaned forward suddenly, her hand swiping the air as her withered lips moved in prayer.
Midian’s crossbow bolt dropped as if it had been slapped aside, clattering against the stone of the box just in front of Tariic. The lhesh’s face twisted into something hard and vicious as he stared at the gnome and Ashi.
Geth felt his gut twist too. Midian had betrayed them again! Maybe out of madness rather than malice, but he’d betrayed them.
“Midian,” whispered the Iron Fox warrior who was Ekhaas, “you fool!”
Tariic’s voice rose. “Icegaunt!” he howled, and up on the stands Ashi cried out, clutched her arms, and fell back against startled dragonmarked viceroys and Five Nations ambassadors. Tariic thrust out the Rod of Kings. “Midian Mit Davandi-jump!”
Midian stiffened on the railing high above and turned slowly to face Tariic. The crossbow hung loose in his hands. On the tier of stands below, goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears stared up, then scrambled over each other to get out of the way. Midian leaned forward “No!” shouted Ekhaas. Her disguise as an Iron Fox warrior unraveled as she moved, plunging a hand into her pouch and ripping out her shaari’mal. She turned around and held the byeshk disk high, a look of concentration on her face.
It seemed to Geth that he felt a tremor pass through Wrath. Up on the railing, Midian blinked and jerked back, the color draining from his face. A shout turned the gnome around-guards had appeared on the stairs. Geth saw a look of almost feral cunning come over Midian. He flung the crossbow at the guards and plunged in among the spectators still in the stands.
Chaos spread through the arena. Spectators in the stands were yelling and shouting and-incredibly-still cheering as if the unfolding events were mere spectacle. In the raised box, warlords had surrounded Tariic, maybe out of a desire to protect him, maybe to ask what was happening. Pradoor screamed for the wrath of the Dark Six to fall on Tariic’s assassins. The Kech Shaarat warriors had drawn back, weapons ready for whatever might happen next.
Dagii spun around. “Iron Fox, shield line ahead and behind!” he ordered, and the warriors of his company moved with swift precision, locking their shields into overlapping barriers. One shield wall faced the potential threat of the Kech Shaarat, the other guarded their rear and the still open door through which they’d entered the arena.
Left between the two lines were Ekhaas-the shaari’mal still raised-Dagii, Chetiin, and Tenquis. Ekhaas’s hadn’t been the only disguise to unravel. Tenquis held his wand at the ready, golden eyes staring around in a mix of confusion and anger. “Geth…” he said, sharp teeth bared.
“Back to back,” Geth told him. He drew Wrath, stepped in close to Tenquis, and looked up to Tariic.
The lhesh ignored the madness around him and stared down at them all. “You!” he bellowed over the noise that filled the arena. His eyes flicked to the shaari’mal Ekhaas held. “What is this?”
“Your undoing!” Ekhaas spat back.
Tariic’s eyes narrowed. His ears went back. He pointed the Rod of Kings at Dagii. “Kill her,” he ordered. “Kill all of them!”
Dagii’s eyes opened wide as the command seized him. His helmet dropped from his grasp, and he reached for his sword. Caught in the rod’s power, some of the Iron Fox abandoned the shield walls and turned as well. Ekhaas swung the shaari’mal first toward Dagii, then toward the advancing warriors. “No!” she said. “You can resist him!”
Another tremor shook Wrath as the power of the shield clashed with the power of the rod. Tariic held his attention on Dagii, though. The young warlord kept moving, drawing his sword and raising it high as he turned on Ekhaas. The duur’kala’s ears trembled. Geth saw fear and terrible loss in her eyes. Gut clenched, he tightened his grip on Wrath, ready to fight one friend to save another Then the tremor in the ancient sword became a charge like lightning as Chetiin stepped up beside Ekhaas and held out the second shaari’mal.
Geth felt the power of Muut form, throwing back the influence of the Rod of Kings. Dagii and his warriors stumbled, then looked up with clear eyes. Up in his box, Tariic stumbled, too, staggering backward into the warlords around him. His face was slack with shock.
“It’s not possible,” he said. “It’s not-” He glared at the warlords who were looking at him, then swiped the rod through the air in front of them, pointing down into the arena. “Get them!”
