The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1

by Don Bassingthwaite

  His eyes looked into the distance. “When I left my palace, it was to find this mysterious shrine. I consulted duur’kala and dashoor. I even ventured into the dark marshes to speak with orc druids and onto the dry plains to speak with halfling shamans. If it had been necessary, I would have crossed lines of ancient enmity and spoken with the undying elves of Aerenal. But it wasn’t. I found a name, the Uura Odaarii, and the hint of a location hidden only a day’s travel off one of the empire’s roads. But most importantly, I discovered a clue to its true nature. When I reached the shrine and broke through it to this place, I knew that I had conquered my fear.” He looked down at Ekhaas.

  “What the ancient people believed to be birthplace of the future is far more than that. Within the Uura Odaarii, time has no power. The future is out there, but not in here. Within this cavern, there is only an eternal present.” Dabrak Riis smiled. “Within this cavern, I have nothing to fear!”

  Ashi couldn’t hold her tongue. “But that’s impossible. Time’s passing right now.”

  “Time passes, but it has no effect. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you see it?” The emperor pointed one gloved hand at her torch. “Fire is frozen as soon as it enters. While you are here, you won’t grow hungry or thirsty.” He touched his chest where she had stabbed him. “Nothing changes here. If you were assassins, you couldn’t kill me. However you are when you enter the Uura Odaarii, that is how you remain until you leave. The power even extends into the valley—I’ve always believed that’s why the trees around the shrine are so huge and ancient.”

  “And why the stonework of the stairs and the shrine is so well preserved!” Midian burst out. “By the quill, it’s incred—”

  “Ekhaas of Kech Volaar, silence your slave!” snarled the emperor.

  “Silence yourself!” Midian said sharply. “If nothing changes in this cavern, you can’t hurt me.”

  Dabrak thrust out the Rod of Kings. “Be silent!”

  Ashi felt the force of the command like a shiver in the air. Midian’s mouth snapped shut with such force that agony crossed his face.

  “I cannot kill you,” said Dabrak, “but I can hurt you. You can still feel pain. You will be silent, rat, or your mistress will have to carry your quivering carcass out of here.” He seated himself and glared at Ekhaas. “As you can see, I am no longer the Shaking Emperor. I am without fear. You have heard my story. Now tell me yours, duur’kala. If you are not assassins, why are you here? Why have you used Aram to find me?”

  Ekhaas pulled her eyes away from Midian, sitting pale-faced and wide-eyed on the ground, his mouth still firmly closed. She looked to Dabrak, and Ashi could tell that she was choosing her next words carefully. “Take no offense, Marhu Dabrak. We sought what we believed to be your grave. We come charged with a quest by a great ruler who seeks to prevent a terrible division among the people.” She bowed her head. “We come for Guulen, the Rod of Kings.”

  Emotion flared in Dabrak’s eyes. His body shifted subtly and he held the rod close to him, as if Ekhaas might at any moment leap up and try to grab it away. “No,” he said softly, fearfully. “You can’t take it. I need it. I vowed that I would return, and I will. I’ve faced my fears.”

  Ekhaas kept her voice low and soothing. “It doesn’t seem to me that you’ve faced your fears. You’ve only found a way to avoid them. Are you really ready to leave the Uura Odaarii?”

  “I will be!” Dabrak looked up at her. “One day I will be. The rod is mine by right, and you won’t take it. I am the emperor!”

  “Marhu, there is no more empire.”

  Dabrak flinched in shock. “No more empire? By the Six Kings, what happened to it?”

  “Time. Dhakaan has fallen.”

  “Time?” His shriveled ears flicked and stood back in disbelief. “Dhakaan, the empire of ten thousand years, fallen in only a few centuries? How can that be?”

  Ashi looked to Ekhaas. So did all the others. Ashi felt her stomach tighten into a wary knot. Ekhaas paused for a moment, then faced Dabrak again. “Is that how long you think it’s been since you entered the cavern? A few centuries?”

  “Long enough,” said Dabrak defensively. “You said the world thinks me dead.”

