tired as Geth. Ashi wondered if that meant they had found an artificer to create a false rod.
That at least would be welcome news. A war was bad, but the danger of the Rod of Kings was potentially even greater.
The blunt rebuff brought a flicker of disappointment to Esmyssa’s eyes, but it didn’t silence her. She looked back to the dais. “This business of a shava and four heirs is messy. The sooner the Darguuls have a lhesh again, the better. It’s so much easier to deal with one stable leader. With four possible lheshes, it’s hard to know where you stand-”
“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 Lyrandar, but Sindra could easily have been lost in the crowd. “No,” she said, “but-”
Pater’s face had turned red. “There are no Lyrandar ships at the Rhukaan Draal docks right now!” he said. “I noticed that yesterday.”
Vounn raised an eyebrow. Pater turned a deeper shade of red.
“Lyrandar wouldn’t aid Valenar against Darguun, would they?” Ashi asked. “They’ll have to come back to Rhukaan Draal to do business.”
“I think Sindra would try to claim her absence was just a coincidence,” said Vounn. “But it strikes me as a very fortunate coincidence when she might otherwise have to answer some awkward questions. Lyrandar ships travel up the Ghaal all the time without attracting attention. Ships for the Lhazaar Principalities are common, too- but the Lhazaars haven’t built ties with Valenar the way that House Lyrandar has.”
“Khyberit gentis,” muttered Ashi. “Do we tell-?”
“No,” Vounn said with a quick shake of her head. “We can’t be seen to inform on another house. The Darguuls will figure it out on their own-if they haven’t already. They can investigate if they want to.” She pursed her lips. “But if Lyrandar is already involved in the conflict, then we should be too.”
The color in Pater’s face broke and Ashi realized he hadn’t been holding in anger but a huge, greedy grin. “By Kol Korran’s golden bath,” he said, his cheeks jiggling with the effort of keeping a straight face. “I’ve missed war!”
Ashi stared at them both, but before she could say anything, there was movement down below. A lean old hobgoblin spoke to Geth, then moved to a tall pole on the floor below the dais. Two young hobgoblin warriors stood beside the pole and at a nod from the older hobgoblin, they attached a black banner to ropes hanging from the pole’s top and raised it. The warlords and clan chiefs fell silent and turned their attention to the dais. A second banner was raised, this one bearing the sword and crown symbol that had been Haruuc’s crest. Geth stood.
“A message has been received by messenger falcon,” he said in his heavily accented Goblin. “This is that message.” He produced a piece of paper too large and stiff to have been carried by one of the hobgoblin-trained falcons. Someone must have translated the original Goblin runes for him and coached him in reading it. “To Khaar Mbar’ost,” he read. “A runner from Ketkeet clanhold has arrived in Zarrthec. Valenar raiders have struck at Tii’ator, are advancing on Ketkeet, and are believed to have struck at more locations. Survivors of Tii’ator seeking refuge at Ketkeet report seeing smoke in the direction of other clan- and farmholds. Other runners and falcons sent by Tii’ator and Ketkeet have not arrived. I believe they have been brought down by Valenar. Zarrthec stands to defend itself.”
Geth looked up. “It is signed by the chib of Zarrthec and dated the evening of 20 Sypheros. Yesterday.”
Words of anger and frustration swelled from the warlords, but the old hobgoblin by the pole rapped a staff against the floor. “Respect the order of assembly! The shava of Haruuc continues.”
When silence had returned, Geth looked back at his paper. “Two other falcons have since arrived. One comes from Baar Kai clanhold, along the border of the Mournland south of the ruins of Lyrenton. The message it carried reads only, ‘Baar Kai falls. Elves burn our fields and kill all who stand against them.’” He hesitated, then said, “The third message was written in Elven.”
The room erupted in outrage. Ashi saw those ambassadors and envoys with elf blood-the half-elf viceroy of House Medani, the entertainer who served as the spokesperson for House Thurani in Rhukaan Draal, an aide to the Aundairian ambassador-sitting in the gallery flinch at the anger below. The old hobgoblin slammed his staff down and called for order repeatedly. Geth shouted for calm in Haruuc’s name. There was no response until Tariic’s voice rang over the chaos. “Darguuls! We give victory to our enemy if there is not order!”
And the warlords listened to him. Many took their seats again, dragging more boisterous neighbors with them. “He sounds like his uncle,” murmured Pater.
“The warlords who responded are all in his camp,” said Ashi. “Daavn was one of the first to sit.”
Vounn glanced at her and nodded at the observation. They weren’t the only ones to notice. Garaad, Aguus, and Iizan glared at Tariic, but the new lord of the Rhukaan Taash had already nodded to Geth. The shifter drew a breath and read from his paper.
“The Valaes Tairn”-Ashi recognized the Valenar elves’ name for themselves-“manswer the challenge of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor. If the blades of Darguun would fall on Valenar, Darguuls must face the warband of Kaelan Vaerian! Kaelan Vaerian will defeat all who come against her!”
Someone below laughed loudly. “A warband? A single warband? They must be junior warriors out to make honor for themselves! They can’t be much of a threat.”
