The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1

by Don Bassingthwaite

  The thief answered with a savage growl. He twisted and came to his feet with one of the polearms in his hand—or rather a length of one of the polearms. The ancient wood had splintered like a twig. The thief flung it at Ashi, but the throw was neither hard nor accurate and Ashi grabbed the spinning wood out of the air and flung it back at him. Magic still blurring his form, the thief ducked.

  The stick whirled over his head and swept across the shrine in the center of the memorial. Candles, ritual objects, and the accumulated offerings left behind by visitors to the memorial went flying everywhere in a tinkling, crashing cascade. Ashi winced. She wasn’t particularly religious, but the thought of disturbing the shrine, even accidentally, crawled across her skin. If it was possible, the gods of the shrine were already taking petty revenge—only one of the candles remained upright in its holder. The others tumbled and rolled around the memorial. Their magic kept them burning, but their dim light was spread even more thinly, and the shadows they made jumped and wavered crazily.

  The thief dove through one of the shadows and emerged with something else that had been knocked off the shrine: a short sword, its design old but the edge of its blade still gleaming. This time his grip on the weapon was sure and his stance solid. Ashi clenched her jaw and closed in warily. For a moment, she and the thief faced each other, blades wavering, balance shifting.

  Ashi struck first and struck hard. She had to—if the thief took control of the fight, she had a bad feeling that she’d quickly find herself forced back into the darkness. If she took control, she had a better chance of keeping the fight where she could see.

  The thief twisted and caught her sword on his, parrying the blow. Ashi let him bear her blade down for a moment, then whipped it up again and thrust hard. Only the blurring effect of the thief’s spell kept him from ending up on the blade. Instead, Ashi’s bright blade sliced through leather and nicked flesh. She heard the thief hiss in pain. He tried to push back with a lunge, but Ashi slid aside easily. The thief was a good fighter, but she was better. Eight months with House Deneith might not have made her much of a lady, but it had honed her fighting skills like a whetstone honed a fine blade. She let her opponent try another strike, then she unleashed a flurry of blows that kept him on the defensive and forced him to yield ground. Step by step, Ashi bullied him across the memorial. The clash and shriek of their blades filled the darkness, ringing and reverberating inside the hollow tower.

  Beneath her scarf, Ashi grinned in satisfaction at the fight. A thrust from the thief slipped past her attack. She swayed away beyond the point of his sword and answered with a sharp kick that sent the thief hopping back. They were past the shrine now. Ashi lunged, then lunged again, not giving the thief a chance to recover his balance, always driving him backward. She slashed at him and he hopped back one more time—slamming into the doors of the memorial hard enough to make them shake.

  Ashi checked her next blow, holding her sword back. “Surrender!” she said. “You have no right to be here!”

  Eyes flashed deep in the hooded shadows of the thief’s face. “You have no right to what is kept here!”

  The voice, like smoke from burning cedar wood, was a woman’s. Ashi blinked in surprise—then blinked again at the sound of another voice, this one on the other side of the door.

  “Get it open! By Dol Dorn’s mighty fist, get it open! Swords ready!”

  Keys scratched at the locks on the doors. Karrlakton’s night watch had finally arrived. Ashi raised her voice. “Easy! I have everything—”

  The thief moved. Bracing herself against the doors that trapped her, she reared back and kicked out. A boot caught Ashi in the gut and she hunched over, her sword dropping. The thief darted past her. Ashi turned after her, struggling to catch her breath, but the thief paused just beyond her reach and spoke the word of another spell.

  A sound like a massed chorus of voices mixed with the roll of thunder erupted around Ashi, pummeling her with its force. On the other side of the door, the men of the night watch cried out, some of them in alarm, at least one of them in command—the sergeant, urging his men to action. Ashi shook her head and forced herself upright.

  The thief was back on the other side of the memorial, back at the cabinet she had initially opened. One of the candles from the shrine had rolled in that direction and Ashi finally saw what the thief had come to steal. Gloved hands reached into the cabinet and lifted out— almost reverently it seemed—a small casket only a handspan long and wide, made of age-darkened iron bound in bright gold. Cradling the casket, the thief turned to the stairs and her escape.

