“Aureon’s blue quill,” said Midian. “It’s in perfect condition.”
“Pre-Dhakaani?” Dagii asked.
“Pre-Dhakaani,” Midian confirmed. He stepped off the stairs and walked across the bare earth to hold his torch up before the structure. Illuminated, the carvings sprang into sharp relief. Ashi thought she could see animals in the swirls. Animals, plants, maybe even figures that could have been members of the goblin races. As the others came to join him, Midian frowned and stepped closer, examining the carvings up close. “This isn’t possible,” he said. “The grooves and edges haven’t weathered at all.”
“They’d be well protected down here,” Ashi pointed out. “And you said there was probably some preserving magic on the stone of the stairs. Wouldn’t it have been applied to the shrine as well?”
“Preserving magic doesn’t work that well. There was lichen on the stairs and some weathering, and I thought that was amazing.” He touched a carved swirl. “These are more than fifteen thousand years old, and they might have been carved yesterday.”
“It’s here, though,” said Geth, his voice excited. They all turned to look at him. He was standing in front of the shrine’s door, his eyes bright, and he held Wrath out in front of him with both hands, as if trying to keep a grip on the sword. “The rod is here, in the shrine. If you’re finished looking at carvings, let’s go get it!”
“It’s not going anywhere, Geth,” Ekhaas said. “We’ll go in when we’re ready.”
“Grandfather Rat, how much more ready can we be? Chetiin, Ashi, are you with me?”
Ashi—and Chetiin as well—glanced at Ekhaas before answering. The duur’kala’s ears stood up, but after a moment, she nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go. Just be careful.”
Chetiin went through the door first with Geth and Midian after him. Ashi would have followed, but Ekhaas caught her arm. “Has Geth seemed more impetuous than usual to you lately?” she asked quietly.
Ashi considered the question for a moment, then shook her head. “He always throws himself into a fight.”
“Yes, but generally only the ones he knows he can win.”
“Maybe it’s the strain of our quest,” said Dagii from behind them. “He has been our only guide and his task is nearly complete.”
“Maybe.” Ekhaas didn’t sound convinced.
“Coming?” Geth’s voice echoed out of the door.
Ekhaas’s ears stood even taller and her eyes looked into Ashi’s, then Dagii’s. “Watch him,” she said, “both of you.”
Ashi nodded, then stepped into the shrine. A rough-walled passage extended beyond the door, no taller or wider than the door itself. She could just barely squeeze through—looking back, she saw that Dagii had to turn sideways to get in. A few paces ahead, Geth and the others were already out of the passage, the light of their torches spreading to illuminate a larger space. She hurried after them and emerged into a small chamber that was partly worked stone and partly natural rock. When all six of them were standing in the chamber, it felt nearly as crowded as the narrow passage.
And there was a stillness to it, as well. Eerie like the valley and tense like the pit, but moreso. Ashi felt a foreboding, as if the stillness had a physical form and was standing somewhere just behind her. There was something else about it as well … something she couldn’t identify at first—or at least couldn’t describe.
“Do you feel that?” she asked.
The others nodded. Silently, Geth pointed with Wrath to the wall opposite the passage. It was the most natural of the chamber’s walls, split by a wide crack and untouched by tools except for a grate of iron bars that had been placed across it. Once the gate must have blocked the crack. Now it hung open.
Litter lay on the ground beyond in a jumble of strange objects: cups and knives and trinkets of all sorts, most similar in design and decoration to the carvings on the shrine and the stairs.
“Offerings,” said Ekhaas quietly. “When the grate was closed, they would have been shoved through into the darkness.”
“Offerings to what?” Dagii asked.
Ekhaas spread her hands. “I don’t know. Whatever power is in this place.”
Midian held out his torch. “They’ve been sorted.”
Ashi looked again. The gnome was right. The jumble actually lay in several heaps, separating small objects from large, moderately valuable from worthless. There seemed to be nothing of great worth, though she had a feeling that perhaps there once had been.
A clear path led between the heaps. The back of the crack opened into another passage, a little wider than the first.
“Leave the pitch pots,” said Dagii. “They’ll just get in the way.”
