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Only a few paces from Geth, whirling white blades burst out of the air in the midst of a knot of Iron Fox warriors. The warriors screamed and broke formation, blood streaming from flesh that looked as if it hadn’t been so much slashed as chewed. The Kech Shaarat they had been fighting cheered and fell on the scattered warriors.

Geth turned to Tenquis. “We have to get up there. Follow me!”

“Wait.” The tiefling dug into a pouch and produced what looked like tiny glass rods. He flicked the rods into the air.

They vanished, but light streaked across the arena. In front of the raised box, the air shimmered, and stairs formed from planes of barely visible force.

Geth bared his teeth in a grin. Drawing Tenquis after him, he sprinted for the phantom stairs, bashing at anyone who tried to get in his way. Above, Tariic slammed the Rod of Kings down on the rail of the box. “Again, Pradoor. Call down the wrath of the Six. My enemies are their enemies!”

Anger crossed Pradoor’s blind face. “The Six are not your lackeys, Tariic.”

“Yes, they are.” He thrust the rod at her. “Do it!”

Almost at the foot of the stairs, Geth froze as Pradoor’s anger evaporated under the direct power of the Rod of Kings. Her arms rose stiffly. “Lords of the Dark Star!” she called, and Geth saw a kind of writhing darkness take shape around her as she spoke. “I invoke your—”

She never finished. A blur seemed to launch itself from the back of the box and smash into her. Pradoor hit the rail of the box. Her prayer ended in a moan, the writhing darkness vanishing. The blur became Midian. Putting one arm around the old goblin priestess’s bony chest, he wrapped the other across her head and twisted with brutal efficiency.

As she came through the back of the box, Ashi heard Pradoor’s neck snap and part of her felt a rush of joy at the goblin’s death. But Pradoor hadn’t been their target.

She watched Midian drop Pradoor’s body and turn to Tariic with death in his eyes.

Tariic brought up the rod. “Midian, stand where you are!”

The gnome stopped—for a moment. His face twisted. His hands squeezed tight, then spread into claws reaching for Tariic.

And he took a heavy step forward. “I,” he said between his teeth, “will not … be … controlled … again!”

Shock and rage flashed across Tariic’s face. Ashi felt a sense of triumph. She lifted her sword and stepped forward, a demand for Tariic’s surrender on her lips.

Then Tariic took two quick steps and slammed the Rod of Kings down on Midian’s skull. Bone cracked. Midian staggered, and Tariic did it again. Midian went down, his head broken in.

The entire arena fell silent. The spectators who had cheered for blood stopped moving. Combat on the sands came to a halt. Tariic turned to the rail and glared out at those below and above him. “Who will defy the lhesh of Darguun? Who will challenge the emperor of Dhakaan Reborn?”

Mouth suddenly dry, Ashi moved forward and spoke. “Surrender Tariic. You’re alone. This is over.”

He looked at her with disdain. His free hand went to his belt and drew his sword. “Alone? I’m not alone. I command the largest army in Khorvaire.” He looked back to the arena and raised the Rod of Kings, Midian’s blood and hair dripping off it.

“Darguun,” he shouted, “rise and destroy my enemies!”

“Darguun, rise and destroy my enemies!”

Fear stabbed through Ekhaas. Instantly, she thrust the shaari’mal into the air, concentrating all of her will on blocking Tariic’s command. She saw Chetiin, his wrinkled face pale, do the same thing.

They might as well have tried to stop the tide with a bucket.

The power of the rod blasted through her, too strong to be held back. The shield of Muut muted some of it, but not enough. On the floor of the arena, Kech Shaarat, Iron Fox, and warlords alike staggered and fell, the shield allowing them to fight—if not entirely resist—Tariic’s command. Above the arena floor, though … She twisted to look up into the stands.

All those who had remained in the arena to watch violence unfold were on their feet,