Then again, most heroes did not return to a city with smoke hanging over it and signs of hunger and violence in the streets. The return journey to Rhukaan Draal had been too swift for them to stop and talk to people, but it had been hard to miss the unease that gripped Darguun as they traveled back north. Burned fields and holds, rotting bodies hung up like a warning—they’d even been attacked by bandits on the road south of the city, a sure sign of trouble if thieves were willing to ambush an obviously well-armed band. Munta, as he came and went, would give them no hint of what had been happening while they were away. No one else came to see them either. Not Haruuc, not Tariic, not Senen Dhakaan, not Vounn d’Deneith.
Which was probably just as well. Ekhaas looked around the chamber—luxurious enough that it must have been meant as a waiting room for visiting dignitaries—in which Munta had hidden them. She and the others had spread themselves out in the room’s chairs and couches, each of them alone in their own private space and each of them, she suspected, thinking about the secret they had sworn to keep. They’d managed to make the hurried journey back to Rhukaan Draal as if nothing were wrong, but now that they were here, the decision they’d made in the hidden valley seemed to have grown heavier.
If asked for the story of what happened in the Uura Odaarii, they would speak only of Dabrak Riis’s use of the strange magic of the cavern against them. An omission wasn’t really a lie. No one beyond the six of them would ever know what power the Rod of Kings truly had.
The door of the chamber opened, and Munta appeared once again. If he felt the tension in the room, he didn’t let it show on his face. “It’s time,” he said. “We’re ready.”
“Ready?” Ashi asked.
Munta’s ears twitched and a smile spread across his face. “Ready to welcome you like the heroes you are!” He held out a tray polished to a high gloss, so freshly cleaned that Ekhaas could smell the wax, with a piece of rich gold cloth on it. “For you to carry the rod, Geth. We want everyone to see it.”
“Who’s everyone?” asked Ashi again.
“Everyone,” Munta said with satisfaction.
Geth came forward with a long pouch fashioned from common wool, a strip torn from a blanket if the undignified truth had to be told. He loosened the simple twist of cord that held it closed, reached inside, and slid out the Rod of Kings. Munta’s eyes went wide at the sight of it. Ekhaas saw Midian and Dagii look away, though, and none of the others gazed too closely at the rod. If they’d found themselves avoiding discussion of their secret on the journey, they’d also found themselves shying away from the rod. As the first one to grasp it, Geth had been appointed the rod’s keeper with unspoken assent—no one else had wanted to touch it. Ekhaas and Midian had inspected the simple shaft and examined the runes on it, but not as closely as they once might have. Geth had held the rod for them.
Laid out on the tray, though, purple byeshk against rich gold, it did have a certain majesty. A sense of excitement rose inside her. The rod wasn’t just an artifact of the great empire. It was something that had been held by the hands of countless emperors. It had seen the rise and fall of dynasties. And she had helped find it. Ekhaas of Kech Volaar had helped to bring it back into the world.
“This is what’s going to happen,” Munta said, passing the tray to Geth, then leading them out of the chamber and into the corridor. “Haruuc wants to have a very public presentation of the rod so that everyone who matters knows how important it is. The presentation will take place in the throne room. As you enter, a duur’kala will tell the story of the rod. When you reach the foot of the throne, Tariic—as a representative of the people—will take the rod and give it to Haruuc, who will then speak. After that, there’s no particular order of ceremonies you need to follow. Haruuc’s instructions will guide you.”
“You make it sound like a pageant,” Midian said.
“Rule is as much spectacle as it is action.” Munta stopped at a tall door. From the other side of it, Ekhaas could hear the indistinct murmurs of a great many people. “This leads into the antechamber of the throne room,” Munta said. “When the drums start, the doors will open and you’ll go in.” He looked at them all and solemn pride filled his face. “Haruuc won’t be able to say this in public, but he asked me to tell you. Kaaspanozhii kitaan atcha.”
We owe a debt to your honor. He turned and hurried up the corridor, heading, Ekhaas assumed, to take his place in the throne room. She glanced at the others. From their expressions, they might have been walking to an execution rather than a celebration.
“It’s too late not to do this, isn’t it?” asked Ashi.
“Far too late,” Ekhaas said.
