Tracy Hickman: Song of the Dragon

The Keeper of the Iblisi stood staring at the form of Argos Helm, the former Caliph of the Dje’kaarin and now a rapidly rotting corpse impaled on the top of his own throne.

“You always were a clever boy,” Ch’drei breathed through clenched teeth.

No wonder the town was celebrating. Argos Helm was a despot of the worst kind, but he had been a despot the elves could easily control. Now it would be only a matter of time-days perhaps-before the warlords of the Dje’kaarin threw the region into an uproar over which of them would be dominant. The guards outside were undoubtedly making their coin letting the jubilant citizens in for a peak at this freak show that. .

A mark on the frame of the throne caught her eye. It would have been invisible to anyone else, but those trained in her Order had it so ingrained into them that it would call their attention even without an active search.

Ch’drei moved quickly around the throne. The blood of Argos Helm had dried down the back of the throne, but she paid no attention to it or the rotting corpse. She pried at the back board. It came away in one piece exposing a hollow space.

Within lay a vellum scroll tied with a brightly colored ribbon.

Ch’drei snatched it from its place, pulled the ribbon free, and unrolled the vellum. The writing on it was in an ancient script known now only among the Iblisi and used generally for messages intended for their ranks alone. She recognized the concise and careful hand that wrote it at once.

My Respected Ch’drei;

I always repay the kindnesses shown me. As you can see, I have done so with the Caliph-and all he ever did for me was to lie.

How ever shall I ever repay you?

Soen Tjen-rei

Ch’drei looked up at the broken form of the gnome Caliph. The sounds of laughter and music, muffled and distant, filtered into the hall.

“So it’s begun, Soen, you fool” she murmured to the empty hall. “And you do not know how terribly it will end for us all.”