Don Bassingthwaite - The tyranny of ghosts

“Ta muut, Pradoor.” Tariic looked back to Senen, his eyes running over her body before pausing at her belt where a knife was sheathed. Once again, he let silence take hold. Midian could feel the crowd in the hall holding its collective breath, waiting for the lhesh to pronounce his judgment. And finally… finally…

“Senen Dhakaan,” said Tariic, “take the knife at your belt and cut out the tongue that dared hide knowledge from me.”

The unnatural stillness that gripped Senen vanished, replaced by a straining as she fought to resist the command. Tariic thrust the Rod of Kings at her. “I said, cut out your lying tongue, Senen!”

Senen’s hands seemed to move of their own accord, the right snatching the knife from its sheath, the left reaching past lips and teeth to pinch the red muscle of her mouth and stretch it taut Memories flowed unbidden out of the dark places of Midian’s mind. Memories of himself in Tariic’s chambers, a captive only a short time after he had tried to take the lhesh’s life. Memories of writhing on rich carpets as Tariic stripped his knowledge, his identity, from him. You serve me now, Midian. You serve Tariic. Zilargo is nothing to you. You are not worthy to kiss the ground I tread. Pradoor, watching and cackling. Tariic’s deafened bugbear servants holding Ashi and forcing her to watch as well. Tariic himself, hated-and adored.

If he’d been able to take up a knife, Midian would have leaped across the hall of honor and driven it into Tariic’s eye socket, the same way he’d killed Haruuc.

No. He would rather have plunged the knife into his own eye. Another memory: ripping a knife through his own belly and offering the bloody blade to Tariic. Tariic laughing. You live by my kindness, Midian. You will do as I say, now and forever.

Midian crawled to him through a pool of his own blood and kissed his boot, and in return Tariic gestured for Pradoor to go to him. Stop the bleeding.

“Stop the bleeding, Pradoor.”

Memories folded like a piece of black paper, disappearing back into the shadows. Senen was on her knees, hands limp at her side, mouth bloody, knife and severed flesh on the floor before her. Pradoor was feeling her way forward, milky eyes staring at something only she could see but that brought a smile to her withered face. Tariic…

Tariic stood triumphant, his gaze sweeping the hall. “Let her be returned to Volaar Draal!” he said. His voice rang like a battle cry. “Let her be a message for the Kech Volaar to consider. Let them weigh whether they will please me and surrender those they shelter. Let all consider”-he thrust the Rod of Kings into the air-“the justice delivered to those who defy Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn!”

The roar of the crowd was all-embracing. Even the representatives of the Five Nations and the dragonmarked houses looked at each other and nodded as if in agreement that yes, the lhesh of Darguun was justified in what he had commanded. Midian looked up at Ashi and found her still staring at Senen as Pradoor murmured prayers over the broken duur’kala.

Awareness of intense pain filtered into his brain. Ashi’s fingers had tightened on his in a crushing grip. Midian drew a hissing breath through his teeth and grabbed for her arm, poking hard in just the right spot. Ashi grimaced and her grip loosened. Midian jerked his hand free and flexed aching fingers.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” he said. “Not with your dragonmark, not without it. She was doomed. You should thank Tariic for his mercy in sparing you a similar fate.”

Her eyes narrowed. He smiled at the unspoken admission. She knew about the Kech Volaar. Of course, she did. And she knew that they knew it. He gave her a graceful bow.

“Maybe we can discuss it when I get back,” he said. “I have to meet someone. Tariic has a little errand for the two of us-just in case the Kech Volaar don’t find the right answer to the message that he’s sending. A surprise visit to some old friends, if you will.” He ran a hand over the hilt of his dagger.

Ashi stiffened and drew her lips back from her teeth-a shockingly savage expression in someone dressed with such elegance-but Midian was already slipping back into the cheering crowd and out of the hall of honor. He followed the edge of rumor as word spread through Khaar Mbar’ost of what had just taken place. A moment in his room was all he needed to change courtly clothes for traveling gear. His companion in Tariic’s errand was already waiting for him in the courtyard when he reached it, their packs ready along with a horse.

He hadn’t wanted aid in the errand. He’d argued to Tariic that he was capable of dealing with Geth and the others by himself. That it was a point of pride. That it would be easier to slip into Volaar Draal if he were alone. Tariic had overruled him. “Geth, Chetiin, Ekhaas, and Tenquis will die,” he’d said. “Get yourself into Volaar Draal, then call on Riila and Taak’s informant. It shouldn’t be difficult to find her. If she wants to show her respect for me, she can help you get him”-he’d thrust the Rod of Kings at Midian’s companion-“into the city as well. Until the traitors are dead, you’re allies. I command it.”

The command had been unnecessary. Midian might have protested, but he would have done whatever Tariic asked. He crossed the courtyard to his new ally.

“It’s done,” he said, reaching into his pack and drawing out a silver horseshoe. Tariic would gather an escort of soldiers-he probably already had one waiting-to see Senen safely returned to Kech Volaar territory. They would ride ahead of the escort, an unseen vanguard. Midian threw the horseshoe to the ground and spoke a word. The horseshoe bounced twice in perfect rhythm, then suddenly there was a white pony cantering in a circle around them. Midian whistled. It came to him. He mounted and looked up at his companion.

The big bugbear with the serpentine symbol of the Fury, dark goddess of vengeance, carved into his chest glowered down at him. He looked considerably more alive and angry than someone who had supposedly had the skin flayed from him should have.

“Tariic commands this, but I don’t like it,” Makka growled, tamping the butt of the trident that was his chosen weapon against the ground. He hadn’t escaped Tariic’s wrath at the death of Vounn d’Deneith entirely-he was pale from imprisonment in an isolated cell below Khaar Mbar’ost-but he was in better shape than the anonymous bugbear who been put in his place to satisfy the vengeance of House Deneith. “The wolf does not run beside the hound. I swore revenge against you as well as the others for turning my tribe against me.”

Midian met his gaze without fear. “After what you did, Makka, you should be glad Tariic finds you more useful as his hound than as a sop to keep Deneith quiet. If it had been my choice, you would have been a naked corpse rotting outside Rhukaan Draal weeks ago.”

He turned his back on the bugbear and rode for the gate.

22 Aryth

As they approached the edge of Kech Volaar territory, the soldiers-seven strong hobgoblins and three burly bugbears-escorting Senen started getting skittish. First one, then another glanced around at his companions, until they were all looking at one another. Finally the leader of the expedition put his ears back and muttered something. Within moments, they had all turned and were galloping away in full retreat.

Midian sank a little farther back into his hiding place among the trees and watched them go. He was fairly certain that Senen, swaying in her saddle, head hanging down on her chest, was barely even aware they had left. Two nights before, Midian had crept into the escort’s camp after the soldier who was supposed to be on watch duty turned his attention to the stars and moons overhead. Senen’s skin had been hot. He strongly suspected that Pradoor had done no more than close the Kech Volaar’s wounds with her prayers. Infection and fever had set in-probably Pradoor’s twisted intention all along.