Zealous exaltation lit up the faces of the warlords, and they vanished from the box. A few came swarming down over the wall in their eagerness to carry out Tariic’s command. Ekhaas and Chetiin turned the shaari’mal on them, but the tremor Geth felt this time was nothing like it had been before. One of the warlords hesitated, but the others kept coming.
“Horns of Ohr Kaluun,” said Tenquis. “That’s not good!”
Across the sand, Geth saw Taak Dhakaan and Riila Dhakaan glance at each other, then Taak roared, “For glory! Kech Shaarat, itaa!”
“Icegaunt!”
Cold burned through Ashi’s wrists worse than it ever had before. Her world narrowed to that terrible, numbing pain. Instinctively, she jerked her arms close to her body, as if that would keep them warm, but it only brought the cold to her chest. She felt herself topple backward into bodies and heard Laren Roole yelp at her cold, shivering touch.
In her left hand, she could see the folded paper with Tariic’s plans. It trembled as her fingers shook, threatening to slide away. Hold onto it, she told herself. Hold it!
Her fingers closed tight. Somewhere in the distance, there seemed to be a lot of shouting and movement, but Ashi tried to ignore it. She forced her other hand toward her belt and the pouch of vials Keraal had given her. Movement came in spasms. She got her hand to the pouch and hooked her fingers-she couldn’t feel them-around the flap, but her first attempt to get the pouch open only jarred one of the vials loose. It flew up, and Ashi heard someone gasp in surprise, then the vial dropped and rolled away somewhere underfoot. No!
A hand closed on her arm and held it steady. Ashi looked up and saw Pater d’Orien’s round face as he winced at the touch of magical cold. “You want one of these, Ashi?” he asked. Thick, rough fingers fished the remaining two vials from her pouch. “Someone open one of these!”
Another hand, she didn’t know whose, reached past him and took both vials, then returned one to him opened. Pater put it to her lips and tipped it with surprising gentleness. Ashi slurped at the milky, pale blue liquid.
A kind of warmth spread through her. No, not warmth exactly-she was still cold, but she no longer felt it. She pushed Pater’s hand away and thrust herself upright. Viceroys and ambassadors were gathered around her. Behind them, the arena was a seething mass of confusion as Darguuls moved around. On their tier, where arena guards rampaged through the stands as if they were looking for something, the spectators surged back and forth to avoid them. On the tiers above and below, it didn’t appear as if the crowds were trying to escape at all, only to find the best view.
Pater’s forehead wrinkled. “Ashi, what’s going on?” he asked.
She grabbed his arm and drew on her dragonmark, sending its power through him. He gasped as the clarity of its protection settled on him. Ashi saw more questions form in his eyes, but she didn’t give him the chance to ask them. “Tariic has been controlling you-all of you-with a secret power of the Rod of Kings,” she said swiftly. “His defenses against the Valenar are really preparations for an attack on Breland that will take place in four days.”
“What? That’s ridiculous,” said Roole. Ashi ignored him and thrust the folded paper into Pater’s hand. Frost crinkled as the paper moved.
“Dagii has risked everything to get this to you,” she said. “You need to get it to Breland right now. Do you understand?”
Pater blinked, then his
face hardened into determination. “I understand.” He heaved his bulk upright, drawing her up with him. “Ashi, I can take you with me if you want to come.”
She shook her head and stepped back. “No, my friends need-”
“You!” The guard who had stopped her at the head of the stairs burst into their midst, grabbing for her. “You were with the assassin!”
Ashi tried to pull away, but someone’s leg tangled with hers. She stumbled, tripping over a bench. The guard pushed past Roole and Kravin d’Vadalis to seize her.
Pater’s meaty fist cracked into his jaw. His sleeve rode up, and Ashi glimpsed the dragonmark that curled across his wrist. The colors of the mark seemed to shimmer-and the guard vanished with the punch, reappearing and crashing into the stands half-a-dozen paces away. Pater stepped back with a look of satisfaction.
“Learned that trick on caravan guard duty.” He checked the paper in his other hand and nodded to Ashi. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll make sure Baron Breven hears about this.” He closed his eyes, and a distant expression crossed his face, then he took a step and disappeared.
