Don Bassingthwaite - The tyranny of ghosts

Ashi gave him a hard glare. Aruget’s ears dipped. “There are other ways, Ashi. All you need to do is find out what Tariic wants from the other houses-and you are the one of us with the best chance to do it.”

She turned her glare on the changeling. “You brought me here to ask me this?”

To her surprise, Aruget looked to Senen and Dagii. Senen sat stone-faced. Dagii’s ears flicked, then flicked again. “Not entirely,” he said. “If we could have, we would have waited longer. But we had to move today. Something happened last night.”

It was probably a mark of how much time she’d been spending around hobgoblins that she almost felt as if her ears perked up. “What?”

Dagii rose and went over to the shuttered windows. Easing one open just a little way, he gestured for her to look outside.

The window overlooked a wide yard of beaten earth. At first glance, she saw only ranks of hobgoblin soldiers performing drills while others practiced combat in small groups. Across the courtyard, she recognized the standard of the Iron Fox. There was another standard beside it, though-an upright sword blade mounted within a ring at the end of a pole. But if there was a second standard on display… Ashi looked at the soldiers in the yard again.

There were two groups, she realized. They trained together, but not as comrades. In fact, one of the groups appeared to be thoroughly dominating the other in every combat and at every drill. The losing soldiers looked like those she was familiar with seeing around Rhukaan Draal-warriors from disparate clans united in a military company. Many of them wore the sign of the Iron Fox.

The dominant soldiers were different. They were subtly bigger. They were better armed and armored. They had a unified look, as if they’d all received the same training since they were young. Since they were very young, judging by the way they fought and moved. Many of them bore brands on their faces that resembled the sword blade standard.

“Kech Shaarat,” said Senen softly from over Ashi’s shoulder. “Warriors from another of the Dhakaani clans. They arrived last night.”

“Tariic instructed them to take quarters here with the Iron Fox,” Dagii said. “They claim that they’re here to aid the patrols against the Valenar.” He closed the shutter.

“Are they?” asked Ashi.

“Fight the Valenar? Perhaps,” said Senen. “Patrol under the command of lowland clans? Never.” Her ears bent. “Something is going to happen. That’s why we needed to talk to you today. Will you do it, Ashi? Will you find out what Tariic wants with the dragonmarked houses?”

“Will you do it for Vounn’s memory?” asked Dagii.

Ashi’s jaw tightened. “I will.”

Aruget didn’t want to stay at the barracks too long, and they left quickly. On the street, he became Oraan once more, reassuming the demeanor of a resentful guard escorting his willful charge on a damp morning. For appearances, Ashi continued her walk down to the river’s edge before turning back to Khaar Mbar’ost. The wandering gave her time to think. How best to approach the viceroys of the other dragonmarked houses? If Senen was right-and she probably was-they would be eager to gossip with her, but Ashi was certain they would also be tight-lipped about their dealings with Tariic. Approaching one before the others would also raise their suspicions and close their mouths. She needed a way to greet all of them casually at or around the same time.

The opportunity came more easily than she had hoped. As she turned the corner of the hallway outside her chambers, she found two figures waiting for her. One was another of her escorts, Woshaar, ready to take over the duty of watching her-Oraan nodded to him, released her into his care, and departed without even glancing at her. He played his role flawlessly.

The other was a goblin wearing the red corded armband that indicated his service to the lord of Khaar Mbar’ost. “Lhesh Tariic sends a message to Lady Ashi d’Deneith,” he said. “There will be a feast tonight in the hall of honor. You will attend.”

The command drew out a flash of anger, even if the feast was the answer she was looking for. The viceroys and envoys would attend, and she could move among them without her conversations seeming out of place. She bit back her anger. “Tell Lhesh Tariic I am honored,” she said.

“He does not wish a reply.” The goblin bowed and departed.

Ashi’s anger burned a little higher. She turned on Woshaar. “I require hot water and a bathing tub. Demand them of the next servant that passes.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing a startled expression on the guard’s face before she marched into her chambers and slammed the door behind her.

When she had first come to House Deneith and Vounn, one of the house’s most talented ambassadors, had begun the task of turning a barbarian hunter of the Shadow Marches into a proper lady of Deneith, Ashi had chafed at her mentor’s lessons. Particularly those on dress and style. What was the use, she had thought then, of knowing which kinds of sleeves and collars were in fashion, or of knowing that yellow didn’t suit her complexion? Understanding the value of what Vounn taught her had come slowly. Too slowly maybe, Ashi suspected. She’d eventually made her peace with Vounn, and they’d found a respect for each other, but there were some things Ashi hadn’t really found a true appreciation for until after Vounn’s death. The value of masking her true emotions. The necessity of submitting to demands in the short term with an eye on the future.

The potential power in her own appearance.

She emerged from her chambers as the sun set, striding past Woshaar without pause. Her escort fell in close behind her, and turning her head slightly, Ashi caught him giving her surreptitious glances. He seemed to carry himself with more pride than she’d seen before as well, as if suddenly she was worth keeping watch over. He wasn’t the only one whose reaction changed at the sight of her. Servants looked away from her, turning their faces to the ground. Hobgoblin warriors whom she recognized from their service around Khaar Mbar’ost glanced at her, and then looked back and stared. She passed a warlord, Iizan of the wealthy Ghaal Sehn clan, on his way to the feast and deep in conversation with another clan chief. Iizan actually paused, mouth closed, eyes wide, to watch her go by. Ashi raised her head and swept on, up the broad stairs of Khaar Mbar’ost to the hall of honor, the vast chamber that ran from one side of the fortress to the other.

She wore the clothes that Vounn had given her for their first presentation to Haruuc only three months before. A gown suitable for a feast in the Five Nations would do little to impress the goblins of Darguun, so the outfit resembled a parade uniform with polished boots, trim trousers, and a cropped jacket bearing the crest of House Deneith in silver thread. Her sword hung from a belt likewise trimmed with silver. But tonight the Darguuls weren’t the only ones she wanted to impress, and Ashi had taken more care with her hair than she’d ever taken in her life. Washed and brushed, it shone like old gold. She’d pulled it back in a style that was stern but not severe. Commanding, Vounn had called it. Ashi had even raided the small pots of cosmetics her mentor had left. The patterns of the dragonmark that curled over her cheeks made rouge ridiculous, but a light hand with powders around her eyes gave her gaze a startling intensity.

She was a lady of Deneith, and none of the envoys of the other dragonmarked houses could dare deny it.

Ashi paused in the doorway of the hall of honor just long enough for those near the door to get a good look at her-and for her to scan the vast room for familiar faces. The hall was crowded. A long table ran much of the hall’s length, taking up space, but even so there were more bodies present than could have sat at it. That was tradition at hobgoblin feasts, she’d learned. Important guests sat and were served. Less important guests lingered on the fringes.