They left the clay pots in a heap, carefully extinguishing the ones they had lit, then stepped, one by one, into the crack. Ashi scanned the heaps of offerings for a weapon she could use and selected a long knife that was only a handspan away from being a short sword. Ekhaas glanced at it as she picked it up, then looked again more sharply.
“That’s not pre-Dhakaani,” she said. Ashi passed her the dagger and she turned it over in her hands, cursed under her breath, and held it out for Midian to see. The gnome’s eyebrows rose.
“Riis Dynasty,” he said. “The time of the Shaking Emperor.”
No one said anything else. Ashi took the dagger back and tested the edge. Still sharp.
The new passage hadn’t been worked at all. It was wide enough that Ashi didn’t feel cramped, but she had to watch closely for projections from the walls and raised stones underfoot. It twisted from time to time, turning or dropping suddenly. She had the feeling that they were generally going deeper. At least there were no side passages. No way to go but forward and back.
The foreboding stillness grew with every pace. Sounds seemed muffled. Ashi fought the urge to reach back and take Ekhaas’s hand, just for the reassurance of knowing that it was the duur’kala behind her and not someone or something else.
She was the first to notice that the torches had stopped flickering, suddenly becoming as steady as everbright lanterns. Ashi looked up at her torch and saw that the flame was still. Not merely steady, like a candle protected by a lantern, but still, like a piece of bright orange-yellow glass. All of the torches they carried were still.
She found the description for the stillness that had eluded her earlier. It was “stopped.” It felt as if their little party moved through a world in which all other motion had ceased. She bit down on her alarm, instead lowering the stopped torch to show Ekhaas. The duur’kala’s ears pulled back flat.
At the head of the party, Chetiin and Geth went around another twist in the passage—then were back and pressed up against the wall. The hair on Geth’s arms and neck was standing up. His eyes were wide. “We’re here,” he said.
“What is it?” Ashi asked.
“I think you need to see for yourself.” Geth took a deep breath and slowly stepped around the corner. Chetiin followed. Midian, Ashi, Ekhaas, and Dagii looked at each other, then Ashi braced herself and went after Geth.
Beyond the twist, the passage went a couple of paces more, then opened up into a cavern. The floor was reasonably level and the cavern itself was quite broad, spreading twenty paces or so in any direction from the passage. The ceiling was low, though. Ashi could have reached up and scraped it with the tip of her newly acquired knife. It made the cavern feel much smaller than it really was, crushed by the weight of the mountains above.
More disturbing than the low ceiling, however, were the symbols that spread across the rock. They were on the ceiling, the walls, and the floor—dozens of them, each an armslength across and shining with a greenish light that gave a soft glow to the entire cavern. Seen from the corner of her eye, they almost seemed to move, but looked at directly they were steady and unchanging. In a way, they resembled dragonmarks. Her stomach churning, Ashi stretched out her hand and looked from the marks on the wall to the marks on her skin. The strange light made her blue-green mark lo
ok as black as darkness, yet also weirdly bright and reflective. She let her hand fall with a shudder.
“There are seven caves in the north of the Seawall Mountains,” Ekhaas said, standing beside her and staring in fascination, “that are said to look like this, save that the signs move and spell out the future for those who know how to read them.”
“Do those caves have occupants?” asked Chetiin quietly. “Look here.”
They turned. Partway across the chamber, a strange rock formation stuck up from the floor. Chetiin and Geth were on the other side of it, staring. Geth still held Wrath, but loosely, and the purple of the byeshk blade gleamed through the green glow. Ashi went to join them. As she drew closer, she realized the formation wasn’t rock at all, but wood and cloth—a heavy chair draped with fabric. And as she passed around the chair, she realized that it wasn’t empty.
A hobgoblin, or what was left of him, sat in it. The body was wizened, orange-tinged flesh wrinkled and dry like a withered pumpkin, but the hobgoblin’s face was calm and his eyes closed. The cave’s air—or perhaps its strange power—must have mummified him upon his death. The garments of a larger man were draped around his skeletal frame. Ashi had never seen anything quite like them in style, but the fabric was fine and dyed with rich colors of gold and red. His hair, longer than she’d ever seen a male hobgoblin wear it and held back by a wide band of gold, was still thick and dark. He hadn’t been old when he died. His feet were raised on a small stool that was as heavy as the chair. His hands, covered in gloves studded with gems, rested in his lap.
