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Once again, Haruuc didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed. “You are here. Speak.”

Another warlord might have bowed his head. Keraal raised his arrogantly. “It is not in the nature of our people to share land. We are conquerors and rulers. How many other clans must suffer as the Gan’duur have, our warriors driven to rebellion by inaction?”

“Warriors,” said Haruuc, “must know when to fight and when to serve the people by keeping their swords sheathed.”

“Warriors don’t serve the people, Haruuc. You sound like a human. Warriors serve the warlord—unless you intend that all of our warriors should serve you.” A soft murmur spread through the assembly, but Keraal wasn’t finished. “Or perhaps you already think they do, since you sell them like slaves into the service of Deneith!”

He turned sharply and flung up a hand to point into the gallery—directly at Vounn.

She didn’t move. She forced herself to remain still, to meet Keraal’s blazing eyes. The warlord didn’t hold his dramatic pose for long, though. Haruuc stood up from his throne. “Our warriors are not slaves, Keraal! Remember that I served Deneith, and Darguun stands today because I did. Service to Deneith brings wealth to our nation, to warriors and warlords alike!”

Keraal let his arm fall and turned to Haruuc with a smile on his face. “And wealth,” he said, “to the high warlord who betrayed Deneith to create Darguun. Would you trust one who had betrayed his trust before, Haruuc?”

The lhesh stared at him, then asked, “Have you said what you came to say, Keraal?”

“Not quite,” Keraal said. He bent his neck in a nod. “Gan’duur has an excess of grain this season. Enough to share with Rhukaan Draal if it is necessa—”

“Be gone, Keraal!” snapped Haruuc. Beside him, Vanii drew his axes.

Keraal pointed at the shava. “Remember your law, Haruuc! None are to be harmed as they come and as they go.” He flung the helmet he had worn to the floor, the crash of it startling, and strode from the throne room. The guards in the antechamber parted— reluctantly, it seemed to Vounn—to let him go. Vanii would have gone after him if Haruuc hadn’t flung up an arm to stop him. The assembly of warlords burst into chaotic conversation.

Tariic let out a long breath. “Maabet!” he cursed. The watchers in the gallery were as deep in conversation as the warlords.

Vounn just looked after Keraal. “What do you think he hoped to accomplish by that?” she asked.

“I think he wanted to show just how much he could defy Haruuc,” said Tariic, pulling his lips back from his teeth. “Maybe he’s trying to draw Haruuc into making a mistake that will turn the other warlords against him once and for all. Keraal’s a brilliant strategist—or else completely mad. Either way, he’s got huge—”

His voice became just a buzz in Vounn’s ears. Behind his head, through the great windows of the throne room, thick smoke was rising in columns across Rhukaan Draal.

“Fire,” she said. “There’s fire in the city!”

Tariic broke off and turned around to follow her gaze. The warlords ceased to argue and looked as well. Haruuc stepped around his throne to stare out the window. Vounn struggled to pick out landmarks in the cityscape and identify what was burning, but she could tell Haruuc’s experienced eyes saw immediately where the smoke was coming from. He whirled to face the warlords. “The assembly is dismissed, but we are not finished. Do not depart Rhukaan Draal.”

“What burns?” someone shouted.

Haruuc’s face darkened. “The city houses of the Atiin Noor, the Pin Galaac, and the Haranhra.” Cries came out of the crowd. All of the clans he’d named, Vounn knew, were strong supporters of Haruuc. Then the lhesh looked to the gallery and added, “As well as the Orien compound and the Deneith enclave.”

Somewhere behind her, a plate crashed to the ground and Pater d’Orien ran from the gallery with a curse. Vounn stared down at Haruuc, her eyes meeting his for a moment, then he turned, seized the red sword that leaned against the throne, and raced out of the throne room, shouting