A drum stroke sounded from beyond the door. The murmurs of the crowd died out. The drum continued, its beat throbbing on the air in a slow rhythm. “The call to advance,” said Dagii. “Armies march into battle at that pace.”
At the head of their small party, Geth shifted his grip on the tray and raised one hand to touch the collar of black stones around his neck.
The tall doors opened.
Representatives of all three goblin races filled the antechamber. Ekhaas recognized minor dignitaries, wealthy merchants, and officers of Haruuc’s guard. Soldiers holding crossed spears as a barrier kept clear a path through the crowd and up to the wide stairs of the throne room. Faces turned to stare at them. Ekhaas saw Geth swallow, the hair on his neck and forearms rising, then he started to walk, matching his pace to the drum.
A voice rose, speaking in Goblin. “Raat shi anaa. In the ancient days of Dhakaan lived the great dashoor Taruuzh, who found inspiration in all things. It pleased him to work in the mines, where he could handle the raw material of his creations, and he was so working in the mines of Suthar Draal when he found a vein of byeshk so pure that he named it the Blood of Dusk.”
It was the same story that Senen Dhakaan had told in the small chamber high in Khaar Mbar’ost, the story that had launched their quest. This time, however, it was not Senen Dhakaan who told it. Ekhaas recognized the voice that rose and fell in time with the drum, a voice like seawater and beeswax. Walking through the antechamber and up the stairs was like passing through a legend. The ears of every goblin in the crowd lifted to listen, captivated by the words of Aaspar, the elderly mother of the dirge, as she spoke of the wonders Taruuzh created from the byeshk of the Blood of Dusk. First of Aram, the Sword of Heroes. Then of Muut, the Shield of Nobles. And finally of—
“—a rod carved with symbols that had been old when the first daashor took up a hammer and the first duur’kala sang. A rod which Taruuzh gave to the emperor of Dhakaan and which he named—”
They reached the top of the steps. The throne room opened before them. The first thing Ekhaas saw was Haruuc, seated on his throne, the light that came through the tall windows striking bright rays from his armor and the spiked crown of Darguun. The second thing was Aaspar, dressed in black and standing before Haruuc.
Then the drum paused and Geth paused with it. In the silence, Aaspar flung up a thin hand, pointing along the aisle to those framed in the doorway. Her voice soared to fill the great hall. “—Guulen, the Rod of Kings!”
A hundred heads or more turned to follow her hand and voice. A hundred pairs of eyes or more stared at them. At the byeshk rod that Geth carried.
In that moment, the throne room of Khaar Mbar’ost seemed as timeless as the cavern of Uura Odaarii. Ekhaas was aware of the beating of her heart. It seemed that every warlord and clan chief of Darguun was in the hall, together with dignitaries wearing the crests of every nation of Khorvaire and every dragonmarked house. She saw Munta. She saw Senen Dhakaan. She saw Vounn d’Deneith. She saw Tariic standing across from Aaspar before the throne and Vanii standing in a place of honor behind it. Through the window, she could see smoke still rising in gray streamers from Rhukaan Draal, but that hint of conflict only seemed to add to the aura of the conqueror that clung to Haruuc.
The slow cadence of the drum returned, and Geth resumed his measur
ed pace along the aisle. Aaspar’s voice continued to ring from the high ceiling, so powerful it almost seemed enough to shake the banners that hung from the walls or to wake the statues that looked down from above. “For centuries upon centuries, the emperors of Dhakaan held Guulen. For centuries upon centuries, they ruled with might and wisdom—until Guulen was lost and the Empire of Dhakaan crumbled. But now the dar are united once more. Now …” Her words slowed along with the drum as their party reached the dais upon which Haruuc’s throne stood. “… Guulen … returns!”
Her final cry echoed for a moment, then faded. For a long moment, the hall was silent—and Haruuc spoke.
“Who comes to the court of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor?”
For an instant, an awkward horror ran through Ekhaas. Munta hadn’t said Haruuc would address them with the traditional challenge. She wanted to look at the old warlord, but didn’t dare. She pushed her shock aside and spoke boldly.
“Ekhaas of Kech Volaar, daughter of the dirge, comes.”
The others picked up her cue. Dagii’s voice rose. “Dagii of Mur Talaan, son of Fenic, comes.”
“Chetiin of the shaarat’khesh comes.”
“Ashi of Deneith, daughter of Ner, comes.”
