The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1

by Don Bassingthwaite

  “The women and children of what was once Gan’duur,” said the lhesh. “The Bloody Market will be busy tomorrow.”

  “You’re selling them as slaves? Haruuc—”

  Haruuc looked over his shoulder, his ears back against his head. “They are alive. Will you complain about that?”

  Geth closed his mouth.

  There was movement at the top of the hill. Not the soldiers, but a cart drawn by a pair of muscular tribex. Sound on the bridge died. Three hobgoblins crouched in the cart. Two more hobgoblins in dirty and bloodstained tunics rode on the tribex, guiding them with switches. Near the foot of the bridge, the last pair of grieving trees waited, naked as if winter had come early. Sap still oozed from the cut wood. The carters stopped their team between the two trees and swung to the ground. One took a stout ladder from the side of the cart and set it against a tree, while the other, moving with a slight limp, went to the back of the cart and hauled out one of the prisoners. It seemed as if the man was too weak to walk on his own. The carter slung him over his shoulder and mounted the ladder as the other held it steady. With a groan that was audible from the bridge, he pushed the prisoner into the branches of the tree.

  His groan was met with a cheer from among the warlords, a cheer repeated as the carter produced rope and lashed the prisoner into place. On the far bank of the Ghaal, the people of the city must have realized something was happening. They began to cheer as well.

  Blood stained the trunk of the grieving tree in a long, curling thread. “Maabet,” someone roared. “He’s bleeding, he’ll die too fast—don’t you know your job?”

  Another shout came out of the crowd. “Move, taat! Make way for honorable warriors!”

  The carter wouldn’t be hurried, though. With slow and weary movements, he fetched another prisoner and hung him in the last tree, binding him fast. This time, the prisoner looked like he might already be dead. There was a chorus of disappointment from Haruuc’s court. The carter ignored them, dismissing his assistant with a salute. The second man ran back along the road to where the soldiers were now coming over the hill.

  “You’ve still got one to hang!” It was Tariic, standing on Haruuc’s other side. “Put him up and get out of the way.”

  The carter only took hold of the halter of one of the tribex and led his team forward onto the bridge. Geth saw Haruuc’s ears flick in annoyance.

  “Do your duty and get out of the way, soldier!” Haruuc called down.

  The carter raised his head. “I do my duty, lhesh,” he called, and Geth finally recognized the haunted face under the dirt and sweat. It was Dagii. The crowd on the bridge fell silent. In the silence, Geth heard a gasp. He looked and saw Ekhaas standing nearby with Senen Dhakaan. Her eyes were on Dagii. The cart creaked to a stop and Dagii put his fist to his chest in a salute. His hands were blistered and torn, caked with filth and blood. They hadn’t gotten that way, Geth realized, from placing just two prisoners into trees.

  Haruuc saw too. “How many, Dagii?” he asked in disgust.

  “A pair every second league from the Gathering Stone, lhesh. Seventy-two. All of the surviving warriors of the Gan’duur.”

  “You give them too much dignity.”

  “They died as you commanded, lhesh.” Dagii’s weary gray eyes met Haruuc’s. Geth thought he saw a rebuke there and found that he had a new respect for the young warlord. Haruuc’s ears folded flat against his skull, but Dagii just stepped back and pulled the final prisoner from the cart. “Here is Keraal, who was their chief. Your prisoner, lhesh.”

  Keraal’s face was bruised and swollen. His good eye glared at the court gathered on the bridge. “Haruuc,” he croaked.

  “Keraal.” Haruuc’s ears eased up again and he drew a deep, satisfied breath. “You told me that it is not in the nature of our people to share land, that we are conquerors and rulers. Tell me—how does it feel to be conquered?”

  “You tell me.” Keraal twisted his distorted features into a defiant smile. “Do you still cower on the doorstep of the humans?”

  His voice rang in the silence over the bridge.

  Haruuc stepped forward with the speed of a man half his age and struck Keraal hard. The defeated warlord slammed back into the side of the cart. Haruuc seized him with one hand, dragged him back to his feet, and turned to face his court.

  “Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor cowers before no one!” he roared. “Darguun cowers before no nation!” He threw Keraal to the ground. “Does anyone doubt it?”

