The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1

by Don Bassingthwaite

  “The sun is going down,” said Ashi. “It’s going to be dark as Khyber here when that happens.”

  Dagii looked to Geth.

  The shifter shook his head. “We’re close. I can feel it.”

  Midian spoke for all of them. “I’d rather keep going in the dark than spend a night sitting still in this place.”

  “Ban,” said Dagii. “We go on.”

  Soon enough, the darkness under the trees was so complete that Ashi could see nothing. Ekhaas and Chetiin led the way now. Geth and Midian, their nightvision reduced but better than blindness, followed. Ashi walked with one hand on Geth’s shoulder, her face tense with the mingled expression of concentration and uncertainty that all humans adopted when forced to struggle in the dark.

  Midian had his everbright lantern at the ready. The rest of them had left their packs with the horses, but Midian had insisted on bringing his store of magical trinkets. “Better burdened than naked,” he’d said.

  Dagii, however, had refused to allow him to open the lantern and release its light. “Better half-blind,” he’d said, “than a target.”

  The chief of the Mur Talaan moved at the end of their party, ostensibly to keep an eye on Ashi. Ekhaas knew he was also watching behind them. Night in the valley was as quiet and still as the day had been. They all walked with their weapons drawn.

  In Geth’s grasp, Aram pointed sharply downward. The rod was somewhere still ahead, but also somewhere below. Underground? In a cave? Ekhaas and Chetiin watched for holes, gaps, chasms— anything that might lead beneath the ground. They had to be close to the far end of the valley, Ekhaas thought. Maybe there would be a cave entrance on the valley wall. She didn’t relish the idea of scrambling across the steep slopes hunting for a cavern, but the thought of getting out of the valley was deeply appealing.

  “So,” whispered Midian into the silence, “Dabrak Riis, the Shaking Emperor who lost the rod. I don’t think I’ve read about him in the histories.”

  “There wouldn’t be much to read,” said Ekhaas. “He belonged to the Riis Dynasty, the last dynasty of the empire, when the blood of the Six Kings had run thin, been reinvigorated, and run thin again. From what I learned from Senen Dhakaan, he ruled for about ten years. If he hadn’t lost the Rod of Kings, the most significant thing about him would have been that he lived in fear every day of his life.”

  “In fear of what?”

  “Everything. Closed spaces, open spaces, insects, snakes, monsters, being assassinated, strangers, friends.” She gestured around them. “The dark, even though he could see in it. His fears were why he was called the Shaking Emperor, a name that shamed him. One day he left his palace with a troop of guards, declaring that he would face the source of his fears and return to rule as an emperor should. His heir, a cousin, wasted no time in declaring himself regent, and that was when the disappearance of the rod was discovered. They tried to find Dabrak but without success. It turned out that the one thing he had a talent for was eluding pursuit. Rumors of sightings of him and his guards sprang up across the empire, but he was never located. The regent became an emperor, and life carried on.”

  “And that’s when people started hunting for the rod?” asked Geth.

  “Almost,” said Ekhaas. “They looked, of course, but with no idea where Dabrak really was, there wasn’t much they could do. Then fifty years after Dabrak vanished, a body was discovered floating down the Torlaac River—a body that was identified as one of Dabrak’s guards, not looking a day older than when he’d ridden from the palace with the Shaking Emperor. Hunts for the rod had died down by that point, but with a solid if unexplained clue before them, hunters swarmed the entire Torlaac watershed for another century before the fervor cooled off again. The last emperors sent out expeditions every so often for generations after that, but as the empire passed into the Desperate Times, people had other things to worry about. Eventually even the rod itself was all but forgotten. Raat shan gath’kal dor,”

  “You said we’re not far from the headwaters of the Torlaac River,” said Ashi. “We’re only a day’s travel from a Dhakaani road. Could the hunters have come this way?”

  “I’d be surprised if they didn’t,” Ekhaas told her. “But the mountains and the forest aren’t likely to have changed much. Between them and the position of the valley—and with the rod underground—it would be easy to miss something.”

  “Even something,” asked Chetiin, pausing beside a massive old tree ahead, “like this?”