“Midian Mit Davandi, son of Tivani Mit Davandi, comes.”
“Geth …”
The shifter hesitated. Ekhaas glanced at him. So did Aaspar. So did Tariic and Vanii. Haruuc probably would have glanced at him, too, if he wasn’t frozen in a stiffly formal posture. There was confusion and maybe even struggle in Geth’s eyes, then they cleared. He straightened, and, in Goblin that was far more precise than his usual broken attempts at the language and burred with the ancient accent of Dhakaan, he said, “Geth, who bears the sword Aram, who carries the honor of Kuun, who killed the dragon Dah’mir, comes.”
He dropped to one knee and held out the tray. “Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor, we bring Guulen, the Rod of Kings.”
Ekhaas saw Tariic blink in surprise at Geth’s dramatic statement. He stepped forward, though, and lifted the rod from the tray. Climbing the steps of the dais, he sank down in front of Haruuc. “As Taruuzh said to his emperor,” he said solemnly, “in this are the glories of the people. Bear them in mind, and the people will always know their king.”
Haruuc stared at the rod for a long moment, then reached out his hand. Ekhaas found she was holding her breath and watching the lhesh closely. Would he change when he held the rod? Would he feel the power within it?
His fingers closed on the metal. Haruuc took the rod from Tariic, looked at it, then rose and held it high. “As Guulen passed from emperor to emperor in the age of Dhakaan,” he said, his voice filling the hall, “so shall it pass from lhesh to lhesh in this new age. Who holds Guulen is the ruler of Darguun. Look on this symbol of the glories of the people, warlords and clan chiefs, ambassadors and envoys, and know that it is true!”
The words were well-chosen. The gesture was perfect. Caught up in the spectacle of the rod’s presentation, the crowd in the throne room burst into applause, the goblins striking hands against chest, the dignitaries of other nations slapping palm against palm. From the antechamber came shouts of enthusiasm from those spectators of less dignity. Ekhaas applauded as well. Haruuc’s plan had worked—he had the symbol he would pass on to his successor. She looked up at him, light from the window flowing around him, shining from crown and rod, his ears held high, his mouth wide in a smile of triumph …
Her applause slowed. She squeezed her eyes shut, then looked at Haruuc again. The light still shone around him, and he still looked majestic, but no more than that. The rod, she thought; it’s the power of the rod. She looked around her, at Dagii on one side and Chetiin on the other. Dagii looked worried. Chetiin looked thoughtful. “Geth’s sword had powers even while it was asleep,” he said under the applause. “We should expect the rod will, too. An aura of majesty is a minor magic.”
Ekhaas studied Haruuc. He looked out onto the throne room with bright eyes but no sign at all that he was aware of the rod’s effect. He was no more commanding its power than Geth commanded Aram. She nodded slowly. Dagii did, too, but added, “Minor magics can lead to greater. We will watch him.”
“Mazo,” murmured Chetiin.
Haruuc relaxed and lowered the rod to look down at the party before him. Tariic stood and moved back to one side. Geth stood as well, the tray whisked away by a goblin wearing an armband of red cords. As the applause slowly died, Haruuc raised his free hand. “Darguun commends you who risked your lives to bring back Guulen. Rewards come to the heroes who deserve them.” He gestured, and the goblin who had taken away Geth’s tray brought it back.
This time, four daggers rested on the gold cloth. Ekhaas caught her breath. They were exquisite, combining the best work of a weapon smith and a gold smith. The bright blades were fine steel, chased with golden letters that spelled out atcha—honor. The grips were fantastic constructions of gold and silver woven around sparkling gems. Set into the crosspieces were jewels the size of her knuckle, different on each dagger—a ruby, an emerald, a sapphire, and a golden crystal that was a Siberys dragonshard.
“Ekhaas of Kech Volaar, Chetiin of the shaarat’khesh, Ashi d’Deneith, Midian Mit Davandi,” said Haruuc, “you owe allegiance to other lords, but I gift you with these in thanks, and tell you that you are friends of Darguun. If ever you have need, speak and Haruuc will listen.”
The goblin passed among them, offering a dagger to each. Ekhaas received the emerald dagger, Ashi the dagger with the Siberys dragonshard, Chetiin the ruby, Midian the sapphire. After the goblin retreated, Haruuc looked down again. “Geth, who bears Aram, the Sword of Heroes. Without your aid, Guulen could not have been found. What reward can I offer you? Will you take wealth? I would give you a chest full of gold.”