  No one answered. Haruuc swept the crowd gathered on the bridge with an angry gaze. “Darguun is the land of the people. The mighty people. The quick people. The strong people. The people who ruled Khorvaire before humans came.” He thrust the Rod of Kings, gripped in his other hand, high against the sky. “This is the heritage of Dhakaan—a heritage that we will reclaim!”

  The silence held for a heartbeat longer—then was torn away by a roar from the gathered court. Geth felt like a leaf buffeted by the wind. It was all he could do to stand upright and stare at Haruuc.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  They returned to Khaar Mbar’ost surrounded by an ocean of noise. Word of Haruuc’s declaration spread ahead of the procession, and the excitement that had already gripped Rhukaan Draal was doubled. People clustered at the side of the street. They hung out of windows. They clung to rooftops. The sound they made was deafening. There was no hope of talking to Haruuc. It was just too loud. Munta rode up and tried to shout at the lhesh. Tariic tried. A whole series of warlords came forward and fell back, some looking worried, many looking pleased. Whatever they said or tried to say, the cheers of the crowd killed it. Geth, riding at Haruuc’s side, didn’t even bother making the attempt. Haruuc just rode on, smiling and waving.

  Geth felt like someone had punched him in the gut. This is the heritage of Dhakaan—a heritage that we will reclaim!

  By the time they reached the gates of the red fortress, the cheers of the people had become a chant of war. It took a line of soldiers three deep to keep the crowd from trying to follow the court inside. The casket, borne aloft by six bugbears, that contained Vanii’s body traveled within a bubble of more guards. Riots almost broke out when Keraal, back in the tribex drawn cart once more, was brought across the plaza around the fortress. It took soldiers from Dagii’s column to escort him to safety—and even then, he suffered a rain of spittle from disdainful warlords before he could be whisked to safety.

  In the comparative calm of Khaar Mbar’ost’s courtyard, Haruuc raised his hands in an appeal for silence. The court fell quiet. “We have a fallen friend to bid farewell to,” he called, “and a fallen enemy to punish. I will deal with these things before any others. But be assured”—he raised the rod—“I mean what I say!”

  The court roared its approval again. At least most of the court did. There were pale faces among the clan chiefs and especially among the representatives of the powers beyond Darguun. Geth noticed that the ranks of ambassadors and dragonmarked viceroys were thin—some of them must have managed to slip away. He had no doubt that messages were already being composed. Within a day, the most powerful people of Khorvaire would know what Haruuc had said on the bridge over the Ghaal.

  The lhesh acknowledged his court with another flourish of the rod, then strode out of the courtyard and along a corridor. Geth clenched his jaw and hurried after him. He wasn’t the only one. Munta and Tariic were on Haruuc’s heels—and with Tariic came Daavn of the Marhaan. Geth’s jaw clenched a little tighter at that.

  “Do you mean it, uncle?” Tariic asked as they went. “Will there be war?”

  “It’s a great thing, lhesh,” added Daavn. “You know you have the support of the Marhaan.”

  Munta used his bulk to cut off the other warlord as they went around a corner. “It’s madness,” he said. “Haruuc, we can’t go to war!”

  Haruuc stopped before a door—Geth recognized it as one that led to a small chamber off the dais of the throne room—and looked bac
k at them. His face was bright with energy and enthusiasm. “I didn’t say we were going to war,” he said. Tariic’s ears fell. Munta’s rose. Haruuc shook his head. “I didn’t say we weren’t, either.”

  “You signed the Treaty of Thronehold,” Munta growled.

  “If treaties were inviolable, the world would be a far different place,” said Haruuc. “In any case, I haven’t declared war yet.”

  “Yet,” repeated Geth.

  Haruuc frowned at him. “Keraal was right in one thing. Darguun stands on the doorstep of humans—but it’s our doorstep. The Five Nations occupy our house. They need to be reminded of that.” He flung open the door—and paused.

  Chetiin sat on the edge of a table in the room beyond.

  Haruuc glowered at the black-clad goblin. “And what do you want?”

  “To add the voice of an old friend.” He slipped off the table as Haruuc entered and looked up at him. “You’re letting a small success turn into a big mistake, Haruuc. You’ve won a victory over a rebel clan. You’ve brought Darguun together.” He pointed at the rod. “You’ve secured the symbol of authority that will allow your successor to hold Darguun together as well. But you’re not powerful enough to take on the Five Nations. Darguun isn’t powerful enough.”