  Ashi pushed herself into motion. She had only moments or the thief would be gone. No time to go around the shrine. A jump put her on top of it, scattering anything still left there. A leap and the wild fluting battle cry of the Bonetree hunters set her into the air.

  The thief half-turned in response to the cry. Ashi saw her stiffen, her arms wrapping protectively around the cask, then she slammed into her and both of them went down. They tumbled across the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, the thief struggling to protect her prize, Ashi fighting to stay on top—which was how she landed when they finally came to a stop. Her hands were on the thief’s shoulders and her weight over the other woman’s hips, pinning her down. Ashi’s scarf had finally come loose and it hung around her face, puckering and billowing with each panting breath that she took. “Surrender!” she gasped.

  The thief’s eyes, however, had gone wide. “Ashi?” she said.

  The blurring effect vanished. Ashi stared down at amber eyes in a lean yellow face. The thief’s hood had fallen back to reveal orange-brown hair pulled back in a knot and a hobgoblin’s wolf-like ears. Ashi lifted one hand and tugged down the scarf that had covered the thief’s face.

  “Ekhaas?” she asked.

  Then the doors of the memorial slammed open and the intense light of everbright lanterns flooded over them. The slap of boots and the hiss of drawn swords filled the ruined space. “Don’t move!” roared the voice of the sergeant. “Under the authority of Karrlakton, you’re both under arrest!”

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  The watchmen of Karrlakton gave Ashi and Ekhaas no chance to speak until they’d marched them to the nearest watch station and deposited the pair in a cell. They recognized Ashi’s dragonmark and handled her with a certain amount of deference, but Ekhaas didn’t receive the same favor. The men left both of them with their hands tied behind their backs—they knew at least one of their two prisoners was a spellcaster and they thought they were being cautious. Ekhaas saw no reason to tell them that she knew several spells that could be cast with song alone. Apparently the Karrlakton watch had little experience dealing with a Kech Volaar duur’kala. She held her tongue as the cell door swung shut behind them, instead watching through the bars to see what the watch did with the weapons—and other items—they had confiscated.

  Ashi did enough talking for both of them. “It’s a Deneith memorial!” she said to the station commander. “I was protecting it on behalf of the House. But it was all a mistake. This woman is my friend. There’s no reason to keep us.”

  The argument worked no better on the commander than it had on the sergeant who had arrested them. “House Deneith is ruled by the law just like everyone else in Karrlakton—a dragonmark is no protection. You broke into a public building in the middle of the night and caused serious damage. You desecrated a shrine of the Sovereign Host. You may or may not have stolen from the memorial.” The commander looked at Ekhaas. She ignored him, flicking her ears in disdain. He looked back to Ashi. “Your House will be contacted. We’ll see what they have to say. In the meantime, I’d suggest that you sit down and behave yourself.”

  He walked away, closing the door of the the cell behind him. Ashi watched him go with what Ekhaas thought looked like a curious mix of frustration and horror.

  “What do you mean the House will be contacted?” Ashi called after the commander. “Who did you contact? Who—�
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  “Sit down, Ashi,” said Ekhaas. She settled herself on the bare plank bench that was the only thing in the cell and tried to think of a way out of the situation. Ashi leaned her head against the bars of the door and cursed.

  “Khyberit gentis.” She turned around and glared at Ekhaas.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Are you going to tell me what you were doing breaking into that memorial? What’s so special about that casket? What are you doing in Karrlakton at all?” She dropped onto the bench beside Ekhaas. “You could have at least told me you were here.”

  Ekhaas’s ears rose. “I didn’t know you were in Karrlakton. I could ask you what you were doing at the memorial, too.”

  “I was trying to stop a thief.” Ashi grimaced. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t tried to stop you, neither of us would have been arrested and you would have gotten away with your little casket.”

  “je’shaarat mipaa kotanaa,” said Ekhaas. Ashi looked at her, and she translated the expression: “A sharp sword hurts less when you fall on it.”

  Ashi wrinkled her nose. “What did you want with the casket?” she asked again. “I saw one of the watchmen trying to open it, but he couldn’t.”