Laren Roole shot up and took his place. “This is intolerable,” he said. “You’re meddling in Brelish affairs, and I don’t appreciate this fearmongering-”
Ashi pushed him back down and whirled around, trying to see what was happening. A battle cry drew her attention to the arena floor as the Kech Shaarat bore down on the Iron Fox. Other battle cries came as Darguun’s warlords charged in through the arena’s open doors to attack from the other side.
Ekhaas, Dagii, Geth, Tenquis, and Chetiin were right in the middle of it all.
And in his box above the combat, Tariic watched it like some kind of gloating puppetmaster with Pradoor at his side.
Ashi turned back to the viceroys and ambassadors. “Where’s Midian?”
“There,” said Esmyssa.
Ashi looked where she pointed and realized what the guards had been hunting for. Midian hung in the grasp of two big bugbear guards as they came across the stands toward the group of diplomats. Other guards were converging on them as well.
“I think they saw what happened to the one Pater punched,” said Roole. He looked around desperately. “If we give them Ashi-”
“Close your mouth, Roole,” said Dannel d’Cannith. She looked at Ashi. “Is what you said about Tariic controlling us true?”
Ashi nodded. “I can’t free you the way I did Pater, or I would, but it’s true. He’s been manipulating you since Vounn’s murder. Some of you”-she glanced at Roole-“more than others. He had Midian under his control for a long time too. If Tariic wins here today, he won’t let you get away.”
“Then we’d better fight for ourselves if we want to get out of here,” said Kravin. He slid a slim sword from a sheath at his hip. “Weapons?”
Esmyssa produced a pair of long needles from her thick hair. Dannel pulled off her belt and tossed it on the ground-Ashi watched segmented metal plates rearrange themselves and come to life as a steel serpent. Other viceroys and ambassadors drew more mundane weapons. The arena guards slowed their advance and spread out, suddenly wary.
“Go get Midian, Ashi,” said Dannel. She handed Ashi the last of the potion vials, then hissed a command at her steel serpent. It slithered forward like a vanguard, the various diplomats following it.
Ashi crossed behind them and came up through the stands to cut off the guards holding Midian from the others. She wished briefly that she had gotten a sword from Keraal, then realized she had something that was perhaps even more intimidating. Approaching the guards, she raised her hands, ready to strike.
Vapor from the cold of the wrist cuffs rose off them like eldritch smoke. When she swayed her hands through the air, the white mist left a short-lived trail behind. The guards backed off, eyes darting from her to the other guards who were trying to dodge Dannel’s steel serpent as it glided among them. Ashi jumped forward and grabbed the bare flesh of a guard’s arm, giving it a hard squeeze.
The trick worked. Shocked, if not actually hurt by the cold, the bugbear yelped, released his grip on Midian, and ran. The other guard hesitated only a moment longer before following. Midian dropped to the ground with a groan. Ashi dragged him up onto a bench, then slapped him lightly in an effort to wake him. “Come on, Midian,” she murmured, cupping her frigid hands around the back of his neck.
He yelped and his eyes flew open, the slack leaving his face. He focused on her but Ashi had the feeling he didn’t really see her. She jerked her hands away from his head just in time as he twisted and snapped at them with this teeth. He came up into a crouch, holding himself like a fighter but hunched and ready to spring like an animal.
“Don’t touch me!” he snarled. “Nobody touches me!”
“Midian!”
“Ashi?” His stance softened, and he actually looked at her with recognition in his eyes. “Sage’s quill, Ashi. They won’t let me rest. They’re always pulling at me.”
“They? You mean, Tariic?”
Midian tensed up again. “Tariic. Zilargo. Darguun. Dhakaan. They all say I serve them, but I’m not going to play their game anymore. I’m not!” His eyes went wide, and his mouth spread into a mad, savage grin. “I’m going to kill them. They want me to kill. That’s what I’m going to do. Let them see where my loyalty lies!”
The tearing influence of the Rod of Kings had unhinged his mind. Ashi stood and took a step back, then glanced down into the arena and the chaos there. At Tariic and Pradoor, safely raised above the battle on the sands.