  “Listen to him, Haruuc,” said Munta. “You know it’s true. You’ve said it yourself. Darguun has no friends in Khorvaire. If we try to attack any human nation, the others will come together against us.” The old warlord squeezed one hand into a fist. “We can’t fight a united force. The Treaty of Thronehold protects us as much as it limits us.”

  Daavn shook his head sharply. “You’re wrong, old man. The Five Nations are still recovering from the war. They hate each other more than they hate us. Now is the time to strike!”

  Haruuc turned to glare at him. “Why are you here, Marhaan? How did you become one of my councilors?” He looked at each of them in turn. His gaze settled on Tariic. “What do you have to say?”

  “I—” Tariic hesitated, his eyes on the rod in Haruuc’s grasp, then bowed his head. “I support whatever decision you make, lhesh.”

  “As you should,” Haruuc rasped. “As you all should.” He looked at them. “I am the lhesh. I created Darguun. You will follow me. Is there any question of that?” He thumped a fist against his chest.

  Tariic and Daavn repeated the gesture. So did Munta, although a little more slowly—and, Geth thought, regretfully.

  Chetiin did not. He stood looking up at Haruuc, and his big ears twitched. “Haruuc,” he said quietly, “when we brought the rod to you, you told us that if we ever had need, you would listen. I have need. I want you to listen.”

  Haruuc’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “Then speak,” he said.

  “For as long as I’ve know you, you’ve put thought before deed. Now you’re letting Keraal’s words goad you into action. Think before you act on your words, or you put Darguun in danger.” The goblin bent his head. “That’s all I can say, old friend.”

  “Cho,” said Haruuc. “It is.” He leaned over Chetiin. “Now you will listen to me, ‘old friend.’ Keraal’s words don’t goad me. They show me the way. They agree with what I see as the future of Darguun—a future as glorious as the past.” His eyes narrowed. “And I should ask what the shaarat’khesh care for Darguun. The Silent Clans have always stood apart. They’ve never shown their loyalty to me.”

  Chetiin stiffened. “The shaarat’khesh owe no allegiance beyond our contracts. We never have. I am here as your friend.”

  “Would a friend stand against me?”

  “I stand with you, Haruuc.” His scarred voice strained. “I stand with you and try to make you see that you follow a path to disaster!”

  Rage flooded Haruuc’s face and his hand shot out. Chetiin was faster—he slid away from the lhesh. His arms crossed and suddenly he held the curved dagger he kept sheathed on his left wrist. Tariic started to draw his sword. Geth’s hand snapped out and closed on his arm, forcing the weapon down again. Tariic glared at him, but Geth just shook his head.

  Chetiin and Haruuc stared at each other, then Haruuc straightened. “Get out,” he said. “Get out of Khaar Mbar’ost. You’re no friend of mine. When I need the shaarat’khesh, I will hire you—or perhaps another.”

  For a moment, Chetiin was very still, staring at Haruuc, then he slowly straightened as well and slid his dagger back into its sheath. “You are not the Haruuc I have known for so many years. You will destroy what you have built unless you are stopped.” The black-clad goblin glanced at Geth, nodded once, then put his back to Haruuc and walked out the door.

  The lhesh clenched both fists around the Rod of Kings as if he could snap the wrist-thick byeshk. He turned and glared at Munta, Tariic, and Daavn. “Go wait with the rest of the court. You have places there. If you have anything more to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

  The three hobgoblins left the room like scolded children.

  Geth lifted his head as Haruuc’s eyes fell on him. “What about me?” he said. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “You were going to leave already, weren’t you?” Haruuc eased his grip on the rod and took a slow breath. “Stay long enough to do one thing, then you may go. Leave Darguun. I’ll release you from your responsibility for the games. I will not call on you as a shava ever again.”

  “What’s this one thing?”

  “Stand with me to honor Vanii.” He looked at Geth. “For the sake of friends lost in battle, stand with me.”

  Geth’s mouth twisted. “You’re a bastard, Haruuc.”

  “I’ve been called worse. You’ll do it.”

  “I’ll do it—for Vanii,” Geth said. “He has no blame in this. He deserves to be honored.”

