Dandra thrust her away. Keep your thoughts to yourself for a while, Tetkashtai. She turned back to the ogre. “I’m ready. Take me to the General.”
The ogre seemed vaguely in awe of the confidence in her voice. He ushered her back out into the hall and along to a grand door at its end where two more ogres wearing the blue star of Tzaryan Keep stood guard. They stood to attention at their leader’s approach. He seemed to take no notice of them, though, instead reaching easily over Dandra’s head and tapping at the doors with a delicacy that made the wood shake. “General,” he called.
A harsh voice answered. “Send her in, Chuut.”
The ogre opened the door. Dandra stepped inside.
The General had claimed the largest room in the inn for his use. It was as sparsely furnished as Dandra’s own, though at one time it must have been grand. Two worn chairs sat beside a large fireplace. One was empty. The other was occupied by a man who stood as she entered. He wore simple clothing: high boots, sturdy brown trousers, a light coat over a good shirt. There was a plain sword at his belt and he wore no ornamentation except for a blue star badge pinned to his coat.
He also, however, wore scarves wrapped around his head and over his face. All that Dandra could see of the man himself were dark, old eyes that peered between the shrouding scarves-and those eyes were narrowed in suspicion, wrinkles deep around them. “The kalashtar,” he said.
Dandra’s belly felt light and fluttering, but she forced herself to remain calm. Pressing her hands together, she bent over them in greeting. “You’re observant, General.”
“I don’t like kalashtar,” said the man. “They get inside your head. I told Chuut to bring me the other woman.” He let out a long, slow breath. “Well, you’re here now.”
He sat down again, a little awkwardly. Dandra saw that his right leg and arm were stiff. When he gestured for her to take the other seat, she noticed as well that his right hand-hidden, like his left, in a fine black glove-was clenched into a claw. She forced her eyes away from it as she sat down, but couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the man that he should take up service under a Droaamish warlord.
When she looked up, she met his eyes again. They were hard, daring her to say something about his concealed infirmities. Dandra sat still and held her tongue. After a moment, the General’s gaze dimmed. He eased back in his chair.
“You have me at a disadvantage, kalashtar,” he said. “You know more about me than I know about you. That should be corrected. What’s your name and what do you and Master Timin want at Tzaryan Keep?”
Singe had suggested that Dandra choose a false name just as he had. She hadn’t thought that she’d need one, but now she was glad that he had insisted. “My name is Kirvakri,” she told the General. “Timin and I are traveling to Tzaryan Keep to ask Tzaryan Rrac’s permission to study the Dhakaani ruins in his territory.”
“You know that Tzaryan Rrac is no common lord?” The General sounded vaguely amused.
Dandra allowed herself a fleeting smile. “We had heard something to that effect.”
“What’s your interest in the ruins?”
Once again, Dandra was glad for Singe’s coaching. The story that the wizard had concocted was close enough to the truth that it rolled easily off her tongue. “Master Timin holds a position in Queen’s College at the University of Wynarn. His area of specialization is history and legend. Recently, we discovered that the clan one of our guards came from tells a tale about an ancient quest to ruins in Droaam. We believe the tale refers to Taruuzh Kraat, the ruins near Tzaryan Keep. Timin wants to confirm the legend.”
“And you?” the General asked. His voice might have been harsh, but his questions were quick and astute.
She spread her hands. “I’m Timin’s assistant and student. I go where he goes.”
The General’s eyes gleamed. “He seems young to have inspired such a dedicated student.”
“He’s gifted.”
“And wealthy? You arrived in Vralkek on a Lyrandar elemental galleon.”
Dandra shrugged casually. “We’ve been in the Shadow Marches, speaking with our guard’s clan. When we left Zarash’ak, the captain of the galleon owed us a favor.”
The General sat back and considered her, then after a moment added, “Tzaryan Rrac doesn’t like treasure hunters.”
In coming up with the tale that they would present to the warlord, Singe had learned from the conclusion Chain had drawn about their group: such an eclectic mix of peoples and backgrounds was undeniably odd. Even claiming Geth, Ashi, Natrac, and Orshok as their guards left Singe and Dandra suspect. Rather than simply deny the assumption, Singe had incorporated it into the story. “Robrand d’Deneith,” he had told them, “used to say that a distraction is better than an outright lie. If someone thinks they know something secret about you, they’ll ignore everything else and focus on that.”
Dandra did her best to look outraged. “We’re not treasure hunters!” she said to the General in a tone of injured pride-a tone that rang entirely false, confirming more than her words denied. Dandra thought she saw a smile tug against the scarf covering the General’s face.
“Of course you’re not,” he said politely. “I’m just warning you. Tzaryan will likely want to speak to you and Master Timin-he enjoys the company of scholars-and if he discovers that you’ve come to loot his ruins …”
“Timin is looking forward to speaking with him as well,” Dandra replied. “Tzaryan’s reputation for learning precedes him.”
The General snorted. “I’m sure his reputation for other things has preceded him as well. If you’re smart, you’ll pay closer attention to those.” He rose, gripping the arm of his chair for support. “You’ve answered my questions,” he said. “Return to your room and sleep. I’ll give you a moment in the morning to speak with Master Timin-you might want to pass on my warning-but you’ll ride with me.”
“Your hostage,” said Dandra as she stood up.
“To put it simply, yes,” the General admitted. “Chuut will show you back to your room.”
He held out his left hand. Dandra shook it clumsily, thought she couldn’t quite manage to keep her eyes from flicking to the man’s clenched and twisted right hand. The General’s face tightened and he released his grip sharply. Dandra held back a wince at having offended him. “Good night, General,” she said and turned to go.
She was reaching for the door when he said abruptly, “House Jorasco.”
Dandra blinked and looked back at him. “General?”
He held out his right arm. “House Jorasco did this. And this.” The General lifted his other hand to touch the scarves around his head and face. “You’ll forgive me for covering myself.”
Words froze on Dandra’s tongue. “House Jorasco carries the Mark of Healing,” she said after a moment.
“Healing and harming aren’t so different, especially in the fire of war,” said the General. “Consider that the next time you meet a halfling.” He sat down again. “Good night, Kirvakri.”
“House Jorasco?” Geth grunted as he heaved a saddle onto the back of one of the horses the General had provided for them, then looked back to Dandra. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know,” she said. “His right arm and leg, his right hand, his face. What could healers have done to him to leave him like that?”
Geth looked over his shoulder at the ranks of ogres-thirty of the big, smelly monsters-that were forming in Vralkek’s street. The morning was still cold and misty. Few of the town’s inhabitants seemed interested in rising so early to watch Tzaryan Rrac’s troops move out. The General’s ogre lieutenant, Chuut, stood close by, the reins of Dandra’s horse in his hand, his gaze shifting between the General’s “guests” on the journey and the other ogres. The General himself had yet to make an appearance. Geth wanted to lay eyes on this tormented soldier himself.