The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1

by Don Bassingthwaite

  With a wordless cry of fury, she snatched up the sword and plunged it through the gown, stabbing deep into the mattress beneath. The blade pierced silk, bed-clothes, ticking, and stuffing to jam hard into the wood frame beneath. Ashi released the hilt and staggered away, her lips drawn back. “It’s not supposed to be like this!” she snarled through her teeth.

  A year ago she hadn’t known about the cut of gowns or the origins of lace. She’d barely known anything of the world outside of the Shadow Marches. She’d been content as a hunter of the savage Bonetree, one of the most feared of the Marcher clans. She’d dimly been aware of the thirteen dragonmarked houses, knowing them only as distant clans rumored to carry magic in their blood.

  Then she’d discovered that she carried that magic, too.

  She raised her arms in front of her. Bright blue-green lines traced her skin from the backs of her hands to her shoulders, disappearing under her shirt. The Mark of Sentinel wrapped her in a pattern that covered almost her entire body, from feet to face. Only her fingers and palms and a strip from her cheekbones to just above her eyebrows were unmarked by the power within her. The dragonmark was far larger than the one on Baerer’s shoulder. Larger even than the mark that Vounn carried on the inside of her right arm and that curled over her wrist. The scholars of the civilized world called it a Siberys Mark, rare and powerful.

  Sometimes Ashi couldn’t call it anything except a curse. It was the reason she was here, wasn’t it? When the wizard-swordsman Singe had first opened her eyes to the corruption of the Bonetree and the possibility that another clan waited for her beyond the Shadow Marches, she’d actually been afraid that House Deneith might not accept her. All she’d had to prove kinship had been a sword inherited from her grandfather, an outclanner captured and brought into the Bonetree to sire new children. Then she, Singe, Ekhaas, and her other new friends had faced Dah’mir the dragon, and she had, without thinking, reached out with all the force of her will to deny Dah’mir a hold over the kalashtar Dandra’s mind—and succeeded. Dandra had been shielded from Dah’mir’s influence. In the same moment, the dragonmark had drawn itself across Ashi’s skin in a flash of color, undeniable proof that she belonged to Deneith.

  But was the mark really a curse? Her anger ebbing, Ashi let her arms fall. The power that the mark granted her to shield a mind from magical influence had not only protected Dandra, it had made the defeat of Dah’mir possible. Even indirectly the mark was a blessing: Deneith’s desire to bring her within its fold had been so strong that she’d been able to barter her willing surrender in return for the use of mercenaries from Deneith’s Blademarks Guild to stop one of Dah’mir’s mad schemes. The fighting men bought by her freedom had saved lives.

  And if she had to admit it, there was a lot about House Deneith that fascinated her. The House was like nothing—no clan, no home, no life—she’d ever known. In the eight months since she’d left her friends and been taken away to Karrlakton, she’d discovered so many new things. Strange customs. New people and sights. A sense of history that was sometimes frightening—Sentinel Tower was, at its core, many centuries old, and the lore of Deneith contained even older tales of those who had borne the Mark of Sentinel. She’d had the chance to train with the masters of a martial house. She’d witnessed the awe-inspiring advance of the Darguuls and very nearly performed for them. Who among the Bonetree or even among her friends could claim the same?

  Ashi turned around. A tall mirror hung on the wall of her bedchamber, and she looked at herself—at the reflection of a strong woman marked by a rare power. She drew herself up straight. The dragonmark was no curse. In fact, if any curse had been visited on her, it was—

  The outer door of her chambers creaked open. “Ashi!” called Vounn. Footsteps in the sitting room said that the lady seneschal had not waited for a response or an invitation.

  Ashi’s jaw tightened again. Most members of Deneith were brought up within the House, surrounded by its traditions and by the trappings of civilization. To have a savage of the Shadow Marches wielding the greatest power of the House had been too much for many of them. The lords of Deneith had welcomed her to Sentinel Tower, then had given her into the care of a mentor. Someone who could shape a rough savage into a proper lady of Deneith, a true asset to the House.

