Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [168]
Her palms were wet. She wiped them on the legs of her trousers.
“If we’d taken the rod and run after Haruuc died,” she murmured to Ekhaas in human language as bodies jostled them on all sides, “none of this would be happening.”
The duur’kala glanced at her. “If we’d taken the rod and run,” she answered, lips barely moving, “the succession would have been even more chaotic and Darguun likely would still have been at war with Valenar.”
“We’re going to force a new succession and we’re going to steal the rod.”
Ekhaas’s ears flicked and drooped. “But now we have war. Dar may not understand peace, but we understand war very well. There will be a new lhesh in days, and he won’t need the rod as a symbol to unify the clans. He’ll continue the war with Valenar and that will be enough. Darguun will follow him. And without the rod’s dreams of empire, Darguun will remain only Darguun.”
“If the war drags on, Darguun will weaken. Other nations could decide to take it on. It could fall.”
Ekhaas gave a thin smile. “Even Dhakaan fell eventually, Ashi. We can only make certain Darguun does not fall today.” She stopped. “We part here.”
Ashi raised her head a little, just enough to look around. They stood about fifteen paces from the platform and close to the line of guards that kept the path through the plaza clear. Geth and Chetiin had already pushed and slid their way to a position five paces nearer the platform. Aruget and Midian were a little to the right.
Up on the platform, Vounn chatted casually with warlords, ambassadors, and other envoys. Ashi knew her well enough now to recognize her apparent ease for the act it was. Her mentor’s back was stiff and her hands moved in small circles when she spoke. She knew something was amiss. If she didn’t know Tariic had regained the true rod, she at least guessed it.
Ashi felt a twinge of guilt for the trouble she was about to cause both Vounn and all of House Deneith. She glanced at Makka and at the sword—her sword, the Deneith honor blade—he still carried. Perhaps it was just as well she hadn’t recovered it. Her grandfather probably wouldn’t have approved of what she was about to do. Or maybe he would have. She forced the sword out of her mind, saying a silent good-bye to it and Vounn alike, then looked at Ekhaas and gave her a silent nod. The duur’kala returned it and moved to join Aruget and Midian. Ashi pushed through the crowd to Geth and Chetiin. The stench of her cowl actually helped—people shifted just to get away from her.
Beneath his cloak, Geth had Wrath already drawn. He turned his head and looked at her. “Ready?” he murmured.
Ashi concentrated, drawing on the power of her dragonmark. The bright lines that patterned her skin warmed and she felt the familiar clarity of the mark’s protection settle over her mind. She concentrated again, the warmth becoming an almost uncomfortable heat, and reached down to touch Chetiin. The goblin shivered as the shield of the Siberys Mark of Sentinel wrapped him as well. Even if Tariic had mastered the rod’s power, they would be safe from it, while Wrath protected Geth. Then she nodded and reached for her sword. “Read—”
A sudden roar erupted from behind them at the edge of the plaza. It spread quickly through the crowd. Heads turned, even among those on the platform. Ashi twisted around.
At the end of the path through the plaza, two hobgoblins rode at the head of a column of soldiers. One wore chains wrapped around his torso like a badge of honor. The other, mounted on a tiger, wore the horned armor of the warlord of Mur Talaan and raised his arms in triumph.
Dagii—and Keraal—had reached the plaza.
“Now!” snapped Geth. His gauntleted arm rose and fell, dashing a vial of dark glass, surrendered by Midian, against the paving stones at their feet. Ashi squeezed her eyes shut.
The intense light released by the shattered vial flared even through her eyelids. All around