“You accepted Haruuc’s invitation to be his shava so you could make Singe jealous?” said Ekhaas. There was shock in her eyes.
“No!” Geth said. “Well, maybe a bit, but what was I supposed to do? It’s not the sort of offer you turn down.”
“Why did you do it, then?” asked Ashi. “It wasn’t exactly what I would have expected from you, either.”
The shifter looked from her to Ekhaas, then dropped his voice. “It was Wrath,” he said. Ekhaas’s ears rose. Geth spread his hands. “Ever since you woke it, sometimes I get the feeling that I should do certain things. Like when I charged back to stop the trolls. Wrath wants me to be a hero, and it pushes me to do things a hero would do.”
Ashi raised her eyebrows and glanced at Ekhaas. Before they’d entered the shrine of the Uura Odaarii, the duur’kala had asked her if Geth had seemed more impetuous than usual. “Wrath takes control of you?”
“Control? No. But it … pushes me. Puts the right ideas in my head. During the presentation of the rod, it showed me how a hero would answer Haruuc—it even gave me the right words to say.”
“I noticed that your Goblin improved suddenly,” said Ekhaas.
“I don’t think Wrath can give me the right words all the time.” Geth’s hand slipped down to grip the sword’s hilt. “Only when it’s important. It wants me to live up to the legacy of the heroes of the name of Kuun. To tell you the truth, I kind of like it. It’s almost like having you whispering stories in my ear, Ekhaas. It’s inspiring.”
“Taruuzh created Aram to represent the inspiration heroes provided for the people,” Ekhaas said. She frowned. “Maybe it provided inspiration to the line of Kuun as well. Just be careful, Geth.”
“I’m not going to doing anything stupid.” He hugged Ekhaas as well. “I’ll come see you in Karrlakton.”
“I’ll watch for you,” she said.
Tariic and Vounn were waiting, too. Haruuc’s nephew bowed. “Swift travel and great glory, Ashi d’Deneith. Darguun will remember you. I only regret I never saw you perform the sword dance.”
Ashi returned his bow with perfect form. “You’ll have to visit House Deneith again, Tariic of Rhukaan Taash,” she told him.
Tariic straightened up and looked at Vounn. “She has clearly learned from you,” he said with a smile.
Vounn acknowledged the compliment with a nod, then turned to Ashi and held out her scarf. “You left this in your chamber,” she said.
“I know,” said Ashi. “I don’t think I need it.” She felt her mentor’s gaze trace the pattern of the dragonmark over her face and held her head up a little higher. “I’m not going to hide anymore. Let people think what they will.”
“In Rhukaan Draal or among the Five Nations maybe, but on the road to Sterngate?” Vounn asked. “You’ve made a reputation for yourself now, Ashi. If there are bandits on the road, you’ll be a target.”
“And I’ll fight them. I’ve done it twice before. The bandits of Darguun aren’t that terrifying.”
She kept her voice light, trying to ease Vounn’s reaction, but the expression that creased the older woman’s forehead wasn’t anger—it was confusion. “Twice?”
“The Gan’duur raiders on the journey from Sterngate and a pack on the way back north with the rod.”
Vounn’s eyes narrowed, and Ashi realized that her reports to her had focused only on retrieving the rod. They had told Haruuc, but Vounn hadn’t been in the small chamber when they told their story.
“It was nothing, Vounn,” she added quickly. “They were just a gang of desperate thugs along the road a couple of days south of Rhukaan Draal. We saw some locals and they said the gang had been making trouble in the area for a couple of weeks.”
Vounn didn’t look relieved. “Were they Gan’duur?”
“We thought of that,” said Geth. “We checked their bags to see but it looks like they came from Rhukaan Draal. The locals thought they must have fled south to avoid being mistaken for Gan’duur raiders by Haruuc’s men.”
“But they attacked you?”
“I said they were desperate,” Ashi pointed out.
“Could they have been waiting for you?”
“How could they have been? Why would they wait for me—?”
Vounn’s lips pressed together. “Not just you, Ashi. All of you.” She glanced at Ekhaas and Geth, Chetiin and Midian.