  “The world thought you dead more than five thousand years ago, marhu. The Empire of Dhakaan has been only memory for millennia.” Ekhaas rose to her feet. “The Kech Volaar preserve its lore. A few other clans respect its traditions. Most of the dar remember it only as an inspiring legend.”

  “It’s not possible.” Dabrak clutched the rod even more tightly. “I’ve been aware of every passing moment. I would have known—”

  “How many generations of trolls have there been? How long did Rhazala and your guards wait before they fled?” Ekhaas pointed at the discarded knife. “We found that among the offerings in the shrine. Rhazala must have left it behind. Everything of value had been taken.”

  “Lies,” Dabrak whimpered. “Lies. There is no future in the Uura Odaarii. I have nothing to fear.”

  Geth stood and spoke, his voice taut. He didn’t bother trying to speak Goblin. “Ekhaas, I’ve heard of something like this in the Eldeen Reaches. There are parts of the forest where a night in a fairy glade can turn into a year. What if this cavern is like that? We could come out and find we’ve been gone for months.”

  Dabrak’s head came up. “What did the beast man say?” he demanded.

  “He said that we’ve been here too long,” the duur’kala said grimly, her ears back flat against her head. “You have, too, Dabrak.”

  Dry lips peeled back from sharp teeth. “Taat! You will address me as I deserve to be addressed!”

  The rest of them rose as well. “What do we do?” Dagii asked, speaking the human tongue.

  “We ask for the rod again,” said Chetiin. “If he won’t give it to us, we take it.”

  “Your dagger … ?” Geth asked him.

  “Will work only if I can strike a killing blow, and we’ve seen that won’t work. I think we can overpower him.”

  “Be careful,” Ashi warned them. “He’s stronger than he looks.”

  Dabrak followed their words with his eyes. “What are you saying?” he demanded. “What are you doing?”

  Ekhaas looked at him and Ashi heard the soft persuasion of a duur’kala enter her voice. “Give us the rod, Dabrak. It does you no good here, but if we take it, perhaps a new Dhakaan can rise again.” She stretched out her hand.

  He stared at it, then looked up to her. His body began to shake, not from fear but from anger. “No,” he said. “No!” He started to rise from his chair. “I am Dabrak Riis, marhu of Dhakaan, twenty-third lord of the Riis Dynasty—”

  “Get him!” roared Geth.

  But the rod lashed out. “—and you will kneel all before me!”

  The power of the rod drove Ashi down before she could even think of resisting. It slammed against her mind with as much force as her knees slammed against the cavern floor. She saw Ekhaas, struggling against the compulsion, draw breath, perhaps to blast Dabrak with a song of magic, but the withered emperor held out the rod again. “You are slaves,” he snarled. “You belong to me, You will not rise up against your master.”

  Ekhaas sagged back, her lips falling slack. On Ashi’s other side, Chetiin drooped with a groan. Ashi tried to fight back against the rod’s power, tried to throw it off, but she could feel herself slipping under its influence. The marhu was her master. She couldn’t rise against him.

  But beyond Ekhaas, beyond Dagii, one figure was still standing firm against Dabrak’s commands. Geth. For a moment, he looked confused, then he glanced at the sword in his hand and smiled. He lifted Wrath.

  “Two artifacts forged from a single vein of byeshk by the hand of Taruuzh,” he said in broken Goblin.

  Dabrak’s ears went back. “Even when the shield had been shattered and the sword lost, legends were passed from marhu to heir that they were the only things capable of resisting the power of the rod. It seems the legends were right.”


  “Give me the rod.” Geth dropped into a fighting stance, Wrath’s twilight blade crossed over the black steel of his great gauntlet.

  “Give me the sword, beast-man.” Dabrak reached into the folds of cloth that draped his chair and drew out a sword. It was a little lighter than Wrath and forged of steel instead of byeshk, but it was still a good blade. He stepped clear of the chair and those who knelt before it.

  Geth followed, circling him like a wolf.

  Dabrak turned to keep him in sight. “What will you do, beast-man?” he asked. “You can’t kill me.”

  “No,” Geth growled, “but I can hurt you.” He lunged, byeshk ringing on steel as he spread his arms. The gauntlet rose to block Dabrak’s sword while Wrath cut low. Dabrak moved with surprising speed, though, kicking back to escape the blow. The sword caught only silk, and even that was left unharmed. Geth pressed closer to try another swing, but Dabrak turned sharply and was suddenly behind him on his sword arm side.