  “It’s sealed. It’s not meant to be opened.”

  “Then what’s inside? Why would you steal it if … ?” Ashi’s question trailed off and she twisted around to face Ekhaas directly. Anger rose in her voice. “You said Deneith had no right to what was in the memorial. Is the casket an artifact of Dhakaan? Are you still trying to protect things from us shaat’aar?”

  Anger crept into Ekhaas as well, though she kept it out of her voice. Her ears, however, bent back. “Chaat’oor,” she corrected. It was a harsh word, usually translated as “defilers.” The word was old, as ancient as the dying of the great empire, and it referred to any race not native to the continent of Khorvaire. Usually that meant humans, but it could refer equally to the changelings or shifters who had joined the migration to the land that had once belonged to her people. When she’d first met Ashi, Geth, Singe, and Dandra in the south of the country of Droaam, she’d called them chaat’oor, assuming they’d come to loot the Dhakaani ruins in the area. She’d discovered a greater respect for them, but the reverence for the past that was the duty and right of every descendant of Dhakaan was not something to be dismissed.

  “Yes,” she said, glaring back at Ashi, “it’s an artifact of Dhakaan. And yes, I was taking it back. It belongs in a shrine, not in a dingy cabinet. It’s a reliquary. It holds the tongue and brain of Duural Rhuvet, the last great strategist of the empire. For untold generations, it was kept by our greatest leaders and carried onto the battlefield as a source of inspiration—until it was lost at the Battle of Starkhan.” A little of her seething anger broke through her control. “An important part of our history, carried away as a looted curiosity!”

  Ashi twitched. “Couldn’t you have just asked for it back?”

  “If your House had known what it had in its possession, what treasure it had seized at Starkhan, would it have given it back?”

  “Probably not.” Ashi shifted as if uncomfortable, then asked, “Ekhaas, what’s the Battle of Starkhan?”

  Ekhaas stared at her. “Starkhan was the key battle in the Torlaac Conquest.”

  Ashi shook her head.

  Ekhaas’s ears drooped in disbelief. “The campaign that memorial was dedicated to! Khaavolaar, what has Deneith been teaching you?”

  “How to be a lady.” Ashi scowled when Ekhaas raised her eyebrows. “Don’t ask,” she said. “I don’t want to think about it. Have you heard from any of the others? I haven’t had any news. Have you heard from Dandra or Singe?” Her face brightened. “What about Geth?”

  Geth. Ekhaas held her expression, voice, and ears absolutely neutral. “I haven’t heard from him—or anyone,” she said.

  “Oh.” Ashi looked disappointed. “I would have thought you might have kept in touch with Geth because of his sword.”

  “Aram,” said Ekhaas, giving Geth’s Dhakaani sword its proper name. She flicked her ears casually. “I’d like to know how he is, but both he and I are wanderers. Either of us could be anywhere.”

  “Too bad. I feel so cut off.” Ashi left the door and sat on the bench beside Ekhaas. The hobgoblin felt sorry for her. She was a wanderer and a loner by nature, but Ashi had left first the clan that had raised her, then the newfound friends who had introduced her to the wider world to become part of House Deneith. She put her hand on Ashi’s in a human gesture of empathy.

  “If I’d known you were here in Karrlakton, I would have come looking for you,” she said.

  Ashi snorted. “What? You would have stolen the casket, then carried it along to Sentinel Tower to see me?”

  “I would have gone to see you first. I would have come as soon as I arrived today.”

  Ashi pushed Ekhaas’s hand away with a grin. “You only arrived today? You didn’t waste any time before you tried to steal—” She paused abruptly and gave Ekhaas a narrow look. “You arrived today? The same day an emissary from Darguun arrived to meet with House Deneith?”

  “Coincidence,” Ekhaas said, but Ashi’s probing expression didn’t change. Ekhaas sighed, leaned her head back on the cold stone of the cell’s wall, and gave her some of the truth. “I’m here with Tariic,” she confessed. “Haruuc is courting the favor of my clan, the Kech Volaar. I’m part of Tariic’s delegation as a representative of my clan.”

