Don Bassingthwaite - The doom of Kings

“Have I missed anything?” she asked. She suspected that she already knew the answer, and Pater confirmed it.

“Not a cursed thing. A few clans like the Atiin Noor who support Haruuc without question are ready to give him everything he asks for. Nearly everyone else protests that they don’t have enough to share with Rhukaan Draal.” Pater gnawed on his thumbnail. “They keep coming back to repayment, the safety of their shipments, the speed and safety of food to come from Breland. I’d almost think some of them had been paid to ask questions.” He threw an angry glance at Sindra d’Lyrandar.

Vounn suppressed a smile. Houses Lyrandar and Orien were rivals in the shipping business. Each was uniquely suited to bring freight to Rhukaan Draal-Orien overland, Lyrandar by sea. Orien had the advantage of a shorter route from the fields of Breland through Sterngate and the Marguul Pass. Lyrandar had to ship cargo down the Dagger River, all the way around the coast, and back up the Ghaal River, but the voyage was far safer. Lyrandar could have used its flying airships to guarantee both speed and safety, but the cost that would have been involved in such shipments had stopped even the staunchest of Haruuc’s critics. Which was probably just as well for House Orien.

“More guards on your caravans, perhaps,” she suggested. “I imagine that we could arrange a special price if it would help you win the contract.”

“Your concern for our prosperity is noted,” Pater said sourly.

“Deneith serves.” She inclined her head, then leaned out over the edge of the balcony and looked at the warlords assembled before Haruuc’s throne.

The Gan’duur raiders had been largely suppressed or driven back into their own territory for the clan chief Keraal to deal with as was his responsibility. Keraal had duly shown off the executed bodies of hobgoblins he claimed were the rogue warriors, but Vounn had her own reports of the grisly display. The corpses of the “warriors” were so scrawny and undernourished they could only have been slaves. The true warriors were probably enjoying rewards for a job well done. A little more than a month after the first wave of raids, Rhukaan Draal was feeling the effects of the devastated harvest, with the threat of even leaner times ahead. The price of food in the market was rising, and while the famine march two weeks before had been dealt with harshly-the old goblin woman who had led the mob was, Vounn had heard, imprisoned somewhere below Khaar Mbar’ost-scuffles over the food that trickled into the city weren’t uncommon. Haruuc had ordered a noon dole distributed in the poorest parts of the city, but uncertainty and unrest were growing. And not just among the people of Rhukaan Draal. There were empty places among the benches in Haruuc’s throne room. A number of warlords had found excuses not to attend the assembly.

Keraal of Gan’duur was, unsurprisingly, one of them.

But Daavn of Marhaan was not. He sat calmly among the assembly, newly returned from his clan’s territory. Vounn turned and looked across the gallery at Tariic. She’d been watching him since the night of the famine march. There had been no hint of a conspiracy and nothing of substance to report back to Karrlakton. Tariic had, however, become increasingly friendly with some of the most powerful people at Haruuc’s court, Darguul and non-Darguul alike. People like Breland’s ambassador. If he was trying to draw up support for himself as a successor to Haruuc, he was doing a very good job of it.

Tariic looked up and met her gaze. She nodded to him again. He smiled at her, said something to the ambassador, then came across the gallery to her. As he walked, Vounn considered briefly what it might be like to deal with Tariic as lhesh. Of all the Darguuls she had met, he was perhaps the most familiar with the manners and customs of the Five Nations. He had talent and intelligence-and he was already on good terms with Deneith. She could work with him.

Pater d’Orien shook Tariic’s hand, then departed in search of something to eat. Tariic seated himself with an easy smile, but Vounn was becoming more adept at reading goblin body language. Tariic’s ears were slightly stiff and his right hand was held slightly away from his body. Shaking hands was not a part of hobgoblin culture, and while Tariic might have been familiar with the manners of the Five Nations, he clearly wasn’t completely comfortable with all of them. Vounn kept her hands folded in her lap and instead returned Tariic’s smile.

“I would have thought I’d find you with the assembly, Tariic,” she said.

He bent his head. “Unfortunately, no. The rules of the assembly are clear by tradition and my uncle’s decree. Only clan chiefs, warlords, and the arbiter of order and her assistants are permitted in the throne room while the assembly meets. Not even guards are permitted.”

A lesser rule extended over the gallery. Vounn’s guard-Thuun today-waited outside the door of the gallery along with the guards who served the other dignitaries. Vounn looked back down into the throne room and nodded toward the end. Late morning light poured through the tall windows behind Haruuc’s throne. A big figure stood at the lhesh’s side, hands tucked into his belt alongside twin axes. “Vanii is there.”

“Haruuc’s decree,” Tariic said. “His shava are a special case. When I was young I remember seeing all three of them standing around him. It was a sight that spoke of the respect Haruuc commanded… commands.”

Vounn raised an eyebrow. Tariic sighed and his ears dipped. “We shouldn’t fool ourselves,” he said quietly. He gestured out over the throne room. “Thirty-even ten-years ago, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Haruuc sees it, too, Tariic,” said Vounn. “That’s why he sent Geth and the others.”

“I hope they find what they’re looking for soon,” Tariic said. He looked at her sideways and his voice dropped even lower. “Speaking of which, have you heard anything from Ashi?”

She shook her head. “Haruuc or Senen would be more likely to have had communication from one of the others.”

“I thought maybe Ashi would have contacted you.” He sat back. “They’ve been gone for more than a month. I know they’re not likely to be close to a House Sivis speaking station, but I would have thought there would be some word.”

“Patience,” Vounn said. It was the same thing she told herself every night. The fear was beginning to grow in her that she would soon have to deliver the truth of Ashi’s whereabouts to Breven. She pushed the thought back and looked down into the throne room again to cover her feelings of unease.

Yet another warlord had risen to protest that he didn’t have food to spare for Rhukaan Draal. Haruuc’s frustration with the near-constant denials showed in his face. Abruptly, he gestured to the thin hobgoblin woman who was the arbiter of order. She nodded to an assistant and the banner of the speaker’s clan dropped from the Pole of Order. Murmurs spread around the hall, and the warlord who had been speaking closed his mouth in surprise. He stood for a moment longer, then sat down.

Haruuc looked across his assembled warlords. “Some of you,” he said, “‘speak the truth. Your fields and storehouses were burned. I saw this with my own eyes. But I know that many of you are lying.” His angry gaze lingered on the warlord who had just sat down and the man flinched. Haruuc’s gaze moved on. “Is it fear that the Gan’duur will begin raiding again and you’ll be left with nothing? That won’t happen. Is it greed? Do you hoard now in hopes of commanding a higher price later? I promise you that won’t happen either-I will not allow it.”

He paused, then added, “Or perhaps you support the Gan’duur?”