An idea came to her. Even if he had slipped into madness, there was one thing she thought she could count on from Midian. One of the fleeing guards had dropped his sword. She picked it up. “Come with me,” she said to Midian. “I know where to start.”
The disciplined Kech Shaarat formed themselves into wedges as they charged. The rod-driven warlords who came streaming into the arena from the other side simply rushed the lines of the Iron Fox. In either case, the result was the same. With some of Dagii’s men pulled out of place by Tariic’s killing command, the shield wall was weakened. It buckled on both sides simultaneously.
“Back!” shouted Dagii. “Iron Fox, encampment formation!”
On the periphery of his vision, Geth saw the Iron Fox’s shattered lines convulse and try to pull together, but he had his own problems. The warlords who’d been so caught up in Tariic’s command that they simply dropped over the wall of the raised box were already inside the broken lines.
The shifter turned as Garaad of Vaniish Kai stalked around him, keeping the hobgoblin in his sight. He knew the warlord-lean and nasty as the spear he carried. And unlike Makka with his trident, Garaad wasn’t going to sacrifice the reach of his weapon for the bloody joy of close combat. He stayed back, spearhead dancing and shifting.
“Geth,” said Tenquis from his back, the tiefling turning as Geth turned. “More coming from this side!”
“Do what you can,” Geth said tightly. He felt Tenquis move, arms rising as he worked his magic, and caught a whiff of acrid fumes. A warlord gasped, choked, and fell back. Geth kept his eyes on Garaad’s, waiting for the telltale shift that came before a strike…
Garaad’s eyes twitched. His spear darted in. Geth met it with an upward sweep of Wrath, turning the blow aside, then spun along the length of the spear faster than Garaad could pull back. The warlord rocked away from Wrath’s blade-right into the path of Geth’s great gauntlet. He dropped like a pair of trousers trying to stand on their own. Geth raised his sword to finish him.
Dagii’s voice rang across the arena. “No! Bring the warlords down, but don’t kill them! They are our allies!”
The spectators still watching from the stands above jeered. Geth remembered something Haruuc had once told him. Darguun wants blood. The people always want blood.
It hadn’t mattered if that blood had flowed from defeated rebels or the lhesh himself. It wouldn’t matter if it came from Dagii or one of the warlords. Kings, traito
rs, nobles, heroes-they were all the same in the end. Geth ground his teeth together, gave Garaad a hard kick to make sure he stayed down, then turned away.
Tenquis fought ferociously, a shimmering field of force around him throwing back the blows of warlords with a sound like thunder, while the tiefling’s wand spit short, crackling bolts of lightning. Nearby, Ekhaas fought with a grim determination, shaari’mal still in her hand, sword clashing with the weapon of a Kech Shaarat warrior, a song of determination and encouragement pouring from her throat. Chetiin darted across the field, his dagger flashing wherever an outthrust leg or exposed back presented itself. Keraal stood among the Iron Fox, swinging his chain to keep more warlords back.
They were holding their own. Barely.
Another warlord came at Geth. He met the hobgoblin with a snarl. Sword met sword in a bone-jarring crash. Across the arena, he heard Taak Dhakaan’s voice rise in challenge.
“Dagii of Mur Talaan, fight me! The Kech Shaarat are no allies of yours!”
Dagii’s answer was a roar of fury. New clashing added to the clamor of battle. As Geth turned in his own fight, he caught glimpses of Dagii and Taak’s duel. The young warlord charged and beat the Kech Shaarat warrior back a pace. Taak countered with a rain of blows that drove Dagii away. The armored figures closed again, struggling back and forth.
Geth smashed Wrath against his opponent’s chest. The warlord’s breastplate, bright steel chased with bright brass, creased under the blow. His face turned suddenly red as the bent metal crushed in against him, and he struggled to draw breath. Geth knocked his sword away and swept his legs out from under him, leaving the hobgoblin to struggle like an overturned turtle. He whirled back to Taak and Dagii — in time to see Taak break free and swing his sword around with all of his weight and strength behind it. He bellowed as he swung, his face as contorted as the demon visage on his armor.
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