The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [105]
“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