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She wasn’t certain she trusted herself to speak. She nodded silently instead—a nod that froze as a slow wind stirred, and the ghost of a song touched her ears. At first it was thin, so thin it could have been an echo, but then it swelled with Senen Dhakaan’s voice, as full and distinct as if the ambassador of the Kech Volaar stood beside her.

The ghaal’dar Aruget brings news. Ashi d’Deneith has been arrested at Tariic’s orders. A changeling takes Geth’s place. Makka hunts. Beware, daughter of the dirge!

Breath caught in Ekhaas’s throat. Ashi arrested? A changeling replacing Geth? What was happening in Rhukaan Draal? Her gut twisted. Dagii rode to his doom. The friends she had left behind were in trouble. Chetiin had vanished once more. For the first time since they had found the Rod of Kings and discovered the dangerous secrets it held, she felt very, very alone.

“Ekhaas?” Uukam asked. “Is something wrong?”

She raised her head—and shook it. She’d been alone before. She’d traveled and fought alone for years before she’d met Geth, Ashi, and the others. Dagii faced his death. She could do nothing less. Whatever had happened to Ashi and Geth, she might be their only hope. Ekhaas pushed out the knots in her belly and forced herself to breathe again. She could still hear Senen’s song. As long as it lingered, the magic would carry back a reply. She looked down at the struggle on the battlefield, gathered her thoughts, and opened her mouth to sing—

Behind her, the music of the warpipes ended with a sudden moan from the pipes and a gasp from the piper. She whirled around, Biiri and Uukam moving with her.

The piper, throat slashed, hung in the arms of an elf. The drummer stood with the scimitar of a second elf at his chest. Six more of the Valaes Tairn crouched on the back edge of the hill, weapons ready.

Senen’s song faded.

The elves screamed and charged.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

1 Aryth

Uukam and Biiri drew their swords and moved in front of her with the reflexes of trained soldiers. Strategy flickered in Ekhaas’s mind. The elves must have made their way through the woods to the back of the hill. They were already too close to blast them with sound or sing fear into their souls. There would be no disabling all of them. This fight would be toe-to-toe and they’d need every sword at hand.

The elf whose scimitar hovered over the drummer’s chest drew back his blade, ready to strike, as the other elves charged. Ekhaas focused her will on him, drew on her magic, and let loose a wail like a ghost rising from the grave. The elf’s head snapped around, eyes wide. His scimitar paused, trembled.

And the hobgoblin drummer struck back. The short thick rods of brass that had beaten the great drum knocked the scimitar out of the elf’s hand, and cracked across his face. The elf reeled back but the hobgoblin stayed with him, raining blows with lethal rhythm.

Then the other elves were on her, Biiri, and Uukam. Curved blades crashed on the warriors’ shields. Two couldn’t hold back six—seven, as the elf who had killed the piper dropped his victim and joined the attack. Ekhaas snatched her sword from its sheath and thrust her free hand into the face of the first Valenar to come at her. Song burst from her throat, and light as bright as a sliver of the noon sun flared from her palm. Dazzled, the elf fell back a pace. Ekhaas stepped after him, chopping down with her sword. It screeched off of armor beneath the red robes, but the elf cried out and retreated.

Another took his place, swinging backhand as he whirled past. Ekhaas twisted her sword and the scimitar caught among the heavy teeth on the back of the blade. Biiri struck past her in a blow that sheared through metal and flesh. One elf down.

Two—Uukam cut through the torso of another, leaving her grasping at a terrible wound. Three—the drummer’s opponent didn’t rise as the hobgoblin straightened, drumsticks red with blood, chest heaving with exhilaration.

“Call for aid!” Ekhaas shouted at him. He dashed for his drum, but jerked and spun around