They were wrapped around a purple rod of byeshk, as long as her forearm and as thick as her wrist, its polished surface carved with strange symbols.
Ekhaas drew a deep, slow breath. “The story stops but never ends,” she said solemnly in Goblin. “Guulen, the Rod of Kings, is found again, and the fate of Dabrak Riis, the Shaking Emperor, is known at last.”
“Taat,” rasped the hobgoblin on the throne. Red-brown eyes opened to glare at Ekhaas and lips drew back from sharp, white teeth. “I am Dabrak Riis, but I shake no more! Bow before your emperor!”
Ekhaas jerked back.
Ashi heard Geth curse. She saw Chetiin and Dagii raise their weapons and step back as well. She didn’t step back. With reflexes honed in the practice yards of Sentinel Tower, she snatched the long knife from her belt and lunged forward, thrusting the blade straight into the seated hobgoblin’s heart. His eyes opened wide in shock—
—then he shoved her away with a strength that sent her flying into the cavern wall.
Ashi pushed herself up and stared as Dabrak Riis, Emperor of Dhakaan, tugged the knife out of his chest.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
For a terrifying moment, Ashi thought he would hurl the knife at her. She rolled to her feet, ready to dodge, but the withered hobgoblin’s arm didn’t move. Dabrak Riis held the knife up in front of his face and studied it. Ears rose, so dried and leathery they resembled the wings of bats.
“I know this knife,” he said. “It belonged to Rhazala Shaad. What have you done with her, assassin?”
Ashi hesitated, not certain how to answer. It was hard to understand the Goblin that Dabrak Riis spoke. The accent was odd and seemed strangely stilted. Was that how the goblins of the Dhakaani Empire had spoken? She threw a glance at Ekhaas, a silent appeal for instruction, but before the duur’kala could speak, Dabrak’s eyes had moved from the knife back to her. They narrowed sharply.
“By the Lawbringer, what manner of creature are you?” he asked. “You’re not dar, and you’re not elf.” He looked around at the others. “Ghaal’dar and golin’dar”—he paused to stare at Midian and his dry lips twisted in disgust—“and one of the jungle rats, dressed like a person.”
The gnome looked like anger might overcome his shock at being addressed by a corpse, but Dabrak’s gaze had already moved on to settle on Geth. His ears stood, and his eyes widened. “You … whatever you are … that’s Aram!” he sputtered. “You carry the lost sword!”
Geth bared his teeth and lifted the twilight blade. “I found it,” he said, his Goblin thick and simple compared to the emperor’s. “I carry it. It led us to you.”
“Another assassin? Are all of you assassins?” He swept his eyes across them all once more—then put his head back and laughed. “If you have come to kill me, you’ll find it more difficult than you thought!” He dropped Ashi’s knife to the floor of the cavern and plucked at his garments, pulling the cloth out tight where she had stabbed him.
The fabric was whole. There was not a tear, not even a mark. It was as if she hadn’t attacked him at all. Ashi stared in amazement.
“You’re Dabrak Riis?” said Midian. “You’re really Dabrak Riis? Sage’s shadow, how is that possible?”
The amusement in Dabrak’s face vanished. He looked first to Ekhaas, then to Dagii. “To which of you does that creature belong? Silence it. I will not hear its screechings.”
“Your pardon, Marhu Dabrak,” Ekhaas said quickly. “It will not speak again.” She stepped forward and dropped to her knees, gesturing for the others to do the same. It seemed like a very good idea to Ashi, and she sank down. They all did, even Midian. Dabrak sat back with satisfaction on his face. Ekhaas looked up at him and said, “We’re not assassins, marhu. We just didn’t expect to”—she hesitated, then added—“find you still alive.”
At any other time, in any other place, Ashi might have laughed at the understatement. How could Dabrak still be alive? The Empire of Dhakaan had been gone from the world for more than five thousand years. Dabrak couldn’t just have been sitting in the cavern all that time—could he?
