The doom of Kings

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

To Baron Breven d’Deneith, Greetings.

The week since my last report has been eventful in Darguun. The rebel Gan’duur clan continue to raid out of their stronghold in the north of the country. Their leader, a hobgoblin named Keraal, claims the problem is with the individual warriors of his clan. He says that they are restless and that, while he disciplines them at every opportunity, their spirits will not be broken.

His words are widely seen for the hollow excuses that they are, but at the same time they have a power here, where ferocity and strength are valued. The “unbroken spirit” of the Gan’duur evokes a kind of respect, as though they fight for a just cause under the rule of a tyrant. In fact, Lhesh Haruuc seems to be bound by Keraal’s claims. The swiftest means to end this rebellion would be to move against the Gan’duur territories, but Haruuc cannot. The tradition of clan territories is strong, and as long as Keraal makes attempts to discipline his people, Haruuc must respect his territory.

I suspect he has another reason for not moving against the Gan’duur as well: If he brings down Keraal, the other warlords will wonder how long it will be until they, too, might be brought down. The armies of Darguun are in the main composed of the armies of the warlords. If a warlord does not agree with Haruuc’s measures, he may withdraw his soldiers-an act of rebellion in itself, but one that could produce a cascade of mistrust. Haruuc’s own clan, the Rhukaan Taash, and the most loyal clans, such as the Gantii Vus, would be enough to take on the Gan’duur, but I believe Haruuc sees the greater danger of placing his warlords into a position where they must choose. Better for his rule that he allow the fiction that Keraal has spun.

The Gan’duur raiders that are caught outside Gan’duur territory are another matter, of course. Haruuc has every right in goblin tradition to hunt them down, and he does so with a will that betrays his frustration at Keraal’s tactics. Other warlords join him in this, wrapping themselves in a mantle of loyalty, though I suspect that a few may actually be staving off Gan’duur raids with wealth rather than arms-I note that some clans seem to be less troubled by raiders than might be expected.

The raiders continue, in the main, the pattern that they began last month with the burning of the fields north of Rhukaan Draal. They have ventured south of the city now, and there has been something of a race to bring the crops in before the raiders strike. Disturbing news arrived only a few days ago, however, that the Gan’duur have taken the next step and begun striking at granaries and storehouses. Haruuc has personally ridden out to lead warriors in a hunt for those responsible. I have no doubt that he will catch them and that they will die in unpleasant ways. Stories return to the city of new scarecrows that watch over the burned fields. The zest with which the goblin people lap up these stories is a reminder that I am in a land made foreign by more than distance.

The Gan’duur strategy has, I believe, a deeper purpose than just challenging Haruuc’s warriors. The fields and granaries that they strike are those that would normally support Rhukaan Draal. I have heard rumors that the price of noon, the starchy balls that goblins eat like bread, is rising along with the price of grain. I notice that the loaves of human bread served on my table are smaller than they were when I arrived. Goblins are not a naturally agricultural people-their food stores are not as plentiful as in our nations, and hunger comes more quickly to the city than anywhere else. Food shortages in Rhukaan Draal will undermine Haruuc’s power as surely as rebel warriors. He may be able to purchase grain from the stores of his warlords, but this will in turn drain their supplies as well as his treasury. Farm wagons traveling to market at Rhukaan Draal have already been attacked. If Haruuc is forced to purchase grain, I have no doubt his supply lines will become targets as well.

How can Deneith benefit from this situation?

First, I would suggest the offer of additional mercenaries to House Orien as guards for their caravans. There have been no reports of attacks on Orien caravans moving through Darguun to date, but surely we can play on their fears for our profit. Other dragonmarked houses operating in Darguun may also feel the need for greater security.

Second, I would like-with your permission-to offer Haruuc the services of a few mercenary companies from beyond Darguun. Clan politics add to the tension between warlords and among the people. I think Haruuc will quickly see the benefit of using outsiders to supplement his guards, especially if it becomes necessary to move food on a large scale. This is an ideal opportunity to begin addressing the unbalanced relationship between Deneith and Darguun.