  His scarred voice was tight. Ekhaas’s fist clenched around her sword. She stepped up to stand beside him and instantly understood what he meant.

  Beyond the tree, the valley floor dropped away into a vast pit.

  The slope was at least as long and steep as that from the bugbear camp into the valley, and the bottom of the pit lay beyond the range of her sight. Trees grew up from the pit, however, and if the trees of the valley were old, the trees of the pit were truly ancient. As deep as the pit was, the trees in it reached almost to the height of the valley’s canopy, their branches as thick and luxuriant as a forest in themselves. Anyone looking into the valley from above would have seen no hint of the pit save perhaps a dip in the treeline.

  But once there had been people here. The canopy thinned above the slope and moonlight reached through to shine on the lichen-stained stone of a staircase that plunged into the pit. Big blocks, hollowed with age, formed the steps, with long narrow blocks making borders to each side. If the steps were worn, though, the borders were practically untouched, rounded on top and heavily carved in a style that was almost but not quite familiar. Unlike the road through the mountains, the stairs were whole and unbroken.

  “Khaavolaar,” she breathed. Chetiin was right. Perhaps hunters for the rod might have missed seeing the pit from above, but if they’d passed through the valley, how could they not have seen it and the stairs?

  The others moved up to join them. Ashi was still almost blind, but Geth and Midian blinked at the moonlight as if they’d stepped into the sun. Geth stared down the length of the steps and slowly raised Aram. The twilight blade pointed straight along the stairs and into the pit.

  Midian, however, dropped to his knees beside the carved borders. “By the quill,” he said, his voice quivering. “These are pre-Dhakaani—and in such perfect condition …” His words trailed off into a wet moan of excitement.

  “Pre-Dhakaani?” asked Ashi. She squinted into the dark in Midian’s direction. “Ekhaas, what’s here?”

  Ekhaas described the stairs to her and explained the gnome’s excitement. “Before Jhazaal Dhakaan united the Six Kings to form the empire, there were independent goblin kingdoms scattered across southern Khorvaire. The carvings on the stones are in the style of one of the kingdoms that ruled in this area. These stairs are older than the Dhakaani Empire.”

  “If they’re that old, how come the forest hasn’t swallowed them?”

  “Some kind of preservation magic most likely,” said Midian. “There were dashoor before the empire. Sage’s shadow, what I wouldn’t give for a better look at these carvings!” He looked up at Dagii and waved his everbright lantern hopefully.

  “No,” Dagii said firmly. He caught Midian’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “I don’t like this. If as many people hunted for the Rod of Kings as the stories say, we can’t possibly be the first to find this place.”

  “The stories also say,” Ekhaas said, “that many of those who set out to search for the rod were never seen again. Maybe the stairs have been found before. Maybe the people who found them were among the hunters who didn’t return.”

  Geth’s eyes narrowed. “How long do you think the bugbears have been camped above the valley?”

  “No more than a generation,” said Chetiin. “Maybe two.”

  “There was a place on the rim of the valley that looked like they’d been throwing garbage down. If they’ve been dumping garbage here for that long, shouldn’t we have seen or smelled a heap when we came down?”r />
  Ekhaas looked at the shifter. “Something’s been happening to their garbage?”

  “Nothing has happened to their garbage. It’s all still lying around their camp.”

  “Sacrifices.” Dagii’s ears, protruding through holes in the helmet that he wore, pulled back flat. “They’ve been feeding something down here.”

  “If something has been down here for thousands of years, it doesn’t need to be fed,” said Midian. “On the other hand, it isn’t unknown for one creature to take over another’s abandoned den.” The polished metal baton of his pick was in his free hand. He flicked his wrist and the narrow head flipped out to lock into place. The click it made seemed loud, but there was no echo. The forest consumed it.

  “We need to know what’s at the bottom of that pit,” Dagii said. “Chetiin, scout it. We’ll wait in the forest.”

  “Mazo.” The goblin turned away.

  “Wait,” said Geth. “I’ll come too.”

  Chetiin shook his head. “Not this time.” Avoiding the stairs, he took a step down the slope and seemed to vanish into a patch of shadow.

