Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [127]
She released him and seized the gates by their heavy bars instead. They were locked, of course. The compound beyond was broad and lit by a few everbright lanterns that shone steady through the rain. Empty wagons were drawn up against outbuildings, and she could smell the animal odor of horses and tribex. No people—human, hobgoblin, or otherwise—were visible, however. They were probably taking shelter.
Ashi rattled the gates. “Is anyone there?” she shouted. “I need to see Viceroy Pater d’Orien! It’s urgent!”
An iron rod was chained at one side of the gate. She seized it and hammered on the gates until they rang like chimes. “I am here on an urgent matter concerning Deneith and Orien!”
There was no response. None at all. She lifted the rod again and struck the gates harder. “Pater! Pater!”
A door opened, light flooding across the compound. A stiff-looking man in the uniform of a servant darted out into the rain and ran to the gates. Ashi recognized him from visits to the Orien compound—he was Tars, Pater’s manservant. His eyes were frightened and his mouth set tight. He slid to a stop at the gate and thrust a paper through the bars at her. “No one will answer you,” he said.
He glanced over his shoulder and stiffened. Another figure stood in the doorway. A hobgoblin warrior, armed and armored. For a moment it looked like he might come out into the compound but the fat form of Pater d’Orien appeared and drew him back. The viceroy threw a glance over his shoulder. Ashi couldn’t tell if it was meant for her or his manservant. Tars shuddered. The paper slipped from his fingers and he fled back inside.
Ashi clung to the gate, cold metal pressing wet clothes against her skin. An armed hobgoblin inside the Orien compound. One of Tariic’s soldiers? Almost certainly. Now that she’d seen him, she saw other things. A horse, still wearing saddle and bridle, tucked into the shelter of an overhanging eave when every other beast was in a stable. A comfortably dry gatehouse that stood empty. Faces that peered from darkened windows but made no move to answer her call.
Aruget bent and scooped the paper Tars had brought out of a puddle. His eyes skimmed over it. His ears lay flat. “Ashi.” He pushed the paper into her hands.
A gust of wind tore at it and she had to stretch it tight, leaning into the torchlight that came through the gate to read it. Water was already making the ink run but she could make out what it said easily enough.
By decree of Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn, Ashi d’Deneith is accused of the murder of a soldier of Darguun. To offer her aid or interfere in her arrest is an offense to the throne and the people of Darguun.
The warning was repeated in the dark letters of Goblin, but it had been written in the script of humans first. A deliberate warning to Pater.
“He knew,” Ashi breathed. “Tariic knew! Who told him?”
Hoofbeats sounded over the patter of rain and the rush of wind. Ashi’s head snapped up. Fear punched into her gut. One soldier sent to the compound as a messenger to prevent her escape—and a whole squad sent after to trap her. She whirled. “Aruget, we have to—”
She stood alone. Aruget was gone.
Six hobgoblins on horseback burst out of the darkness, swords drawn, the hooves of their mounts sending up sprays of water. They came to stop in a semi-circle around her, trapping her against the gates. One of them walked his horse forward a little and pointed his sword at her.
He didn’t have to say anything. Wet, shivering, and unarmed, Ashi crumpled the paper in her hand as she raised her head to meet his gaze.
“Geth.” Hands shook him hard. “Geth, wake up! There are horsemen outside.”
Sleep burned away like shadows in the sun. Geth opened his eyes and sat up. Tenquis’s workshop spun around him for a moment as his mind made the leap from drowsing to alertness. He’d fallen asleep in a big stuffed chair. The workshop was still brightly lit. Tenquis was still dressed. The table where they had eaten earlier in