Third, I believe we should stand ready to offer mercenaries-again from outside-to any warlords who become sufficiently enraged with the Gan’duur to move against them on their own. Haruuc may not be able to act against Gan’duur territory, but I have seen him subtly pushing other warlords in that direction. If hostilities were to open on a small scale between the Gan’duur and another clan, I expect he would turn a blind eye. The availability of our mercenaries might tip that balance, and we would earn Haruuc’s favor for helping to end the Gan’duur threat.

I also strongly advise that you send out instructions that any hobgoblins with Gan’duur affiliations serving with our companies be immediately removed from sensitive positions. Clan ties are strong, and we should be ready for desertions as Gan’duur goes to the aid of their clan. If we are prepared, we may be able to avoid embarrassment in the face of our clients.

I continue to make contacts among the warlords, of course, as well as among independent companies who want to sell their services to Deneith. Interesting leads are forwarded to Redek at the Gathering Stone. Senen Dhakaan of the Kech Volaar seems to be warming to me, but I will bide my time before again raising the possibility of brokering the services of Kech Volaar warriors. Ashi

Vounn paused, lifting her pen from the paper, and considered what to write. It had been more than two weeks since Ashi had departed Rhukaan Draal, but it was too soon to be concerned. Word had trickled back, almost lost among the news of the raids, that Haruuc’s questing party had been seen close to the Seawall Mountains in the southwest. From what she’d learned of the geography of that part of Darguun, there would be no further word of them until they left the mountains again-or crossed them and entered Zilargo. Another two weeks, perhaps three, and then she might worry. She reapplied pen to paper. Ashi will remain longer than we had planned. She has taken a great interest in the history and politics of the goblin peoples. Given how rare such a thoughtful activity is for her, you’ll understand that I have encouraged her to pursue it.

Wishing you health and prosperity-Vounn d’Deneith. 2 Rhaan, 999 YK.

Vounn returned the pen to its stand and sifted fine sand over the report to blot the excess ink. She stared at it as she waited for it to dry, wondering again if she had done the right thing by allowing Ashi to leave Rhukaan Draal. And crushed the moment of doubt before it could go any further. She picked up her report, shook the sand back into the shaker, then folded the paper and slid it into a thick envelope. Blue wax had melted in a tiny vessel over a candle’s flame. She poured it along the envelope and pressed a seal down into the blue pool. When she lifted it, the three heads of the chimera that was the Deneith crest stared up at her.

On the other hand, she thought, the last two weeks had been more peaceful than the previous months. When she had accepted Breven’s request that she act as mentor to Ashi, she hadn’t expected to be chaperone to a willful savage who challenged every instruction that was given to her. Several times she had come very close to leaving Ashi at Breven’s door like some overgrown foundling and inviting the patriarch to take a turn at educating her.

But giving up would have been failure, and Vounn d’Deneith did not fail herself or her House. One day Ashi would have to accept the demands that Deneith made of her. Vounn rose from her desk, tucking the report into one deep sleeve of her dress. Out of habit, she checked her stiletto in its hidden sheath. When she’d been young, she hadn’t wanted to wear it. A diplomat should have no need of a weapon. Her mentor had forced her to carry the knife, and she’d been glad of it many, many times since.

Aruget was on duty outside her door when she opened it. “We’re going into Rhukaan Draal,” she told him in Goblin. “I need to deliver a letter.”

He didn’t blink or twitch his ears, but she heard the tightness in his voice. “It will be dark soon, Lady Vounn. Can I take it for you, or can you wait until the morning?”

“I need to deliver it myself,” Vounn said. “Don’t worry. We’re only going to the Orien compound. The letter needs to go now so it can leave with the dawn coach to Sterngate. We’ll be back before sunset.”

He nodded reluctantly. “Mazo, lady.”

Their departure from the fortress wasn’t as quick as she had anticipated. A group of dirty and bloodied horsemen was dismounting as she and Aruget came out into the great entrance hall of Khaar Mbar’ost. Haruuc’s party had returned from their pursuit of raiders. The warlord saw her and gestured her over as he removed his helmet. “It’s late to be going for a walk, Lady Vounn.”

“A quick errand, lhesh.” In private meetings she might call him Haruuc, but they both understood the need for formality in public. “I trust your hunting went well?”