Chetiin’s ears twitched. “It is possible,” the goblin admitted. “But Ashi is right. Why would they be waiting for us? Even if they were Gan’duur, they wouldn’t have known when we’d return or even if we’d come back the same way we left.”
“That was why they were waiting.”
“Vounn, no one outside of Haruuc’s circle knew of the mission,” Tariic said. “It can only have been a coincidence.”
Vounn looked at Haruuc’s nephew, then smiled and nodded. “You may be right. The attempted abduction has left me on edge.” She stepped forward to embrace Ashi—and whisper in her ear, “By the honor of our House, be careful until you’re out of Darguun.”
Ashi felt unease wrap around her heart. “What’s wrong, Vounn?”
“Maybe nothing. Just be cautious.” She stood back again, the smile still on her face, but Ashi couldn’t help noticing that she no longer stood quite as close to Tariic as she had.
Not so long ago, Ashi might have pressed her and demanded to know what she was keeping back. Part of her wanted to, but another part urged her to respect Vounn’s wishes. If her teacher didn’t want to say anything more, there had to be a reason. Ashi kept her mouth closed, nodded to Vounn, took one last look at her friends, then turned to mount her horse. The caravan was waiting for her. The caravan master threw a suffering look at her and raised a horn to his lips, blowing a sharp note.
“Orien caravan,” he bellowed, “move ou—”
“Hold!” A goblin runner in the uniform of Haruuc’s guard raced through the gates of the compound, waving his arms and gasping for breath. “Lhesh Haruuc declares the roads closed!”
The caravan master’s face turned as red as the goblin’s uniform, and he snatched at a scroll the runner offered to him. The noise in the compound rose at the sudden delay. The goblin, however, turned around as if searching for something more and his gaze landed on Geth. He stumbled over to him. “Shava, Lhesh Haruuc calls you to Khaar Mbar’ost immediately!”
Geth stiffened, and his eyes opened wide, but before he could say anything the caravan master’s voice rose in another bellow. “Someone fetch the viceroy! He needs to see this. Kol Korran’s golden bath—closing the roads for mourning?”
It was as if the din of the compound suddenly faded into the distance. Mourning, Ashi thought. Who died?
Ekhaas, her face suddenly gray, spoke the name that none of them wanted to hear. “Dagii.”
Then the duur’kala was sprinting across the compound to where she and the others had left their horses. Geth would have run after her, but Vounn grabbed his arm.
“I’m going with you,” she said. The shifter nodded sharply and pulled away.
Vounn looked to Ashi. “Wait here until we know what’s going on.”
“He was my friend, Vounn!”
Vounn’s faced softened slightly. “I know, but I want you out of Darguun. If the chance comes to leave, I want you to take it.”
“Why?” Ashi asked. “Vounn, what’s wrong?”
But Vounn was already hurrying after Geth and Ekhaas, and Tariic along with her. In only moments all four were galloping out of the compound in a cloud of Rhukaan Draal’s yellow dust.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Haruuc’s fortress was a hub of chaos. Messengers ran in and out. Soldiers prowled the courtyard. Inside, small groups of warlords came together, split apart, and reformed as they shared rumors. Geth caught snatches of their words, wild speculations for the most part: the Gan’duur were defeated, Keraal had broken through Dagii’s line and escaped, Breland was attacking the northern border, raiding parties
of Valenar elves had appeared to pillage the country. Most of the warlords turned to look as Geth hurried past with Ekhaas, Vounn, and Tariic in his wake, but none tried to stop him. They respected the status of shava that Haruuc had bestowed on him, but they didn’t fully trust him.
Some tried to hail Tariic, but Haruuc’s nephew shook his head and shrugged. “We don’t know anything!” he called back to them.
Just outside the antechamber of the throne room, Munta joined them, his belly rolling as he walked. “Have you been summoned?” he asked Geth.
The shifter nodded.
Munta grunted, “Did he tell you anything?”
“No, but we were at the Orien compound and he sent a message to them that the roads were closed for mourning.”
Munta’s ears rose. “Maabet.” He looked at the others. Tariic just shrugged again. Ekhaas gave no reaction at all.
