The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [123]
Another hand, she didn’t know whose, reached past him and took both vials, then returned one to him opened. Pater put it to her lips and tipped it with surprising gentleness. Ashi slurped at the milky, pale blue liquid.
A kind of warmth spread through her. No, not warmth exactly—she was still cold, but she no longer felt it. She pushed Pater’s hand away and thrust herself upright. Viceroys and ambassadors were gathered around her. Behind them, the arena was a seething mass of confusion as Darguuls moved around. On their tier, where arena guards rampaged through the stands as if they were looking for something, the spectators surged back and forth to avoid them. On the tiers above and below, it didn’t appear as if the crowds were trying to escape at all, only to find the best view.
Pater’s forehead wrinkled. “Ashi, what’s going on?” he asked.
She grabbed his arm and drew on her dragonmark, sending its power through him. He gasped as the clarity of its protection settled on him. Ashi saw more questions form in his eyes, but she didn’t give him the chance to ask them. “Tariic has been controlling you—all of you—with a secret power of the Rod of Kings,” she said swiftly. “His defenses against the Valenar are really preparations for an attack on Breland that will take place in four days.”
“What? That’s ridiculous,” said Roole. Ashi ignored him and thrust the folded paper into Pater’s hand. Frost crinkled as the paper moved.
“Dagii has risked everything to get this to you,” she said. “You need to get it to Breland right now. Do you understand?”
Pater blinked, then his face hardened into determination. “I understand.” He heaved his bulk upright, drawing her up with him. “Ashi, I can take you with me if you want to come.”
She shook her head and stepped back. “No, my friends need—”
“You!” The guard who had stopped her at the head of the stairs burst into their midst, grabbing for her. “You were with the assassin!”
Ashi tried to pull away, but someone’s leg tangled with hers. She stumbled, tripping over a bench. The guard pushed past Roole and Kravin d’Vadalis to seize her.
Pater’s meaty fist cracked into his jaw. His sleeve rode up, and Ashi glimpsed the dragonmark that curled across his wrist. The colors of the mark seemed to shimmer—and the guard vanished with the punch, reappearing and crashing into the stands half-a-dozen paces away. Pater stepped back with a look of satisfaction.
“Learned that trick on caravan guard duty.” He checked the paper in his other hand and nodded to Ashi. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll make sure Baron Breven hears about this.” He closed his eyes, and a distant expression crossed his face, then he took a step and disappeared.
Laren Roole shot up and took his place. “This is intolerable,” he said. “You’re meddling in Brelish affairs, and I don’t appreciate this fearmongering—”
Ashi pushed him back down and whirled around, trying to see what was happening. A battle cry drew her attention to the arena floor as the Kech Shaarat bore down on the Iron Fox. Other battle cries came as Darguun’s warlords charged in through the arena’s open doors to attack from the other side.
Ekhaas, Dagii, Geth, Tenquis, and Chetiin were right in the middle of it all.
And in his box above the combat, Tariic watched it like some kind of gloating puppetmaster with Pradoor at his side.
Ashi turned back to the viceroys and ambassadors. “Where’s Midian?”
“There,” said Esmyssa.
Ashi looked where she pointed and realized what the guards had been hunting for. Midian hung in the grasp of two big bugbear guards as they came across the stands toward the group of diplomats. Other guards were converging on them as well.
“I think they saw what happened to the one Pater punched,” said Roole. He looked around desperately. “If we give them Ashi—”
“Close your mouth, Roole,” said Dannel d’Cannith. She looked at Ashi. “Is what you said