Haruuc’s ears flicked and he tossed his helmet to Vanii-his shava was seldom far from him. “Come with me a moment, lady.”

He led her a short distance from the soldiers who had ridden with him. When they stopped, he looked her in the eye. “You went out in the city this same day last week and visited the compound of House Orien. Are you by any chance on your way there now, perhaps with a letter back to Karrlakton?”

Vounn kept her face neutral. In spite of the pressure the Gan’duur put on him, Haruuc was constantly surprising her with how much he knew of the day to day events in his court. He had probably even guessed who she was writing to. “I am.”

“Could you send a message for me as well? A number of young warriors of the Atiin Noor clan wish to enter the service of House Deneith as mercenaries. The clan chief’s sons are among them. I’d like to see that they find respectable positions, perhaps in the Lhazaar Principalities or the Eldeen Reaches.”

She’d heard of the Atiin Noor, a wealthy clan with territory south of Rhukaan Draal. If she had been back in Karrnath, where rich families commonly used their influence to find choice positions for their children, she might have thought nothing of the request. Over the short time she’d been in Darguun, though, she’d developed the distinct impression that offspring were expected to earn their positions. Nor could assignments in Lhazaar Principalities or the Eldeen Reaches be called “choice.” Both nations were very nearly as far from Darguun as it was possible to get without leaving Khorvaire entirely. Vounn raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t this a matter for Viceroy Redek?” she asked.

“The warriors won’t be stopping at the Gathering Stone,” said Haruuc. “They’ll be riding directly to Matshuc Zaal. I would appreciate if they could be met at Sterngate and escorted to their assignments.” He frowned, the action emphasizing his tusks. “In fact,” he added, “I think it would be best if their assignments were with humans rather than with other Darguul mercenaries.”

“It sounds like they’re being banished,” Vounn said carefully.

Haruuc gave her a long look, then said, “The chief of Atiin Noor is an old and loyal friend. If you had a friend whose sons had made a poor decision, would you not want to spare him some grief?” He leaned a little closer. “Not all of the scarecrows in the fields of the Atiin Noor were Gan’duur.”

Admiration for the “unbroken spirit” of the Gan’duur warriors was becoming something more active. Vounn nodded. “I understand. I will send the message by the swiftest means.”

“Ta muut.” Haruuc stood straight. “I hope that the sons of Atiin Noor will learn responsibility and honor from House Deneith.”

The compound of House Orien was a busy place not far from the bridge that crossed the Ghaal River. Within its walls, the stink of Rhukaan Draal was replaced by the more familiar, if no less pungent, smells of horses and sometimes tribex, the muscular three-horned antelope creatures that were the common beasts of burden in Darguun. Most of the workers were humans, and for a moment it sounded strange, as it had on Vounn’s last visit, to hear her own language again.

While Aruget waited in the compound’s courtyard, Vounn went directly to the courier office and demanded pen, ink, and paper from the young attendant. The girl was well-trained-she produced what was required without hesitation and even set out an envelope and sealing wax. Vounn quickly wrote a second note to the patriarch of Deneith with Haruuc’s request and her own suspicions, sealed it into the envelope, then bound both her letters together with string and sealed the knot on that as well. When she was done, she returned to the attendant. “I need to see Viceroy Pater.”

The attendant looked surprised. “He is at table.”

“Tell him that Vounn d’Deneith is here on business for her House.”

The girl pulled on a bell cord. A servant emerged from a door at the back of the office, and she whispered to him. He vanished through the door, then reappeared more quickly than Vounn might have expected with an invitation for her to follow him.

The rooms beyond the door were as fine as any in a mansion, though the smell of horses still lingered on the air. The servant left Vounn in a comfortable parlor, and a few moments later a broad-shouldered man running to fat as he advanced into his middle years appeared, still wiping soup from his beard. A napkin protected the snowy front of his shirt and he removed it as he walked. Vounn rose to greet him. “Viceroy Pater.”

“Lady Seneschal Vounn, envoy of House Deneith to Lhesh Haruuc.” Pater d’Orien gave her a sour look. “Nice bit of work for Deneith that is. Cheek by jowl to the lhesh.”

Vounn smiled at him. “It’s wonderful to see you again as well, Lord Pater. We spoke at the feast Haruuc held shortly after I arrived.”