Vounn’s eyes darted to Tariic, however, and Geth saw her lean a little toward Munta as they walked. He didn’t catch what she said, but Munta gave another grunt. “It will need to wait until later, Vounn,” he said softly.
A small crowd stirred in the antechamber, mostly waiting messengers, but also a few warlords and clan chiefs being kept back by guards. On the stairs up to the throne room, Razu, Haruuc’s old mistress of rituals, waited with more guards. Behind her was something Geth had never seen before—a titanic slab of dark wood that filled the entrance to the throne room and extended up into the ceiling. A wall that could be raised and lowered when Haruuc wanted privacy in the throne room, he guessed. It had been carved with scenes of combat in a vast landscape. Geth thought he recognized some of the most famous battles of Darguun’s birth, but there was no chance to examine the wooden wall closely. Munta mounted the steps to Razu.
“We are summoned,” he said.
“Enter,” the thin hobgoblin woman told him. She pointed to a pair of doors set flush into the wood. “And you, shava. The rest must wait outside.”
“What?” Tariic said. “I need to see my uncle!”
“I know who was summoned and who was not,” Razu said. “The lhesh’s orders are clear. Only those he summoned are allowed to enter.”
The guards around her closed their ranks. Tariic glowered but stepped back. Ekhaas caught Geth’s arm. “Find out what you can,” she said. Geth nodded and followed Munta up the steps and through the carved doors.
The noise of the antechamber vanished with the closing of the doors. The throne room was as still as the fortress had been chaotic. The light that filled it was cold and gray—the great windows showed a sky filled with heavy clouds, and beneath them Haruuc sat brooding on his throne, the Rod of Kings in one hand.
“Haruuc!” Munta called as they strode down the aisle. “What’s going on?”
Haruuc’s answer was to flick a piece of tightly curled paper, the scroll of a messenger falcon, at them. Munta caught it and scanned the lines written there. His ears rose, then sagged. He passed the scroll to Geth.
It was short but written in the dark, angular runes of Goblin. He couldn’t read it. Unless …
He grasped Wrath’s hilt and implored silently, Show me.
The ancient sword stirred and the runes became as clear in his mind as if someone had spoken the message aloud.
To Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor—
The Gan’duur are broken. Keraal is my prisoner along with many of his warriors, but victory came at a price. Vanii of ja’aram fell in the final battle.
I return to Rhukaan Draal with his body that he may be given the honors due him.
—Dagii of Mur Talaan
Relief opened inside him. The mourning wasn’t for Dagii. Geth lowered the message and looked up at Haruuc. “I’m sorry.”
Haruuc’s ears flicked forward, and he met Geth’s eyes for the first time. “A hobgoblin doesn’t express sympathy for the death of a friend. A hobgoblin asks what he can do.”
“Then what can I do?”
“You can stand with me, last of my shava.” Haruuc bared his teeth. “And you can be unoffended when I say I wish I’d sent you against the Gan’duur instead of Vanii!”
The pain in Haruuc’s voice was naked. Geth bent his head. “I lost someone close to me in battle,” he said. “I understand.”
“Do you? It’s different for shava.”
Geth clenched his jaw and tried to hold his temper in check. “Not so different, I think.”
Munta raised his voice, interrupting quickly. “What must be done, Haruuc? We’ve heard that you’ve closed the roads, but this is a time of victory as well as mourning. How will people celebrate the triumph over the Gan’duur if they can’t get into Rhukaan Draal?”
“Cho.” Haruuc sat back on his throne. He stared out into the empty chamber with cold eyes. “First, we mourn, then we celebrate. For five days, no one is to travel except under my authority. No new fires are to be lit in Rhukaan Draal. At dawn and dusk, the streets will be empty—these will be the times of mourning. Munta, I place the enforcement of these laws in your hands.”
The old warlord looked startled. “Haruuc, aren’t the terms harsh? That’s the kind of mourning performed in a clan stronghold on the death of a warlord. You can’t mean for all of Rhukaan Draal to follow those terms.”
Haruuc just turned his cold eyes on him.
Munta nodded. “Mazo,” he said, “but it exceeds the mourning for Fenic and Haluun. Did you love your other shava any less?”
