Don Bassingthwaite - The tyranny of ghosts

She spotted Pater d’Orien and Dannel d’Cannith. They would make a good place to start her inquiries. Ashi took a goblet of wine from a passing servant and moved into the crowd to join them.

She didn’t get far. A hand reached out from among the shifting bodies and caught the hem of her jacket. “You’ve put an effort into looking your best tonight, Ashi,” said Midian.

Disgust mingled with fear raced through her, but she kept it from her face. Did Midian somehow know what she was up to? Had the puppet already told his master? Ashi forced herself to answer. “Tariic commanded my presence, and I am the face of Deneith in Rhukaan Draal, aren’t I?”

She poured acid into the words as if her appearance was just some attempt to defy Tariic’s power. It seemed to work. Midian’s eyes narrowed briefly, and he gave a mocking little bow.

“Your clothes complement your bracelets,” he said. “I’m sure people will be asking about them all night.”

“Blood in your mouth, Midian.”

“Now, now. No need for obscure Shadow Marches insults, as colorful as they might be.” He took her hand. “There are people you need to meet.”

“I don’t think so.” Ashi tried to take her hand back.

Midian clung to it like a clam to a rock-not with any particular strength but with a determined attachment. “I do. You’re the face of Deneith after all.”

Ashi threw a glance at Woshaar, standing poised in her shadow, and briefly wished Oraan were the one with her tonight, then realized how pointless that would be anyway. In a room full of witnesses, Oraan would do nothing to betray himself. He would do the same thing as Woshaar-follow blank-faced as Tariic’s royal historian dragged her off into the crowd. She caught another glimpse of Pater d’Orien and Dannel d’Cannith watching as well, probably jealous of the special favor she was being shown.

Ashi gave in and let Midian lead her. She’d have another chance with Pater and Dannel. This might even give her a better chance to talk to them. They’d want to know whom she had met. Through the crowd, she caught the eye of Dagii and, a moment later, Senen. The gaze of the ambassador of the Kech Volaar slid over her without acknowledging her presence, but Dagii’s gaze lingered for just an instant. His lips pressed tightly together, and his ears flicked back.

Danger.

Ashi’s belly tightened even as Midian brought her to a stop beside a knot of unfamiliar hobgoblins kept apart from the members of Tariic’s court not so much by physical space as their own haughty presence. Warlords and clan chiefs moved around the strangers like a pack of dogs around new and stronger interlopers, watching but not yet ready to approach. As if he stood outside of any forces of status, Midian spoke directly to the two hobgoblins at the center of the knot, a massive male whose armor bore the face of a demon and a woman wearing a blue-edged mantle. Both carried sword-shaped brands on their foreheads.

“Lady Ashi d’Deneith,” said Midian in Goblin, “meet Taak Dhakaan and Riila Dhakaan of Kech Shaarat.”

17 Aryth

Humans, in Midian’s experience, tended to imagine themselves as if they were looking in a mirror that extended from their waist to about a handspan above their eye level. They never really considered what they might look like when seen from outside-particularly from below-that point of view. Hobgoblins, used to dealing with goblins, tended to be more aware. But humans, no matter how frequently they took the time to look a gnome in the eye, usually forgot that a gnome looked back.

“Introduce Ashi to the Kech Shaarat,” Tariic had said. “See how she reacts.”

“Lady Ashi d’Deneith,” said Midian, “meet Taak Dhakaan and Riila Dhakaan of Kech Shaarat.”

He watched Ashi closely, watched the little muscles under her jaws that most humans weren’t even aware of, as she looked over the representatives of the Kech Shaarat. Those muscles twitched, just slightly. Reaction to Riila and Taak’s names then, Midian wondered, or just to their presence as Kech Shaarat?

The latter, he decided, as Ashi slowly bent her head to the hobgoblins. If she knew the names, her neck would have been stiffened by fear or maybe disdain. It wasn’t. The nod was cautious, deep enough to indicate respect, not so deep as to suggest submission.

She was in for a surprise.

Riila responded with a nod so shallow it was almost an insult. Taak didn’t even nod at all, but just looked Ashi over as if he were evaluating a horse. Whatever he saw seemed to give him some satisfaction, because he snorted and said, “You would give me a good fight, Ashi of Deneith.”

Ashi’s eyebrows rose, then drew together. Her hand dropped to her sword. “Name the place, and I’ll meet you there,” she answered with surprising savagery, meeting strength with strength. Midian almost found himself admiring the strategy.

Taak didn’t exactly smile, but a certain respect seeped through his arrogant expression. His ears flicked just slightly. “I had heard House Deneith lets others do its fighting for it.”

“No hand wields my sword but mine,” said Ashi.

An uneasy feeling crept up Midian’s back, and he looked around. Others nearby had started to notice the confrontation. Not that a dozen similar exchanges hadn’t already happened around the hall. Challenges and posturing weren’t uncommon whenever hobgoblins gathered, but none of the previous exchanges had spilled over into actual violence. Those involved knew better. But a warrior of the Kech Shaarat and a human of Deneith…

Tariic had wanted Ashi introduced to Taak and Riila. He didn’t want an open fight. Trying to find soothing words, Midian edged a little closer, fingers stiff and ready to deliver a numbing poke if words weren’t enough.

Riila, however, spoke before he could. “Taak, stand down! Respect our host.”

Her tone left little doubt about who was in charge. Taak didn’t seem to resent the reprimand. His ears flicked again, more vigorously this time. His thin lips twitched as well, and he tipped his head to Ashi in the tiniest of nods.

Riila moved in to take his place. “Taak honors you,” she said.

“And I honor him,” said Ashi. “The skill of the Kech Shaarat is legendary.” Her hand finally left her sword. Onlookers turned away with an audible grumble of disappointment. Midian let his fingers relax.

Only to tense them again as Ashi asked, “What brings Kech Shaarat to Rhukaan Draal?”

The question was innocent-but something in the way it was asked brought Midian’s eyes back to Ashi’s face. Still hard from confrontation, it revealed nothing. Fortunately, neither did Riila’s, though Midian caught Taak’s quick glance at his counterpart. Riila ignored it and answered smoothly, “We come to celebrate Lhesh Tariic’s victory over the elves of Valenar, ancient enemies of Dhakaan. We extend the friendship of the Kech Shaarat to a great leader of the dar.”

Someone less attentive might have missed the suspicion that flickered across Ashi’s face-but Midian saw it and alarm crept up his back again. Maybe she knew something after all. Delicate as a spider testing its web, he said, “Kech Shaarat are frequently in Rhukaan Draal, Ashi. We saw Kech Shaarat bladedancers in the arena during Haruuc’s funeral games.”

Ashi looked down at him. There was calculation in her eyes, and Midian felt an answering stir in his guts. Maybe Ashi could stare down Taak, but a game of deception wasn’t one she was going to win. He smiled sweetly at her.

“You’re right,” she said after a moment, and looked back to Riila. “They fought very well too. But I didn’t mean you or a handful of bladedancers. I was out in the city today, and I saw quite a number of Kech Shaarat. Are you all here to celebrate victory over the Valenar?”