The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [83]
In front of the window, Senen pronounced the formulaic ending to hobgoblin stories—Raat shan gath’kal dor—and her audience broke out in applause. As the applause died down and the audience drifted apart, Haruuc escorted Vounn forward.
Bowing heads made a wave as the lhesh was finally seen and recognized. Tariic, offering his personal appreciation to Senen, turned with a start. “Uncle!”
Senen’s response was more composed. She bent her head. “Saa’atcha, lhesh,” She glanced at Vounn and her eyes went flat.
Haruuc seemed to take no notice. “Saa, Senen Dhakaan. Nephew.” He nodded to Senen. “An excellent story. Ta muut.”
The ambassador of the Kech Volaar twitched her ears in acknowledgment. “I will leave you to speak with Tariic,” she said.
“Actually, Senen, we came looking for you,” Haruuc said in a tone that was both casual and commanding. “Lady Vounn expressed an interest in speaking with you. I would like to think that two of my greatest allies—the Kech Volaar and House Deneith—might come to be friends.”
Senen’s ears pulled back and she bared her teeth. “Lhesh, she wants to hire us and nothing more.”
Vounn made a swift decision—if the duur’kala could be blunt, so could she. “I do want to hire you,” she said. “The military discipline of the Dhakaani clans is legendary. Deneith and the Kech Volaar would both find profit in selling your service.”
Surprise and perhaps outrage at such honesty flickered in Senen’s face, silencing her for a moment. Vounn stepped into the breach she had made. “But I’ve come to see that renowned discipline before that can happen, Deneith needs to know the Kech Volaar. How can we understand your people without understanding your traditions?” She bent her head to Senen. “Will you tell me your stories, Senen Dhakaan? Will you let me visit Volaar Draal and show me the glories of the Empire of Dhakaan that the Kech Volaar keep alive?”
“Volaar Draal is not open for casual visitors,” Senen said slowly, as if trying to find refuge in the words. “Especially chaat’oor.”
Quick as thought, Vounn turned the rejection around on her. “Then you must visit House Deneith in Karrlakton to see our memorials and understand our traditions.” She raised her head. “The Mark of Sentinel was the first of the dragonmarks to manifest in humans, and long before Deneith was a House, we were proud warlords. Our history isn’t so old as yours, but it is good. I offer you the chance to learn our story.”
“And a generous offer it is, Senen,” said Haruuc. “An invitation to the seat of power of a dragonmarked house is not extended lightly.” His mouth was curved in a barely suppressed smile, and Vounn knew he had followed her strategy: the exchange of stories, irresistible to a duur’kala, between two groups with a common interest in the accomplishments of a martial past.
She could tell from Senen’s expression that she understood as well that there was no graceful way to decline the offer entirely. The Kech Volaar ambassador’s ears quivered, then bent. “I cannot accept on my own, and certainly I cannot leave my post in Rhukaan Draal, but I will relay your invitation to the leaders of my clan,” she said.
“What about your stories?” Vounn asked her. “Surely you don’t need to consult with the leaders of your clan before you share stories.”
Interest flashed in Senen’s eyes. “You are clever, Vounn d’Deneith. Call on me again and perhaps I will have a story to tell you.” She nodded to Haruuc and walked away.
“Nicely done, Vounn,” said Tariic quietly, watching Senen go. “Paatcha! I couldn’t have done better.”
Vounn thought she saw regret flit again across Haruuc’s face but she couldn’t be sure—one moment he was looking at his nephew, the next at a goblin messenger wearing the red-cord armband of Khaar Mbar’ost and hurrying along the hall of honor. The goblin clutched a loosely rolled scroll that he passed to Haruuc as if eager to be rid of it. Haruuc’s