“Fenic and Haluun died in different times,” Haruuc said. “I must be strong. I must show my power. If I could have done this for them, Munta, I would have.” He leaned his head back and, after a moment’s silence, added, “The people may have fire. But the punishment for failing to observe mourning at dawn and dusk is a public whipping. If the people love me as they say they do, they will mourn with me.” He looked at Geth. “Your task will be to organize the games.”
“Games?” Geth asked.
“Contests of strength and skill. Tales from duur’kala. Fights between gladiators. Razu can help you with the details. One day of games for Vanii, three days for victory over the Gan’duur. Don’t look at me like that, Munta!” Haruuc’s voice rose to a sudden roar, and Munta, who had been about to speak, closed his mouth. “It is within my right! These will be games to remember. I want them to be talked about ten—no, twenty years from now. This is my gift to the people.”
“Lhesh,” Munta said humbly, “they will cost money. There are still food shortages. We still need to buy grain.”
“There is money enough.” Haruuc pointed at Geth. “Speak with Senen Dhakaan. Ask her about the games held in the time of the empire. Make me proud, shava.”
Geth swallowed and bent his head. “I will.”
At the back of the throne room, the carved door opened again to admit a thin, nervous hobgoblin who looked more like a merchant than a warlord. Haruuc’s ears went back, and he gestured for the hobgoblin to come forward. “Iizan of Ghaal Sehn, join us. The Ghaal Sehn hold the territory on the west side of the Orien trade road from the Gathering Stone to Rhukaan Draal?”
Iizan dropped down to his knees. “We do, lhesh.”
“And there is a forest in your territory, not too far from the road?”
“There is, lhesh. A small one.”
Haruuc nodded. “Good. Take the slaves from your fields—”
A flush sprang up in Iizan’s face. “The Ghaal Sehn no longer keep slaves, Lhesh Haruuc!” he said. “We followed your example and freed them.”
The lhesh stood and stepped down from his throne to stand over the kneeling hobgoblin. “I didn’t ask if you have slaves, Iizan! I know that you do. I know that seven of ten warlords who swear they follow my example still keep slaves in secret!”
He seized a handful of Iizan’s hair and dragged him to his feet so sharply that Iizan didn’t have a chance to cry out. “I want you to take the slaves from your field and raze that forest. Take the strongest trees, strip them of leaves and small branches, and stand them along the t
rade road, one pair every two leagues from the Gathering Stone to the bridge over the Ghaal River. This will be done within three days, in time for the return of the soldiers from the north. You will have aid—the slaves of neighboring clans will be sent to you.” He looked into Iizan’s face as if searching for something, then flung the warlord away. “Do this and you will be rewarded. Do you understand, Iizan?”
“Mazo, lhesh,” Iizan choked.
Haruuc gestured with the Rod of Kings, dismissing him, and the warlord fled. Geth stared at Haruuc as he returned to his throne. The image of a tree, bare of all but the strongest branches rose up in his imagination. He’d seen a shape like that before. From the expression on Munta’s face, he knew the old warlord recognized it as well.
Ekhaas had once told him that one of the greatest creations of Taruuzh, the ancient dashoor who had forged the Sword of Heroes and the Rod of Kings, had been a device of execution. In the time of Dhakaan, his device had spread to every city in the empire. The secret of making them had been lost in the Desperate Times after the empire’s fall, but hobgoblins of all clans, she’d said, still emulated their use in ending the lives of criminals and traitors.
Geth wet his lips and looked up at Haruuc. “Grieving trees?” he asked. His voice sounded thin in the emptiness of the throne room. “You’re lining the road to Rhukaan Draal with grieving trees?”
“The Gan’duur must be punished.” Haruuc’s face was hard.
Munta actually seemed frail with worry. “Haruuc, what will the Five Nations and the dragonmarked houses say? This is too much.”
“You have your instructions, Munta,” Haruuc said. “So does Iizan. Dagii’s instructions have been dispatched to him.”
“But the Five Nations—”
“This is no concern of theirs!” Haruuc’s voice rose again. “It is a matter for Darguun and Darguun alone. Our traditions are as old as our claim on this land, and both are older than the Five Nations. Go and do your duty, Munta. Let Rhukaan Draal know whom it mourns.”
The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 Page 35