“Aye, I remember. Do you intend to make a habit of interrupting my eating?”

“Not if I can help it. I’m here on urgent business for Deneith.” She held out the bundled letters. “These need to go to Karrlakton.”

Pater looked at the letters as if she’d scooped up a handful of manure from the compound’s horses. “You can put them in at the courier office.”

“These need special attention. They’re going to Baron Breven. They must be in Karrlakton tonight.” She smiled. “And I happen to know you can get them there.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Khyber’s codpiece. You know something. What’s happening?”

“Nothing that you haven’t guessed at,” Vounn told him, shaking her head. “The urgency is a personal matter for Breven.”

“Tomorrow morning, then?” Pater asked.

“Tonight.”

“The service will cost you.”

“Breven’s secretary will pay the fee.”

Pater groaned and took the bundle. “Kol Korran wills it. Baron Breven will have these tonight. Good evening, Lady Vounn. Someone will show you out.” He tugged on a bell cord and started to walk away.

Vounn cleared her throat, and he looked back. “Now,” she said.

“What?” he choked. She could have taken an axe to his head and he wouldn’t have looked as surprised. “You go too far, Deneith! Let me finish eating at least!”

Vounn crossed her arms. “The letters go now,” she said. “Did I not make it clear these are going to the patriarch of Deneith on an urgent personal matter?”

Pater’s face turned red, and he looked on the verge of shoving her out the door. Vounn let him boil a moment longer, then added, “Pater, have you ever heard of Karrnathi vedbread? It’s a crusty loaf baked with sharp ved cheese. It’s best when it’s served right out of the oven and smeared with onion butter.” She paused to let the idea of the delicacy sink into Pater’s angry mind. “There’s a baker at a tavern hall in Sentinel Tower who people say makes the best vedbread in Karrlakton if not all of Karrnath. I happen to know that on autumn evenings, he keeps batches of vedbread coming out of his ovens continuously. If the letters go to Breven tonight, I could write you a note of introduction to the baker to be sure you had a chance to try his bread.”

The struggle between rage and a love for food was obvious in Pater’s features. Finally he grabbed for the bell pull again and jerked it several times. “Tars!” he called. “Bring my traveling coat and boots!” He glowered at Vounn. “You play foul. Write your note. There’s pen and paper on the desk.”

By the time Vounn had scribbled down a message to the noted baker of Sentinel Tower-along with a request that Pater also be served up the best Karrnathi ale and sausages available-another servant had appeared with a pair of boots and a pale coat embroidered with the crest of House Orien.

“Tell the staff and my wife that I’ll be back in the morning,” Pater told the servant as he pulled on boots and coat. “And show Lady Vounn out once I’m gone.”

The servant nodded, then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped a spot of grease from Pater’s face. The viceroy ignored him and instead gave Vounn one final glare. “You owe me, Deneith,” he said. “This bread better be good.”

He glanced at her note, tucked it into a large pocket along with the bundled letters, and took a step back. He closed his eyes, and a distant expression crossed his face, as if he were picturing some far away place. After a moment, his nose wrinkled in concentration as he invoked the power of House Orien’s dragonmark. He took a step-and vanished.

He would already be in Karrlakton, probably stepping out of the air in some Orien waystation and sniffing the air for sausages and vedbread. The essence of diplomacy, thought Vounn, was using what people wanted to get what you needed. She felt a warm glow of satisfaction.

“This way, lady,” said the servant, ushering her to a door.

She was a little surprised to discover that night had fallen while she’d been inside. Olarune was just rising, its orange disk fat and full, though the moonlight would be little help against the shadows of Rhukaan Draal. The Orien compound was lit, but the street beyond the gate was very dark. Vounn found Aruget waiting where she had left him. The hobgoblin was pacing back and forth. His ears rose when he saw her. “You’ve been too long,” he said in his own language.

“I did what I came to do,” she said. “Take me back to Khaar Mbar’ost.”

He held something out to her. At first she thought it was a blanket stolen from one of Orien’s horses, then she realized it was a cloak, speckled with straw and heavily patched. Her mouth turned down in disgust. Aruget bared his teeth.

