The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 Read Online Free Page B

their harsh expressions. They continued their slow advance, four moving to flank the shifter on one side, three on another. Their leader, still facing him, wore daggers in sheaths on the inside of each forearm. He slid one arm across the other and, from the left sheath, drew an ugly curved blade that looked very nearly as nasty as Wrath.
    An unpleasant feeling knotted in Geth’s gut, and he lowered Wrath, ready to defend himself.
    “Rat,” he said.

CHAPTER
TWO
    T he door steward of Sentinel Tower was a man of middle years, solemn and unflappable, an ideal man for a role that was mostly about showing up to ceremonies and reciting a few ritual phrases. Ashi—once a hunter, now a scion of House Deneith—had been in the city of Karrlakton and a resident of Sentinel Tower for only eight months. She’d seen the door steward no more than four times, though it felt like she heard about him every day. Elders and instructors held him up as a model of dignity and loyalty to Deneith. He was moderate in all things, knew when to speak and when to remain silent. Through thirty-one years of service in his position, it was said that he’d never betrayed any trace of what thoughts or emotions might lurk behind the ritual phrases.
    As he stepped into the expanse of the great Hall of Shields, however, the door steward was flushed and trembling. Ashi felt a prick of anticipation. She wasn’t the only one to notice. A soft murmur swept through the other men and women who stood in ranks on the dais at one end of the hall. The woman who stood— strong and stiff in spite of the fifty or so years that lined her face and streaked her black hair with iron-gray—at the front of the dais, beside and just forward of Ashi, turned her head slightly and glanced over her shoulder. The murmur died.
    The door steward cleared his throat. “Lady Seneschal Vounn, my lords and my ladies of Deneith,” he said, his voice echoing like a shout in a canyon. “Sentinel Tower admits Tariic of Rhukaan Taash,son of Haluun, nephew and personal emissary of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor of Darguun!”
    The words were hardly out of his mouth before the great age-blackened doors of the hall were thrown wide, seemingly blasted open by a noise that wailed in Ashi’s ears and punched into her belly. The door steward broke and ran for the side of the hall.
    Through the doors passed the source of the staggering sound: two rows of musicians marching three abreast. The punch of the music came from big drums beaten with short rods nearly as thick as Ashi’s wrist. The wail of it came from strange pipes with two brass stems sticking up from an inflated sack of bright leopard skin held under the musician’s arm and a third, pointing down, with wind holes for the musician to play—three powerful tones from a single instrument. It was war music, meant to inspire troops and terrify enemies. Ashi’s heart raced to the sound of it. She leaned forward, as if the weight of the music was enough to support her.
    Lady Seneschal Vounn d’Deneith glanced back a second time, this time directly at her. Behind the veil that hid her face and covered her thick, dark gold hair, Ashi clenched her teeth and stood straight again.
    The musicians seemed to see nothing of the grandeur around them or of the delegation waiting at the far end of the hall. They marched and played with perfect discipline. All six were hobgoblins, tall as humans but broader in chest and arms, with dark skin that varied from deep orange-red to rich brown-yellow. When one of the pipers opened his mouth to gulp air and reinflate his pipe-sack, sharp teeth flashed behind thin lips. Like the small eyes above his flat nose, the hobgoblin’s ears—long and tall like a wolf’s—were fixed straight ahead.
    Ashi knew a hobgoblin, though she had seen no more of her in the last eight months than she had any of the other friends she’d left behind in giving herself to Deneith. Ekhaas of the Kech Volaar clan was a fine fighter,