  Geth got Wrath up in time to tangle Dabrak’s sword, but the sword wasn’t the hobgoblin’s only weapon. With the same strength that had thrown Ashi into a wall, he slammed the rod into Geth’s bandaged shoulder. Geth grunted and twisted away. The shifter and the hobgoblin circled each other for a moment, then crashed together again in another flurry of blows.

  The pair was evenly matched, neither finding any advantage over the other, both invulnerable in the weird timelessness of the cavern. There was something about the battle that brought a new fire to Ashi’s heart, though. Every attack that Geth made, every blow that he took seemed to give her a little more strength to push back the domination of the rod. She wanted to cheer for Geth, even as the rod’s power reminded her that Dabrak was her master, that she must remain kneeling as he had ordered.

  No, she told herself. Geth is fighting for us—we should be fighting for him.

  And a bit of what Senen Dhakaan had said of the creation of Wrath came back to her. Aram represented the inspiration that heroes provided for the people.

  She clenched her teeth and pushed harder against the hopelessness brought down by the power of the rod.

  Across the cavern, Geth raised Wrath and stepped back a pace as if searching for a weakness in his opponent’s defense. Dabrak lunged—and Geth struck, swinging his blade down against the hand that held Dabrak’s sword. In any other fight, Dabrak’s fingers would have been cut from his hand. In the Uura Odaarii, the blow passed harmlessly through flesh.

  It struck hard against the steel of the sword clutched in them, though. Dabrak’s weapon was torn from his grip to fall, ringing, to the cavern floor. The ancient emperor flailed at Geth with the Rod of Kings, but his blows only rained down on the armored gauntlet. Geth tried to bring his sword back into play in the tight quarters, but Dabrak grabbed for it as if he could pull it out of the shifter’s grasp. His hand closed on Wrath.

  A crack like lightning split the air, and Dabrak was flung back. He slid across the floor of the cavern, smoke rising for a moment from his clothing, the rod still clutched tight in his hand. Geth swung the twilight blade around as he stalked after him. “Wrath is the Sword of Heroes,” he said, showing his teeth in a savage grin. “It won’t accept the touch of a coward.”

  Dabrak rose to a crouch, his teeth bared too. “Maybe the rod can’t affect you,” he said, “but I’ve spent a long time in the Uura Odaarii. I’ve learned its powers well.”

  He closed his eyes.

  Ashi’s heart seemed to clench. Uncertainty clouded Geth’s face, and he leaped to the attack, swinging Wrath high.

  Dabrak’s eyes snapped open. No longer red-brown, they shone the same pale green as the symbols on the walls of the cavern. Smaller versions of the symbols glowed through his skin.

  Geth froze in mid-leap, as still as the flame on Ashi’s torch. The faintest shimmer of green flickered around him. Dabrak rose and examined the unmoving shifter. His eyes flashed and Geth came crashing to the ground. He hit the cavern floor hard and curled up into a trembling huddle, his eyes wide and frightened. Wrath clattered down beside him. Dabrak looked at the weapon, snarled, then retrieved his own sword and walked back to his chair. The symbols faded from his skin and the glow from his eyes. Their passing seemed to leave him looking even more withered than before. Geth, however, remained curled on the ground.

  Ashi stared at him. He’d been defeated. But he couldn’t have been—he shouldn’t have been. Rage welled up within her and she screamed in her mind, finally finding the strength to push back the rod’s power enough that she could focus her will. Dabrak’s legends might have said the Sword of Heroes and the Shield of Nobles were the only things capable of resisting the rod, but she had something the ancient emperor had never seen before. Something unknown in the time of Dhakaan.

  Her dragonmark burned hot on her skin, and the burst of clarity that it brought shattered the rod’s hold on her mind. She stood, jaw clenched. “Release him,” she said.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  Dabrak stopped halfway into his chair. His ears flicked up in disbelief, and the rod darted out. “By the Six Kings, you will kneel!” he commanded.