  “I liked your bluntness from the moment we met, Geth. Aram chose well when it accepted you.” He turned the Rod of Kings in his hands for a moment, then jerked his head at the door that led onto the dais in the throne room. “Come through. Razu will open the great door and let people in soon.”

  As soon as Haruuc opened the door, however, Geth could see that there had been a change in the throne room. The big, blocky throne had been shifted to one side of the dais to make way for a bench-like stone bier—for Vanii, Geth assumed—but also for something else. Standing over the bier, rising a little more than half the height of the throne room, was a tree sculpted of white stone. A thick trunk rose, narrowed, then spread and split into curved segments. The stone branches were sharp with ridges and thorny spikes that cast hard shadows in the torchlight that lit the throne room. The entire tree was cut with grooves along and across its surface. Many of the grooves were stained dark. Geth’s stomach rose into his throat. He’d seen the tree’s twin—the original, in fact—in the great underground hall of Taruuzh Kraat, the workshop of Taruuzh. This one was smaller than that had been, but it was still frightening to look upon.

  Geth could hear the faint sound of the court waiting in the antechamber beyond the great carved doors, but for now the throne room was empty and silent. He looked to Haruuc. “That’s a real grieving tree. An original Dhakaani grieving tree.”

  The lhesh leaned against the throne and stared up into the branches. “There are ruins in the south of Darguun that have lain undisturbed for many centuries. When I forged the alliance among the Ghaal’dar tribes that became Darguun, I traveled everywhere in search of allies—even through the Torlaac Moor and into the jungle of the Khraal. I found this in the Khraal and had it brought back into the north. It’s been hidden until now. Waiting for the right time to be used.” He glanced at Geth. “A secret is only a surprise once.”

  Geth felt sick. “Have you ever seen a true grieving tree feeding?”

  “Feeding … I hadn’t thought to call it that. But yes. One of the men I had with me when we found it accidentally activated it. I know the words.” He spoke a word in something that sounded like Goblin but that Wrath didn’t translate for Geth. A shiver passed through the stone branches of the tree. Haruuc spoke another
word and the shivering stopped. Geth looked away and tried not to think of Keraal hung in the branches.

  “Do you really want revenge for Vanii’s death so badly that you want to do this to Keraal?” he asked.

  “I told you,” Haruuc said, “this isn’t about Vanii—”

  Something inside Geth snapped. “Boar’s snout!” He turned back to Haruuc, his teeth bared. “If this wasn’t about Vanii, you wouldn’t have made Iizan’s slaves move a forest in three days. You would already have planned something.”

  Haruuc’s ears bent flat. “The Gan’duur warriors had to die. Their clan had to be destroyed.”

  “You could have found another way to do it! You’re selling women and children into slavery. Couldn’t you have sold the warriors, too?”

  “I do what I must for Darguun!”

  “Stop saying that!” Geth shouted at him. “It’s not for Darguun! How can it be for Darguun? This …” He pointed at the grieving tree. “This I can see in a twisted way is good for Darguun. I can see that Keraal has to die and maybe even that he has to die painfully if that’s what your tradition says is necessary. But how is going to war good for Darguun? How is risking that the other nations of Khorvaire won’t destroy you utterly good for Darguun?” He walked across the dais to face Haruuc. “Chetiin and Munta were right. You’re going to destroy what you’ve worked to build.”

  “I do what I must!” Haruuc thrust out the rod. “I do what a king must!”

  And suddenly Geth understood. He stared at Haruuc and the rod. “Grandmother Wolf,” he said. “Grandfather Rat.” Slowly, he drew Wrath and held it out before him. “Aram, the Sword of Heroes. Guulen, the Rod of Kings. The sword shows me tales of the heroes who held it and pushes me to be like them.” He looked into Haruuc’s face. “The rod shows you the emperors.”

  Haruuc opened his eyes a little wider. “You too?” he asked. “Then you understand! Taruuzh said, ‘In this are the glories of the people. Bear them in mind and the people will always know their king.’ He wasn’t speaking in a metaphor.” He brought the rod close and tapped the heavy byeshk softly against his temple. “I see the wonders of Dhakaan. I want Darguun to be like that. Guulen shows me how. Guulen shows me what it truly means to be a king.”