  To the world, Vounn d’Deneith was a consummate diplomat, gently guiding the relationships between Deneith and the nobles of the nations of Khorvaire, maintaining good relations at the highest levels. In private there was nothing gentle about her. Charm and grace became an unyielding, single-minded focus on her goals with no mercy for anyone who got in her way. One of those goals was shaping Ashi.

  The lady seneschal appeared in the doorway of the bedchamber. Her lined face was hard. “Ashi, you left the reception before—” Her voice stopped as she took in the discarded robe, the impaled gown, and Ashi’s face. Her lips pressed together until they were thin lines. “You were supposed to wear that gown to the feast for Tariic tonight,” she said, her voice cold.

  The anger she had felt earlier surged back through Ashi’s gut. “I was supposed to perform the sword dance for him!”

  Vounn folded her hands, unmoved by her rage. “That doesn’t justify storming out of the Hall of Shields before proper introductions were made.” She went over to the bed and began working the sword free with practiced ease. Deneith was a martial house. Even the diplomats knew how to handle a weapon. She kept talking as she pulled at the sword. “You know how significant Tariic’s visit is for Deneith.”

  For you, you mean, Ashi thought. She didn’t say it, though. Instead she repeated what her history tutor—hired by Vounn, of course—had drummed into her. “When Haruuc led the clans of the goblin races in the rebellion that carved Darguun out of southern Cyre thirty years ago, he did it on the back of a betrayal to Deneith, leading tens of thousands of hobgoblin mercenaries in turning against the House and the nations that employed them. Baron Jannes d’Deneith saved the honor of the House by entering Darguun and making peace with Haruuc, who personally guaranteed the future loyalty of mercenary troops supplied to Deneith. The ties between Deneith and Darguun have been strained, though. Tariic’s visit is the first to Sentinel Tower by an emissary of Haruuc since the founding of Darguun.”

  The message that had arrived only a little more than a month before from Lhesh Haruuc, delivered by a uniformed gnome of House Sivis, had been unexpected but had set off waves of excitement. Vounn had brought it to a classroom where a tutor was conducting one of Ashi’s excruciating reading lessons—there had been little need for reading and writing among the Bonetree—and stood over her as she puzzled out the words.

  Lhesh Haruuc accepts your invitation and will send his personal emissary to meet with House Deneith to discuss matters of concern to us both.

  Such a short message for all the chaos that had followed it.

  “I’ve been working on persuading the Darguuls to make a diplomatic visit since I was raised to my rank,” said Vounn without looking up. Her voice warmed with ambition. “It will be the first step to equalizing the relationship between Deneith and Darguun. We hire Darguuls, but they want nothing from us. That’s going to change. Too much depends on this visit to leave anything to chance.” The sword came free and Vounn set it aside, then added, “I saw you practicing the sword dance before the reception. Your steps were too raw. I had Baerer dress and slip into the ceremony to take your place. Based on the Darguuls’ reaction, I think it was the right decision.”

  Ashi’s face burned. “Why didn’t you just use Baerer from the beginning, then? Why put me through the training?”

  Vounn raised an eyebrow. “Having the sword dance performed for you is a statement of honor. To have the sword dance performed by the bearer of a Siberys Mark is a statement of strength.”

  For a moment, Ashi could only stare at her. Blood thundered in her ears and her vision dimmed as the urge to strike the older woman burned through her. She held back, though. Sometimes the ways of the Bonet
ree came too easily. Instead, she just clenched her fists and said, “You only wanted me to dance because of my mark?”

  “It’s your duty to serve Deneith,” Vounn said without hesitation. “I did think you might have a talent for it, but I see I should have given you more time.” She lifted the gown from the bed and inspected the holes in it. “The cuts are clean. Call for a seamstress, someone with magewright training. A mending spell will close these, and you can still wear the gown to dinner.”

  Anger shifted inside of Ashi. “I’m not going to dinner.” The words sounded childish, but they came from deep inside her. Vounn blinked, astonishment at this rebellion leaping into her face. Ashi cut her off before she could say anything. “You heard me. I’m not going.”