  A tingle crawled across Ashi’s scalp as the order fell away from her. Dabrak’s eyes went wide—then he squeezed them shut. The glowing symbols darted across his skin again, as if they’d transferred there from the walls. His eyes opened and flashed green.

  The foreboding stillness that Ashi had felt when she’d entered the shrine swirled around her, even heavier and more terrible than before. This time, though, she knew it for what it was: a dread of what might come to pass, a dark hint of the future preying upon her mind. But it couldn’t reach through the shield of her dragonmark. She shook her head, and it disappeared like a daydream.

  The green drained from Dabrak’s eyes. Its passing left his flesh more shriveled, but he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was on Ashi. “You defy me,” he said in amazement.

  She pointed at Geth again. “Release him,” she repeated, then expanded her gesture to include the others, as well. “Release all of them.”

  A smile touched Dabrak’s sagging lips. “Why should I?” he asked and sat down. “We’ve already established that Aram can’t harm me, and you’re not even armed. What are you going to do?”

  He was right, she realized. He couldn’t affect her with the rod or with his strange command of the power of the cavern, but at the same time, there was nothing she could do to him. She swallowed and squeezed her fists tight, trying to think of something. Her dragonmark was only defensive. The ferocity and fighting skills she’d learned among the Bonetree clan and honed in Sentinel Tower weren’t going to help her. The only thing she had left to rely on …

  Ashi almost bit her tongue at the thought that came to her, but she could see nothing else. She dragged her wits into line, forced all expression from her features, and asked in the calm voice that Vounn had taught her, “What do you want, Marhu Dabrak?”

  “What do I want?” The withered hobgoblin glowered. “Until you came, I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. What else did I need? I was safe in the Uura Odaarii. Nothing could touch me. I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

  “Can you go back to that now?” Ashi pointed at Ekhaas. “She was right. You vowed to confront your fears, but you didn’t. You just hid from them.”

  “Ban. What if I did? If what you say is true, my vow is meaningless. Dhakaan is gone. I’m emperor of nothing but a pack of trolls!”

  “If you’re emperor of nothing, then you don’t need the Rod of Kings,” Ashi said. “If you give it to us, we’ll leave you alone. You’ll still have the Uura Odaarii. You’ll still be safe, and you won’t be afraid.”

  His ears flicked and his eyes narrowed. “But as you say, it’s a false safety. Can I go back to that? You’ve also shown me that fear can come for me here.” He gestured with the rod, though this time Ashi, protected by her dragonmark, felt no swirl of power from it. “When you threatened to take this, I was terrified. That�
�s a future the Uura Odaarii can’t protect me from. It’s no safer in here than it was out there now.”

  “Then come with us,” she suggested. “You must have learned something about controlling your fear from sitting here for five thousand years. The world has changed. Come see it! The Kech Volaar would probably give anything to learn about the empire from you, and I’m sure Lhesh Haruuc would welcome your experience.”

  “Lhesh Haruuc?” Dabrak almost sneered. “That’s the name of the great ruler you follow?”

  “Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor,” Ashi said. “Yes. He united the dar and carved out a new homeland for his people.”

  “And he claims the title of lhesh. A lhesh is a general. You think an emperor should be satisfied with giving advice to a general?” He held up the rod. “Do you think I would be content to share this? For generations of emperors, it was only a trinket. I’ve unlocked its powers. I’ve bonded with it—over five thousand years, if you’re to be believed. You think your Haruuc would be able to use the rod as I have?”

  “He doesn’t want it for that,” said Ashi. “He wouldn’t use it that way. He only wants it as a symbol.”

  Dabrak sneered. “If he won’t use it, he doesn’t deserve it—I wouldn’t show him how. I would as soon stay here.”

  Frustration surged up her throat like bile, and she had to clench her teeth to keep it inside. “Marhu,” she said bluntly, “I think you lost all claim to the Rod of Kings when you abandoned your empire to hide in a cave like a mole. We need it. What do you want for it?”

  He gave her a level glare. “Who taught you negotiation? They should be whipped.”

  “We agree on that.” She met his eyes. “What do you want in return for the Rod of Kings?”

  Dabrak Riis leaned forward. “I want you to die. Right here in the Uura Odaarii.”