“It’s cleaner than it could be,” he said. “I bought it from a carter. Put it on.”

Vounn raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a disguise. I can defend myself.”

“You haven’t been in Rhukaan Draal at night.” He shook out the cloak and thrust it at her. “Wear it or we stay here until morning. Lhesh Haruuc assigned me to protect you. I will not fail him.”

Grimacing, she took the cloak and threw it around her shoulders. Aruget had been right-it didn’t smell as bad as it could have. The hobgoblin had purchased a torch as well. He lit it from another torch beside the Orien gates and they left the compound for the shadowed streets. Vounn looked around as they walked. While the streets may have been dark, they were far from abandoned. Goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears went about their business without light, as did a fair number of dwarves, elves, and shifters. A few humans and halflings were abroad as well, but most of them walked in the darkness rather than use torches or lanterns. Fixed light sources were few and far between, and unlike in the cities she knew best, they were open flame rather than cold fire.

“You walk too proudly,” Aruget growled at her.

“Do you want me to shuffle like a slave?” Vounn asked. “I’m being escorted by one of Haruuc’s soldiers. No moth-eaten cloak is going to hide that!”

“If you walk with less pride, you will go unnoticed. Right now, you are attracting attention.”

Vounn knew better than to look around, but she couldn’t help thinking of the Gan’duur attack on the road to the Gathering Stone. She slouched a little and shortened her stride. “Who’s watching?”

“No one special,” said Aruget. “Only the usual thugs and thieves. Harmless enough if they keep their distance.”

His hand stayed near his sword, though.

They were almost halfway back to Haruuc’s fortress when Vounn heard the noise. At first it seemed like nothing more than a murmur, but it quickly grew into the swollen rumble of a crowd. Chanting voices. Marching feet. A high, shrill voice swirled around the noise, but Vounn couldn’t make out what it was saying. She wasn’t the only one on the street to notice the sound, though. All around them, people were looking in the direction-ahead and to the left-of the noise. Many of them looked concerned and began to vanish into buildings or away down alleys and sidestreets.

Aruget’s ears flicked and his jaw tightened.

“What is it?” Vounn asked him.

“A famine march. There have been rumors among the guards that one might be taking place.”

“What’s a famine march?”

He looked at her. “A response to the food shortages. A rite of the Dark Six.”

Vounn’s stomach knotted. In civilized lands, ordinary people might invoke the names of the Shadow, the Keeper, the Traveler, or the other sinister counterparts to the gods of the Sovereign Host in order to stave off misfortune. Outright worship of the dark gods was only for the cruel and the mad, though, and no matter how evil or deranged the worshippers, it was never conducted in public. There would have been an uprising.

But if she needed another reason to remember that Darguun, for all of Haruuc’s efforts, was not yet a civilized nation, she had it. For centuries before Haruuc had forged them into a nation, the goblins had followed the Six. Popular tales of Darguun painted lurid pictures of massacres in the name of the Fury and torture in the name of the Mockery. She’d seen nothing of the sort since she’d arrived, only the rites to the Sovereign Host conducted within Khaar Mbar’ost, but apparently the faith of generations wasn’t far below the surface.

Vounn swallowed and returned Aruget’s gaze. “What do we do?”

“We run,” said Aruget. “We don’t want to be caught out in the open, but we might still be able to make it past the march and back to Khaar Mbar’ost.”

Vounn lifted up the skirt of her dress. “Lead,” she said.

They were hardly the only ones running on the street, but they were among the very few running toward the noise of the march-and they were the only ones running toward it that didn’t wear expressions of beatific anticipation. The march was drawing in new participants. Vounn ran harder and cursed her age. Aruget slowed to keep pace with her. She was grateful he didn’t just leave her behind.

The sound of the march grew louder, words in Goblin condensing out of the chant. Devourer, leave us be! Let our sweetest offerings soothe your hunger! Devourer, pass us by!

“They’re on the wide street ahead,” said Aruget. “We’ll be past them in just-”

His words cut off. Vounn raised her eyes and looked ahead. The street they ran along was blocked on its other side. Carts had been drawn across it and figures stood across the makeshift barricade, watching in the direction of Khaar Mbar’ost. There was no easy way across.