  Vounn’s astonishment vanished into a cold neutrality. “You have a place of honor two seats from Tariic. You must go.”

  “Baerer can go in my place.” Ashi put her back to Vounn and went to her wardrobe. Her fingers fumbled with the seams of her fitted dancing shirt, then she simply grabbed the fabric and tore the stitching apart. A sleeveless shirt—the better to show off her dragonmark. Her mouth twisted in disgust. Flinging the rags away, she reached into the wardrobe. “Or better yet,” she said, “let my mark sit in the chair. Ah, but you can’t, since it’s coming with me.”

  The shirt she pulled from the wardrobe had long sleeves. She tugged it over her head, then grabbed the fingerless gloves and scarf she habitually wore, when away from the enclave of Sentinel Tower, to hide the magical pattern on her skin.

  “You can’t do this,” said Vounn.

  Ashi glanced over her shoulder at the lady seneschal. There were two spots of color high on her cheeks. “Why not?” she asked her. “Because it will spoil your plans? Because it will mean trouble for the relationship between Deneith and Darguun? I don’t think my being there or not will make that much of a difference.”

  She reached back into the wardrobe and took out one thing more: her sword. Her real sword, not the lightweight piece of metal from the dance but a proper blade, the one thing she’d carried away from the Bonetree clan and her old life. Singe had identified it as an honor blade of the Sentinel Marshals of House Deneith, a weapon presented only in recognition of the most heroic acts. It had belonged to her grandfather, a legacy along with the blood of Deneith. Ashi buckled the sword belt around her waist, then turned to go.

  “You’re not leaving Sentinel Tower,” said Vounn. She hadn’t moved, as if frozen with disbelief that her charge would disobey her. “You will be at that dinner.”

  Ashi stopped and met her gaze. “How will it look to the Darguuls,” she asked, “if they see House guards dragging the bearer of the Siberys Mark of Sentinel through the halls and up to the dining table?”

  Vounn closed her mouth, but her eyes remained hard. Ashi could guess what was going on in her mind. There was more than one way to get an unwilling person to do something, and she didn’t doubt that Vounn would use any means at her disposal. Fortunately, Ashi had the ultimate defense against any sort of mental manipulation. She narrowed her eyes and concentrated. For a moment, the lines of her dragonmark seemed to brighten. Heat flared across her skin, wrapping her in a flash of warmth that, when it faded, left a kind of hard-edged clarity behind it.

  The power of her mark had stood against Dah’mir and against his lord, the terrible, alien daelkyr known as the Master of Silence. It would stand against anything Vounn could throw at her. What was more, its power would conceal her from any divination magic the lady seneschal might order used to try to locate her.

  “Give my regards to Tariic,” said Ashi, and she walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  The passages of Sentinel Tower were generally bustling at any hour, but as Ashi stalked from the living quarters of the great tower into the more public areas, it seemed to her that even more people than usual were rushing about. Most were talking about the Darguuls, about Tariic and the evening’s feast, about Baerer and his performance of the sword dance. Ashi did her best to avoid the thickest knots of gossip—a goal made easier once people got a look at the fury on her face and quickly moved out of her way. She’d never been good at concealing her emotions, and while Vounn had managed to teach her some control, the last thing Ashi felt like doing was following Vounn’s lessons.

  No, she realized as she turned a corner and stopped sharply, following Vounn’s lessons was the second to last thing she felt like doing.

  Around the corner, as startled and frozen as she, was Baerer. Her one-time instructor was dressed in fine clothes, clearly ready for dinner. His face still glowed with the joy of his dance, though that glow vanished even as she watched, replaced by a kind of haunted shame. “Ashi—”

  “Lord Baerer,” she said formally, some vestige of eight months of Vounn’s training fighting to the surface. By ancient tradition, any bearer of a dragonmark could claim the title of lord or lady, no matter what their actual station. Even after eight months, Ashi still found the tradition ridiculous and fortunately the members of the houses seldom used the titles among themselves in casual conversation or with friends. There were times, however, when even she had to admit they were useful. Baerer winced at the harshness in her voice.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Vounn took me aside just before the reception and said there’d been a change in plans. She offered me the chance to dance for the Darguuls. Who could say no to that?”