  Geth wore an expression of disappointment as Dagii led them away from the edge of the pit and under the thick canopy of the forest once more. Ekhaas moved close to him. “You wouldn’t be able to see down there,” she murmured. “And as stealthy as you can be sometimes, you’re not one of the shaarat’khesh. Let Chetiin do what he came to do.”

  “I know,” Geth said. “But I should be doing something more than pointing the way.”

  Ashi had her hand back on his shoulder, following his guidance. She gave a low laugh. “Don’t worry, Geth. I’m sure you’ll still have your chance.”

  Back among the trees, Geth gave Ashi over to Midian’s care while he checked the straps and buckles of his great gauntlet. Dagii was crouched against the trunk of one of the valley’s shaggy old trees, his eyes darting around at the night. Ekhaas sheathed her sword and crouched beside him. “What do you think is down there?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. My mind buckles at the possibilities. Undead. Some creature of Khyber. A dragon? All I can think of are the stories of duur’kala.” Dagii grimaced, exposing his teeth. “Your guess is likely better than mine. The histories of the Kech Volaar say nothing of this place?”

  “The Kech Volaar see the greatest glory in the legacy of Dhakaan,” Ekhaas said with a shake of her head. “Tales of the time before the union of the Six Kings are almost as scarce and unreliable as tales of the Desperate Times. Maybe some mention of ancient stairs in the wilderness exists in the archives of Volaar Draal but if it does, I’ve never seen it, and it has never been linked to the legend of the Rod of Kings. The stairs would have been here in the time of Dabrak Riis, though.”

  “Assuming they really are pre-Dhakaani.”

  Ekhaas’s ears stood up. “You don’t think they are?”

  Dagii’s eyes remained on the darkness of the forest. “I’m a soldier, not a duur’kala, Ekhaas. I can’t always accept that things are what they appear to be. The stairs may be carved in a pre-Dhakaani fashion, but isn’t it possible they were fashioned some time later?”

  She turned to look at him. “You’ve been talking too much with Midian!” she said.

  “Cho, but Midian is even more enamored with the age of the steps than you are,” he said with a snort. “I’m looking at alternatives. Why should the steps be as old as you say?”

  “You’ll be doubting the existence of the rod next.”

  “I don’t doubt the existence of the rod. The existence of Aram proves part of your story, and Aram is pointing to something.” He tilted his head to the side and looked at her. “I won’t follow the past like a slave following his master. Haruuc is lhesh because he saw beyond the way things have always—”

  Ekhaas saw his gaze slip beyond her for an instant. She saw his eyes go wide—and in the next moment, Dagii had dropped his sword and lunged at her. His arms wrapped around her and his armored torso slammed into her body, knocking her backward and along the ground.

  “Toh!” he roared, and through the shower of dirt and leaf litter that accompanied their roll, Ekhaas saw the massive clawed hand that had dug into the ground where she’d been crouching.

  She followed it up, past a bizarrely long arm to powerful shoulders and a hideous drooping face. Behind clumped hair, and dark eyes stared down with baleful hunger. The moment seemed to slow. The clawed hand lifted, scattering dirt as it rose, ready to strike again.

  The moment of shock ended. Time resumed its frantic pace as the hand fell. Ekhaas and Dagii acted in unison this time, pushing away from each other. The claw came down between them, so close Ekhaas could smell a stink like wet and moldering canvas. “Troll!” shouted Dagii, rolling to his feet and grabbing for his sword.

  It wasn’t the only one. Two more of the creatures burst out of the forest as if the trees were giving birth to them. Their thick hides were as knotted and warty as mossy bark, and they were tall, easily half again as tall as Ashi or Dagii. They wailed and howled, and the night that had been so silent was suddenly loud.

  But Dagii’s warning had been enough. Geth met the attack of one troll with sword and gauntlet. Midian tumbled away from another, drawing it after him. Ashi, blind, put her back against a tree and sank into a defensive crouch, her head darting in the direction of every noise, trying to track the battle by sound. Dagii’s sword was back in his hand—he rose just in time to meet another blow from the first troll. Claws raked across metal, and if Dagii hadn’t been armored he probably would have been eviscerated. Ekhaas drew her sword and slashed at the troll, trying to drive it back. Confronted with two attackers, it paused for a moment, then pushed on with its attack. Dagii was ready for it this time, though, and slid under its wild swing.

