Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [47]
“Isn’t Zilargo ruled by three leaders?” Ashi asked, trying to head off the inevitable question of who she thought might stand closest to the throne.
“The Triumvirate speaks with a single voice backed by the wisdom of three minds working in concert,” Esmyssa said proudly. “Haruuc’s heirs struggle against each other. And the assembly of warlords …” She made a dismissive, if quiet, noise. “Without a strong, thoughtful lhesh to lead them, Darguun’s clans are a danger as much to themselves as the rest of Khorvaire. If this was Zilargo, we wouldn’t be facing the possibility of a war.”
The Zil ambassador was right about Darguun’s clans, of course, but her self-righteous arrogance was like a dull blade dragged across Ashi’s skin. “And what would Zilargo do if Valenar elves were raiding its borders?”
“Negotiate,” said Esmyssa. “Emissaries of the Triumvirate would be sent to talk to them and find a solution before conflict arises. Words are the armies of Zilargo.”
Ashi’s teeth ground together. “Razh toch tao gi,” she said in the language she had spoken growing up among the barbarian clans of the Shadow Marches. “A sword has no ears.”
Esmyssa’s smile tightened as well. “Pithy,” she said, and turned away to speak to the Brelish ambassador. Ashi turned as well, righteous anger warm in her belly. Vounn was seated on her other side with Pater d’Orien beyond her and the two dragonmarked envoys were having a much more practical discussion.
“—content of the message directly from Tariic,” Vounn was saying. “It only mentioned two clanholds by name: Tii’ator and Ketkeet. Both small and not too far from Zarrthec. The messages the falcons can carry are short by necessity.”
Pater grunted and scratched under the collar that stretched tight around his thick neck. “I know something of that part of the country,” he said. “Orien wagons make a market circuit there. Settlements east of Zarrthec are sparse. The land can be good and a fair amount of it was cleared by Cyre before the founding of Darguun, but go too far east and you get uncomfortably close to the Mournland.”
Vounn pressed her lips together. Ashi thought she could guess what her mentor was thinking. What had remained of the human nation of Cyre after Darguun and Valenar had seized their pieces of it had been consumed in the massive catastrophe that had come to be known as the Mourning. The terrible event had happened only five years before, but already mention of it evoked a legendary dread in most people. All that was left of Cyre was a cursed wasteland inhabited by dangerous monsters and surrounded by borders of dead-gray mist. The Mournland was a blight on central Khorvaire, and by unfortunate coincidence Darguun shared the longest border of any nation with it, from the long inlet of Kraken Bay that became the mouth of the Ghaal River all the way to the spur of mountains marking the northern boundary with Breland. It also formed a deadly barrier hundred of miles wide between Valenar and Darguun. If Valenar elves were raiding in Darguun, they had either managed to cross the Mournland—not entirely impossible for a people with a reputation for almost supernatural horsemanship—or they had slipped unnoticed up the inlet of Kraken Bay to the mouth of the Ghaal.
The same thing must have occurred to Pater. “There’s a town—Rheklor—that stands on a peninsula with Kraken Bay on both sides. Haruuc placed a garrison there. They watch all ships traveling inland from the ocean. They would have seen anything unusual.”
“Perhaps.” Vounn glanced at Ashi, then dropped her voice so that only the three of them could hear. “Have either of you seen Sindra this morning?”
Ashi raised her head and looked around the gallery. From where she was sitting, there was no sign of the viceroy of House