Aruget bared his teeth. “They’re trying to block Haruuc’s soldiers from interfering,” he said. “We need to go around them.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner onto the wide street-and into the path of the famine march.

For an instant, Vounn had a glimpse of the marchers, a mob that filled the street from side to side. Some among them carried torches, and the leaping flames cast color onto the moonlight-washed crowd. Most of the marchers were hobgoblins, but there were goblins and bugbears, kobolds and crazed humans as well. At the head of the mob was a bugbear. Riding like a child on his shoulders was a wizened old goblin woman. Above her head, she held a cluster of bloody bones with their ends sharpened to points-the symbol of the Devourer, the most primal god of the Dark Six. Hers was the shrill voice Vounn had heard earlier, and it rose again.

“Feed the Devourer! Feed his unending hunger, and we may survive!”

Then the glimpse was gone as Aruget dragged her on down the street, fleeing before the mob. The way ahead of them was completely empty, all doors closed, all windows shuttered. Vounn waited for the mob to spot them and rush forward, howling for blood, but they didn’t. They just came on at the same constant, unstoppable pace, and Vounn wished that she had House Orien’s abilities to step across vast distances in the blink of an eye.

“Here!” Aruget hurled the torch away and turned to one side so sharply that he wrenched her arm. Pain shot through her shoulder, but she followed his guidance and stumbled into the mouth of an alley. Stinking garbage made the footing unsteady, but the alley was narrow and she could brace herself against the walls. Aruget followed her in, pressing her back and hiding her with his body.

“We’ll wait until they pass, then go back,” he whispered. “They’ll be heading for the Bloody Market.”

“Why?”

“They’ll make their sacrifice there-or try to. They may try to wreck the market too. If Haruuc is smart, he’ll have soldiers assembled to meet them before they can do any damage.” His ears flicked. “Hush!”

The noise of the famine march was a vibration in the air and the ground. The footfalls and chants of the mob, intertwined with the shrieks of the old goblin woman, came closer, then abruptly the march was on them. Moonlight flickered on the face of the old goblin, and Vounn saw that her eyes were filmed and pale. She must have been blind. There were dark stains running down her arms, and Vounn wondered if the blood that slicked the symbol of the Devourer was her own.

Then she was gone, and the marchers, their faces smeared with ash, were streaming past. There were children among them, looking around in confusion. A hobgoblin boy stared down the alley and his eyes met Vounn’s. She glanced away and when she looked back, the boy was gone.

Almost all of the marchers carried baskets heaped with food. Aruget drew back his lips in a silent snarl and put his mouth close to her ear. “Dark Six cultists hold famine marches in times of shortage. They try to avoid a full-scale famine by sacrificing the best of their food to the Devourer in hopes that he’ll leave them what scraps remain. All they do is make things worse for themselves.”

Vounn felt sick at the waste-and even more sick as the ranks of the marchers thinned briefly to reveal a dozen ragged figures, bound to one another by ropes, being forced along the street. Slaves. She pressed her lips together. Aruget nodded, confirming her unspoken fears. “The Devourer hungers for meat of all kinds,” he said.

“Are the shortages that bad already?”

“They don’t have to be. The life of a common slave is cheap.” He looked out of the alley again as the last of the bound figures passed from view. “If there truly were famine, there would be no slaves left to sacrifice.”

The mass of the mob had passed, the rumble of their chant fading with them. There were only stragglers on the street now, and soon they were gone as well. Aruget eased his head out of the alley, looked up and down, then took Vounn’s hand to pull her after him. She would have gone with him gladly except for the familiar voice that drifted down into the alley from above.

“They make us look like ignorant savages,” said Tariic.

Vounn stopped and looked up. High up on one of the walls of the alley was the dark shape of an open window. Another voice came down, “You don’t honor the Dark Six?”

Daavn of Marhaan. Vounn had thought the warlord had left Rhukaan Draal to return to his clan’s territories. She tugged Aruget back into the alley and pointed up at the window. There was no need-his face was already turned up, his ears already high.

“I honor them in their place,” said Tariic. “A famine march is the kind of stupidity that makes the other nations of Khorvaire look on our people as brutes.”