Geth’s eyebrows rose, then fell again. He shook his head. When he spoke, his Goblin was once again broken and crude. “Lhesh, no. How would I carry it?”
“Land, then?” Haruuc asked.
Geth shook his head a second time, then a third when Haruuc offered him a rank in his army. The lhesh’s ears flicked twice rapidly. Although he didn’t smile, Ekhaas guessed that he had expected Geth to turn down all three offers and was somehow pleased that he had.
“Geth, who bears Aram, you show your honor and prove yourself worthy of the greatest reward that any warrior can give. You owed me no allegiance, yet you sought Guulen at my request. You performed a great deed for Darguun, yet you accept neither wealth nor power. You have my trust in all things.” He stood up tall and straight. “Will you be my shava, to call me friend and stand at my back when I have need, to call on me to stand with you when you have need?”
It was hard to tell who was more surprised: Geth, who stood in silent shock, or the Darguuls in the throne room, who broke out in low murmurs. Ekhaas found herself among them. It had been unusual for Haruuc to take three shava. To take a fourth—and one who was not of the goblin races at that—was unheard of. Geth turned and glanced at her as if seeking guidance. Ekhaas spread her hands helplessly. There was no advice she could give him in this. Behind Haruuc, however, Vanii smiled and nodded to Geth. The survivor of Haruuc’s three shava approved.
Geth swallowed. “I will, lhesh,” he said.
“Join me,” Haruuc said, stepping away from the edge of the dais. He reached back, set the rod aside, and took up his sword from where it rested against the arm of his throne. As Geth mounted the steps of the dais, the high warlord said, “Draw your sword.”
The murmurs of the crowd hushed abruptly as Aram emerged. Haruuc raised his sword, gesturing for Geth to match the gesture. The two swords, red-stained steel and twilight purple byeshk, touched. Haruuc twisted his wrist and the teeth of the swords’ notched edges locked together. He reached under the joined swords and grasped Geth’s hand. Ekhaas heard him murmur, “Repeat what I say,” then he raised his voice.
“Before witnesses, I make this oath,” he said.
“Before witnes
ses, I make this oath,” Geth repeated.
For a moment Ekhaas was afraid that his broken Goblin might spoil Haruuc’s grand gesture, but as the shifter spoke, his words once again took on the ancient accent. It had to be some power of Aram, she guessed—the sword was giving strength to his words. If Haruuc noticed anything, he didn’t react, but continued the oath, with Geth echoing every phrase with faithful intensity.
“On blood and graves, I swear I will protect you and guide you, avenge you and cherish you, in life and death so long as I draw breath.” Haruuc paused. “Geth, you are shava to me.”
“Haruuc, you are shava to me.”
The two swords fell apart and Haruuc swept Geth into a rough hug. The lhesh’s embrace of Vounn before the assembly of warlords had been scandalous, but a hug between shava was an embrace of brothers and warriors. Vanii was the first to applaud, the beating of his hand against his chest a lonely sound for a moment in the great hall. Then Chetiin joined him and Ekhaas, Dagii, and Ashi an instant later. By the time Haruuc released Geth and showed him to a place on the other side of the throne from Vanii, very nearly the entire crowd was applauding. Ekhaas caught Geth’s eye and nodded at him. The shifter replied with an uncertain smile.
Haruuc took up the Rod of Kings again and gestured, sword in one hand and rod in the other, for the crowd to be silent. “There is another reward that must be given,” he said. “Dagii of Mur Talaan, stand forward.”
Dagii did. There was a slight limp in his step, a permanent legacy of her hurried healing of his ankle in the valley. Haruuc held his sword out, naked blade toward the waiting warrior. “Dagii of Mur Talaan, I offer you the rank of lhevk-rhu. Do you accept this challenge?”
Ekhaas’s ears rose, and there was a new murmur in the crowd. Lhevk-rhu was the third highest rank in the military structure Haruuc had created after the war. It raised Dagii above most common warlords, leaving him outranked only by a few elder warlords, like Munta the Gray, and the lhesh himself. Dagii looked up and met Haruuc’s eyes.
The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 Page 33