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Tenquis frowned. “How? Without Ashi, you’re the only one who can stand up to the power of the rod.”

“All the more reason to go back,” said Geth. “I’m going to carve the price of her death out of Tariic’s heart.”

“Geth.” Tenquis grabbed his arm and stopped him. The tiefling faced him eye to eye. “I want to see Tariic pay for what he’s done, but charging back to Rhukaan Draal isn’t the way. Volaar Draal can provide us with more than just sanctuary. Haruuc learned about the Rod of Kings from the stories preserved by the Kech Volaar. We may be able to find a way to stop Tariic in the vaults of Volaar Draal.”

He dropped his voice and added, “We need to rest and plan first, or we’ll fail. Tariic will win, and who will avenge Ashi then? There’s an old Dhakaani proverb that goes ‘Khaartuuv kurar’dar, mi shi morii’dar.’”

Geth’s hand rested on Wrath’s hilt, and the magic of the sword translated the Goblin words. He spoke them back to Tenquis. “To avenge the dead, remain among the living.”

Tenquis nodded. Geth clenched his jaw. “We’re going back, though,” he said. “When we have a solution, we’re going back.”

Tenquis smiled at him, the tips of his teeth showing past his lips. “I wouldn’t be here if we weren’t.”

CHAPTER

TWO

7 Aryth

Ashi d’Deneith stood on the dais of the throne room of Khaar Mbar’ost, stared out over the mob of Darguul warlords, and remembered another moment, just a week shy of four months earlier, when she had stood on a similar dais. The occasion had been the arrival of Tariic, ambassador of Darguun and nephew of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor, in Sentinel Tower, home fortress of House Deneith. Ashi had been waiting to perform for Tariic, her mentor Vounn d’Deneith’s firm hand restraining her eagerness.

But Vounn was dead. Ashi stood at the left hand of Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn in his fortress, restrained by the threat of a sharp knife.

And yet she was still performing.

Drums beat slowly as two guards marched down the central aisle of the throne room. They dragged a gruesome burden behind them—the corpse of a bugbear with every scrap of skin flayed away, from foot to face. The thing had been laid on a mat of coarse burlap to keep it from leaving a trail of blood across the floor, but even so, red smears—and the turning heads of Darguul warlords—marked its progress through the room.

The guards brought the corpse to the foot of the dais and stepped aside so that Tariic could look down on it. He did, then looked to the crowd. “This was Makka,” he said, “who shamed me by murdering a guest and an ally and by nearly doing the same to another.” He spoke formal Goblin but Ashi understood it easily—Ekhaas had taught her the language. Tariic looked to his right. “Pradoor, is this just?”

The elderly goblin priestess whose prayers had dragged Ashi back from sharing Vounn’s fate glanced with disdain at the tortured corpse of her former servant. Or rather seemed to stare with milk-blind eyes that saw more than they had any right to. “It is just, lhesh,” she answered.

Tariic turned and looked at Ashi. “Ashi d’Deneith, does this cleanse the honor of Darguun in the eyes of House Deneith?”

Ashi stood straight and spoke, also in Goblin, the words that were required of her. “It does, lhesh.”

“Then let this thing be taken from our presence,” Tariic said, his words rising. “Take it through the streets, and throw it in the dust beyond the city. Let all Darguuls know Makka’s fate and let them learn from it. For I am Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn, and their honor belongs to me!”

Cheers and applause—predominantly goblin applause, an open hand slapped against the chest—filled the throne room. The guards gripped the burlap cradling Makka’s corpse and dragged it back up the aisle. The nearest warlords leaned out and spat on the corpse as it passed. Cheers and applause settled into the buzz of any crowd.

Ashi’s hands clenched into fists. Tariic looked up at her from the throne. “Well done, Ashi,” he said in the human tongue. “Be patient.”

For anyone else in the great