“You sound like your uncle, trying to appease the humans as a famine march tries to appease the Devourer. Do you intend to leave Darguun eating stale noon and chewing dry bones?”

“Peace and war, like the Dark Six, have their place.” There was a pause and Vounn imagined Tariic sipping wine. “My uncle favors me. He trusts me with the most sensitive of missions. I am the most obvious of heirs-a warrior of his blood, trained as a bridge between Darguun and the Five Nations. He believes I share his vision for our people.”

“I believe you share his vision,” Daavn said.

“I believe that now is the time to honor peace,” Tariic answered. “I came to assure you that war will have its time as well. Bide your time, Daavn. When I receive what is due to me, I want the Marhaan to stand with the Rhukaan Taash in support of me.”

He received a grumble as an answer.

Tariic’s voice took on a sharper edge. “Do I have the friendship of the Marhaan, Daavn?”

“You’re not Haruuc’s heir yet, Tariic. I don’t gamble on coins beneath a bowl when the bowl may never be lifted.” Daavn seemed to hesitate, then said, “Give me a sign. You want the Marhaan to stand with you. Tell me something I want to know.”

There was another pause, longer this time. Vounn doubted if wine was being sipped. “What?” Tariic said finally.

“I have heard that Dagii of the Mur Talaan has ridden to the southwest, along with a number of those you brought to Khaar Mbar’ost with the Deneith envoy. One of the sharaat’khesh, a duur’kala of the Kech Volaar, a gnome, a shifter, and a human bearing a Siberys dragonmark. A strange group of people. My instincts tell me that something is going on. What are they doing?”

“Why do you want to know?” asked Tariic. “The southwest is a long way from Marhaan territory.”

“I ask as a warlord of Darguun-and as someone you want as your friend. Does such a group ride our nation on their own accord?”

Tariic paused again, then said, “They ride at Lhesh Haruuc’s command.”

“But you know why he sent them out? Does it have something to do with House Deneith?”

“I’m saying nothing more.”

“When do they return?”

Tariic laughed at that question. “I can’t tell you what no one knows, Daavn. Not even Haruuc is certain when they’ll come back. Now you tell me-will the Marhaan stand with me? I want an answer.”

Daavn answered with sincerity. “You have given me the sign I asked for. When you are heir, Tariic of Rhukaan Taash, the Marhaan will stand with you. By the honor of my clan, I swear it.”

There was the sound of metal touching metal. Vounn guessed that the two men had crossed their knives, the goblin tradition for sealing an oath. “I must go,” said Tariic. “The famine march will have stirred things up. I’d counted on my uncle not noticing my absence tonight from Khaar Mbar’ost, but he’ll probably be looking for me.”

“Tell him you were caught in the city by the march,” Daavn suggested. “It’s the truth.”

“It is at that. Swift travel back to your territory, my friend.”

“Great glory, Tariic.”

Aruget touched Vounn’s arm and she made out his gesture as he pointed to the street. She nodded. If they wanted to avoid encountering Tariic on the street, they needed to go. They slipped out of the alley and ran as swiftly as she could manage. The moonlight gave just enough light for her to see where she was going and that the street was still empty. There were sounds of violent confrontation in the distance. The famine marchers had encountered Haruuc’s soldiers.

As they reached the street that led to Khaar Mbar’ost, Vounn glanced back. Tariic was only just emerging from the house beside the alley. They would return to the fortress ahead of him. She slowed gratefully to a brisk walk.

“What we heard tonight,” said Aruget, “was not treason. Tariic did not act or plot against the lhesh.”

“He didn’t,” Vounn agreed. She couldn’t help thinking of what Haruuc had told her in Khaar Mbar’ost’s hall of honor: “Tariic understands muut, but he is drawn to atcha.”

Aruget’s head turned in the moonlight and he looked at her. “Still, I feel Tariic would not appreciate that we know these things. We will have this secret between us, lady?”

She thought for a moment before answering. Aruget saw secrets. She saw diplomacy-and the essence of diplomacy was using what people wanted to get what you needed. Tariic had wanted atcha and the future support of the Marhaan. Why had Daavn needed to know about Haruuc’s quest?

Vounn pressed her lips together, then looked back at the hobgoblin. “We will, Aruget,” she said. “Just between us.”