He only nodded in response. “So that much time has passed,” he said. “The world thinks me dead. I suspected as much.”
Ekhaas looked startled. “You know that time has passed?”
“Of course I know.” He gestured at the cavern around them. “I may not feel it here, but before they abandoned me, Razhala and my other guards would go out through the shrine and report on the passing of the seasons.” He sighed. “They didn’t have the strength to stay, though. One by one, they left me—faithful Razhala was the last. But eventually the trolls came. They have been my guards.”
“The trolls are your guards?” said Dagii.
“You encountered them, didn’t you, warrior?” Dabrak looked pleased. “They were wild things when they came, but I tamed them. The smallest of them entered the shrine and ventured in here. It was a challenge to work with them, but I had the power to mold them.”
He lifted the Rod of Kings and it seemed to Ashi that even that simple gesture carried with it a swirl of power. For a frightening moment, it seemed that Dabrak wore authority like a cloak—then the cloak vanished as the rod settled back into his lap. “I still feel a distant connection to them,” the emperor said, as if the display of power was something so casual he barely even noticed it. “I know their pack still watches over the Uura Odaarii. You must be mighty indeed to have passed them.”
Ashi could tell from the faces of the others that they had felt the rod’s power as well. Dagii seemed awed by it, Chetiin stunned. Midian looked gray with fear. She felt a little bit afraid herself. This was the power they would bring back to Haruuc?
Ekhaas struggled to speak again. “The Uura Odaarii, marhu?” she asked. “Is that this place?”
Ashi didn’t recognize the words. Chetiin was closest to her, and she glanced at him. “The Womb of Eternity,” he translated for her.
Dabrak’s attention was all on Ashi. “You haven’t heard of it. I’m not surprised. I traveled across the length and breadth of my empire just chasing down the rumors of it,” he said. He sat forward, the movement making the shriveled folds of his face slip like a loose mask. “Tell me, what stories do they tell of me?”
“They say that you left your palace to face the source of your fears, vowing to return and continue your rule,” said Ekhaas. “You were seen now and then across the empire—unti
l one day you disappeared completely.”
“The day I finally located the Uura Odaarii,” said Dabrak. “You speak with the grace of a duur’kala. What is your name?”
“I am a duur’kala. I am Ekhaas of Kech Volaar.”
“The Kech Volaar. I don’t know that clan.” Dabrak sat back. “If you are a duur’kala, Ekhaas of Kech Volaar, you understand the nature of emotion. Tell me: What is the source of all fear?”
“The unknown,” Ekhaas said.
Dabrak gestured angrily, as though her word were flies he could shoo away. “Some would say that,” he said, “but it’s not true. What about someone who was afraid of spiders? They are hardly unknown. He sees a spider and knows it, yet he is still afraid. What is he really afraid of?”
Chetiin answered. “He’s afraid of what the spider might do.”
“Well said, golin’dar.” Dabrak held up a finger. “He’s afraid of what might happen. His fear isn’t in the moment, it’s in the might. What might a spider do, what might happen in the dark, what might happen if I venture into the water? The source of all fear is the future, and the future is inescapable. Except here.”
He rose to his feet and gestured with both hands. Once again the power of the rod washed over them. Ashi thought she could feel an echo of the profound fear that had earned Dabrak the name of the Shaking Emperor. She shivered herself and pressed her hands against the cold stone of the cave floor to keep them from trembling. Dabrak noticed nothing, though thankfully he lowered the rod again.
“I first heard of the Uura Odaarii from an old golin’dar, a traveling midwife who came to the palace to deliver a son to my cousin,” he continued. “She cast an augury during the birth, as was customary, but as she did so, she saw my terror. She was the first to recognize all the fears that plagued me as a single fear of the future. She told me the scrap of a legend, that in the time before Jhazaal Dhakaan brought together the Six Kings, there was a secret shrine in an ancient kingdom where it was said all of the future was born. People would search out the shrine and make offerings there in hopes of staving off a bleak destiny.”
The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 Page 28