  The troll that Geth fought howled, and from the corner of her eye, Ekhaas saw it smash at the shifter with both hands. Geth leaped aside, and a look of concentration passed across his face as he called on his heritage and shifted.

  His hair grew even thicker and more coarse, his skin tougher and hide-like. When he looked at the troll again, there was fury in his eye that would have given any other creature pause. The troll went after him once more, claws slashing for his belly. Geth twisted, letting the full force of the blow slide off him. The troll’s claws caught in his shirt and tore the fabric apart, but Ekhaas saw only shallow scratches on Geth’s skin as he answered the blow. Turning inside the troll’s reach, Geth swung Aram in an arc that cut halfway through the monster’s torso. He whipped the sword free and dark blood sprayed out after it—then stopped.

  Like two pieces of clay pressed together, the edges of the terrible wound merged and sealed. The troll staggered for a moment, then threw itself right back at Geth.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Fire or acid!” Dagii called. “You have to burn the flesh!” He risked a glance at Ekhaas as he blocked another blow from the troll facing them. “Do you know any fire magic?”

  If her ears weren’t already back, they would have been. “No,” she said. “Duur’kala can’t manipulate fire.”

  “Maabet!” Dagii spun his sword in a deadly circle, but the troll just reached past the blur of metal. Dagii’s blade put a deep nick into one arm. It took the other hand off completely. The troll hissed and jerked back. Snatching up the severed hand, it pressed it to the bleeding stump. The rush of blood stopped immediately, and an instant later the troll was wiggling its taloned fingers once more. Dagii and Ekhaas backed away from it.

  “Alchemist’s fire,” Midian gasped. The gnome was whirling around the third troll. Watching it swat at him was like watching a dog trying to bite at a flea. Midian’s pick, however, was having about as much effect as a flea’s bite. No sooner had he pulled it out of the troll’s flesh than the thin puncture wound was healed. It was clear he was only fighting to keep the troll busy and away from Ashi. “In my backpack. Give me some room and I can get it!”

  “Open your lantern too!�
� said Ashi. “Rondbetch, I need to see!”

  The sound of her voice brought Midian’s troll around, and Ekhaas saw its dark eyes seek out the human woman standing alone. Her gut twisted. “Midian! Be ready!” she shouted, then she drew a breath and sang the music of the ages up from her belly.

  Her will shaped the song, giving it form and power beyond the pure notes that poured from her throat. The spell was simple, the only thing she could think of quickly—a dizzying barrage of emotion and raw music. The troll stumbled and clutched at its head, howling at the confusing assault.

  Midian moved, racing past the howling troll to his pack where it lay abandoned on the ground, shed for the sake of mobility. “Ashi! At your feet!” he called and bowled the everbright lantern to her. As Ashi dropped to her knees and groped for the lantern, he dug into the pack and pulled out a flask wrapped in woven straw.

  “Hurry!” said Ekhaas. The troll was already shaking its head and looking around as the short-lived magic faded. This time, however, its eyes fixed on her. Dim intelligence flickered in them. It knew she had used magic against it, and it knew that made her a bigger threat than the others. She raised her sword as it howled again and reached for her.

  Light that seemed as brilliant as the sun flooded the forest as Ashi snapped open the lantern. The sudden flare was dazzling, and for a moment even the trolls screeched and covered their eyes. With the weird fluting cry of a Bonetree hunter, Ashi threw herself onto the troll that had been about to strike Ekhaas. Her bright blade flashed, plunged deep between its shoulders, and ripped down its back, dragged through lumpy blue-green flesh by Ashi’s weight. She twisted, and the sword cut into its spine—the troll dropped like a rag doll.

  “Back!” Midian snapped, and Ashi stepped away. The gnome darted in, ducking and weaving as the troll tried to drag itself around and flail at him with its claws. The horrible wound in its back was already starting to close. Midian leaped over its useless legs, pulled open the flask, and dashed the contents up the length of the troll’s back.