  “They didn’t have anyone more senior to send?” asked Ashi.

  Ekhaas raised her ears in angry pride. “I am senior now,” she said. “The name of my clan means ‘Wordbearers’ in our tongue. The Kech Volaar gather history. The history of Dhakaan is the most important, but the duur’kala of the Kech Volaar gather tales of all kinds. When I returned from the Shadow Marches with the story of the discovery of Aram and the defeat of Dah’mir, I gained a certain amount of recognition in the clan.”

  She stopped herself short of claiming that being sent to accompany Tariic was a reward, but she let Ashi assume what she would. There was still disbelief in her friend’s face. “Does Tariic know you were out stealing the casket?” Ashi asked.

  “Ah.” Ekhaas’s ears dipped along with her pride. “Tariic is almost as much human as he is hobgoblin. He wouldn’t have understood … what needed to be done.” She bared sharp teeth. “Tonight was the best chance I had. I was supposed to be at a banquet given in Tariic’s honor, but I knew no one would miss me.” A harsh laugh from Ashi brought her head up. “What?” she asked.

  “I was supposed to be at that banquet, too,” said Ashi. She stretched out her legs and tried to settle herself more comfortably on the hard bench. “Were you at the reception ceremony?”

  “Yes, at the back of the delegation. It was astounding. The rhythm was perfect.” Her training as a duur’kala brought the music back into her memory and she clapped out the desperate rhythm of the climax. “Were you there?”

  “I was supposed to be the one performing the sword dance.” Ashi’s mouth twisted. “My mentor decided I wasn’t good enough and sent my instructor out instead. We had an argument about it afterward.”

  Ekhaas frowned. “That’s too bad. Tariic would have been even more impressed at having the bearer of the Mark of Siberys dance for him.”

  Ashi flung up her hands. “That was the idea!”

  “Who’s your mentor?”

  “The person Tariic has come to Karrlakton to see.” Ashi sat back again. “Lady Seneschal Vounn d’Deneith.”

  Once again, Ekhaas could only stare at Ashi, but this time she had no words. Ashi must have mistaken her silence for incredulity. Her mouth twisted even farther. “Tariic is lucky he only has to deal with her as a diplomat. Since I got here, she’s been hammering on me like a smith on a sword—and there’s nothing I can do about it.” She squeezed her hands into tight fists. “Rond betch, if I could stick a knife in her …”

  She kept talking, pouring
out a litany of restrictions and punishments that Ekhaas had to admit were more appropriate to the training of a child than a grown woman, but the duur’kala was only half-listening. Ideas and possibilities began rearranging themselves in her head. Her ears twitched. Blood of Six Kings, she thought, was it possible they could be so lucky?

  There was scarcely a break in Ashi’s rambling tales of Vounn’s heavy-handed mentoring. Ekhaas had to speak over her to get a word in. “Ashi, how bad was the argument you had tonight with Vounn? Will she take you back?”

  “Take me back?” Sitting forward, Ashi groaned. “Ekhaas, she’s never going to let me go. I don’t think I’m even a person to her. I’m just an asset of Deneith—or I will be once I’m trained to her satisfaction. Even then she’ll probably still want me under her thumb.” She lifted her head and looked around the cell, then laughed. “You know, I was almost frightened of what she’d do when the watch contacted Deneith and she found out I’d been arrested. Now I wish I could have been there to see the look on her face. I wonder how she reacted.”

  Muffled voices from an outer room of the watch station reached Ekhaas’s ears. “I don’t think you’ll have to wait long to find out,” she said. One of the voices was the watch station commander, and it sounded as if the proud man was actually being subservient. The voices were getting closer. Ekhaas turned to Ashi. “Listen to me,” she said. “You need to smooth things over with Vounn. Ease the tension between you. Apologize to her.”

  “What? Why—?” Ashi said, then she heard the voices as well. For all her talk of anger and confidence, the color drained from her face and she stood up. “Betch.”

  “Apologize,” Ekhaas hissed, standing with her, then the door of the room beyond the cell opened—and Ekhaas felt the heat fade from her cheeks, too.