  “Not you, I see. I thought you were my friend, not just my teacher, Baerer.” Hot anger scorched away formality. “You know how hard I worked. Did you think I would just give up?”

  “Vounn didn’t tell me anything about why you weren’t dancing.”

  Ashi scowled. “Because she didn’t think I was good enough. She thought my dance was too raw.”

  “Raw?” Baerer looked her in the eyes for the first time. “I would have said that was the most attractive thing about your dancing.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry I took your place, Ashi. I think you would have been good. Vounn should have let you dance.”

  “Tell her that,” said Ashi. “You’re probably going to be sitting beside her at dinner.”

  Confusion crossed Baerer’s face, but she’d had enough of talking and she wasn’t in the mood to explain herself. She pushed past him and strode on down the passage.

  “Ashi, wait—” He caught her arm.

  She turned on reflex, twisting her arm around his and swinging him around. The dancing master kept his balance and turned with her, but still ended up thrust face-first against the nearest wall.

  “Leave me alone, Baerer,” she said in his ear, then let him loose.

  He looked back at her with alarm and a little fright on his face. “I just wanted to warn you,” he said. He twitched his head down the hall. “If you’re going that way and through the Venture Court, you’re going to run into the Darguuls. Tariic’s honor guard is camped out in the court. The atmosphere is … uneasy.”

  Ashi smiled, baring her teeth. “Good.” She turned again and continued on her way.

  Sentinel Tower had been built upon and expanded many times during its centuries of existence. In many ways, it had become more of a sprawling complex than a tower. Its inner reaches were forbidden to all but the members of House Deneith while the outer areas were filled with workshops and supply yards, all as busy as any market. A middle ring was where business with major clients took place and where important guests like Tariic were lodged. The entire tower was riddled with ancient passages that no longer went anywhere, abandoned chambers waiting for a new use, and old courtyards that had once been open to the sky but were now closed in by more recent construction.

  The Venture Court was one such courtyard. It hadn’t yet been covered over entirely, but the rooms above it had been built progressively out into open space, leaving only a small gap to the open air. Ashi had always thought the court resembled nothing so much as one of the long houses built by the orc tribes of the Shadow Marches, co
mplete with a smoke hole in the roof.

  That night, the gap to the sky really was a smoke hole. Ashi paused at the edge of the court and stared in spite of her anger.

  Baerer hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d described the Darguuls as “camped out” in the court. A big fire built in a great copper bowl cast a flickering light that reflected in streaks and sparks from the weapons and armor of Tariic’s musicians, banner-bearers, and guards. While some of the goblins dozed near the fire, others stood in a watchful perimeter as if they expected an attack at any time—defensive measures more suited to soldiers on the move than guests at Sentinel Tower. And the goblin races, she knew, didn’t need the fire. They could see perfectly well in the dark. The fire was there so that others could see them and be intimidated into keeping their distance. It set the warrior in Ashi on edge.

  Apparently she wasn’t the only one to react that way. At every entrance to the court and from the windows overlooking it, House guards stood in silent response to the Darguuls’ presence. One of them stepped into her path to block her from entering the court, then saw the mark on her face and stepped back again.

  “Lady Ashi,” he said with a nod. “You might want to go around Venture Court tonight. It may not be safe to cross.”

  One irritation after another. Going around the court would just slow her. The nearest gate out of Sentinel Tower was just beyond the court. Going around would all but force her to another gate. “Thank you,” she said, “I’ll be fine.”

  She saw the guard’s throat move as he swallowed. “Lady Seneschal Vounn won’t be—” His words faded as he watched her expression darken at Vounn’s name, and he swallowed again. “May we at least escort you across the court, lady?”

  Ashi fought the temptation to punch him in his whining mouth. “No,” she said and walked out into the courtyard.