Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [76]
Even the grieving tree that still stood on one side of the dais looked strangely beautiful: white and gleaming, a piece of strange sculpture rather than an ancient device of torture.
Buzzing excitement drifted through the crowd, but Ashi doubted if anyone could be quite as excited as she was—after all, no one else knew what had been at stake leading up to this moment. Not even the dire whispers that passed between those she stood with could darken her spirits.
“I’ve had a letter from friends in House Lyrandar,” said Pater d’Orien. “They confirm there are factions within Lyrandar that see a greater profit in committing their services to Valenar than in selling to both sides.”
“Sindra among them?” Vounn asked. Her lips barely moved.
Pater snorted. “What do you think?”
Esmyssa Entar ir’Korran raised an eyebrow. “Orien and Deneith were quick to sell their services to Darguun,” she pointed out. Ashi wondered why the ambassador of Zilargo had bothered to stand with them. When the ceremony started, the little gnome wouldn’t be able to see anything—Midian had paused to greet them earlier, then passed on to get closer to the dais. The conversation must have been worth more to Esmyssa than the view.
Pater just snorted again. “Selling cartage to Valenar elves is like selling stone to dwarves. Their warbands carry everything they need. Our routes in Valenar are limited to runs between a few established fortresses.”
“Deneith’s relationship with Valenar is nearly as important as our relationship with Darguun,” said Vounn. “An offer was made, of course. Neutrality saw Deneith through the Last War. More, I don’t know. Details of forces contracted to opposing sides in a conflict are kept secret.”
“And if you were to speculate, Lady Vounn?” asked Esmyssa.
Vounn pressed her lips together for a moment before she said. “If I were to speculate, I would say that the Valaes Tairn declined our offer. This war is as much a point of honor for them as it is for the Darguuls. We were only able to contract to Darguun because the mercenaries were their own people. The war is a test of ancient blood against ancient blood.” She bent her head to the fifth member of their group.
Senen Dhakaan dipped her head in return, but added, “My blood, but not yet my people. The Kech Volaar will watch the war, though. An alliance with Darguun may still be a possibility.”
Esmyssa’s eyes flashed with delight. “I’ve heard,” she said, “that the Kech Shaarat clan have embraced the war and have already approached Tariic about sending warriors to ight.”
Senen’s ears lay back. “The Kech Shaarat would fight pigs in a wallow and call it a rout. I wouldn’t put much value to their boasting—”
The wail of Darguul war-pipes burst over the throne room, followed a moment later by the throbbing of drums. Conversations ended instantly and all heads turned to the dais. As the martial music rose to a pitch, a door opened and a procession emerged, one by one, to take up positions behind the throne. Razu came first—and Ashi’s curiosity stirred. The old mistress of rituals looked shaken.
Munta, a pitcher and basin on a tray in his hands, followed her. His face was dark and troubled. Ashi glanced at Vounn. Her mentor was frowning.
“What is it?” asked Esmyssa. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Ashi told her.
Aguus came next, then Daavn. The warlord of Marhaan seemed smug. Then—
The breath caught in Ashi’s throat. Her hand went to the sword at her side, gripping the hilt and ready to draw. Makka stood on the dais with the spiked crown of Darguun in his hands. Her reaction, however, was lost in the chaos that gripped the throne room. Many people—warlords and ambassadors alike—gasped. A piper’s instrument struck a screechingly bad note.
A very few warlords, after a moment of shock, shouted out, “Praise the Six!”
“Quill and staff, what’s happening?” Esmyssa finally gave up and squirmed forward through the audience as only a gnome or goblin could.
Ashi ignored her, spinning to face Vounn. “That’s Makka!” she said.
“That’s the