The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 (52 page)

“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.”

“You were already a king.”

“And weren’t you already a hero before you took up Aram—the sword that won’t accept the grasp of a coward?” Haruuc’s ears flicked. “If the sword pushes you to be like the Dhakaani heroes, you know what I feel.
Maabet
, Geth, think of it. These were Taruuzh’s gifts to Dhakaan, a sword that makes heroes great and a rod that makes kings greater.” He turned the rod so that the light of the torches in the throne room flashed on the dark purple surface. “The emperors of Dhakaan understood the importance of putting storytellers in the streets. They understood the bloodthirst of the people when an enemy is defeated. They understood the power of war, of the mere threat of war. Even when the empire stretched across half the continent, the emperors sought conquest! What do the heroes of the name of Kuun tell you?”

Geth could feel Wrath throbbing in his grip, could almost see its memories of the distant heroes flickering at the edge of his vision. “They tell me to be fearless,” he said. “To protect my friends. To let my deeds inspire the people.”

“No more? I feel a power in Guulen, Geth. I know that the emperors found more than just guidance in the rod.” Haruuc smiled,
as if at a secret. “I can sense it, just out of reach. I think sometimes that all I need to do is find a way to impose my will on Guulen and no command I give will ever be refused.”

Geth’s belly clenched. The true power of the rod was waiting to be uncovered. “Haruuc, this isn’t right,” he said. “You wanted the rod as a symbol of rulership.”

“The ultimate symbol for something is the thing itself,” said Haruuc. “I’ll lead Darguun to greatness as the emperors led Dhakaan!”

“Darguun isn’t Dhakaan!” Geth said. “There are no more emperors. Eberron isn’t the same as it was five thousand years ago! There were no other nations to challenge Dhakaan. Its only enemies were the elves. Now the elves are only one of many nations ready to fight you. Munta said it—if you move against one, all of the others will come back against you. Look at the Valenar. They know the same thing. Darguun and Valenar might have signed the Treaty of Thronehold at the end of the Last War, but you know that every other nation is watching both of you very closely.” He drew a breath through his teeth. “Dhakaan was already great when Taruuzh forged Guulen and Aram, Haruuc. The emperors who held the rod never had to fight the kind of war Darguun would.”

“I haven’t declared war. I don’t need to declare war.” Haruuc stood up straight, savagely majestic in his armor, the spiked crown flashing on his head. “You see how just the threat of war brings my warlords together?”

“You barely have a grip on some of them, Haruuc. How long will it be before one decides to make a strike in your name? Or before one of the other nations takes your threats seriously and finds a way to strike first? Breland and Zilargo are just across the mountains. And what will happen if the warlords realize your threats are just posturing? They
want
a war. The only thing that has kept Darguun at peace has been your vision of a homeland for your people.”

“The warlords will obey me!”

“Keraal didn’t. Look where his rebellion led.” Geth lowered Wrath. “You’re on the edge of destroying Darguun. What the rod is telling you might have been true in the time of Dhakaan, but it’s not true now. You need to stop listening to it.”

Haruuc’s lips peeled back from his teeth.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
he shouted. “At first it frightened me, and I tried to block it out, then I stopped when I saw what it was trying to do for me and Darguun. But from the moment I’ve held it, Guulen has been in my head and I can’t shut it out.” He slammed the rod down onto the seat of the throne, then pointed at it. “There! I still know what the emperors knew. I still hear the call to war. I still want Keraal’s blood.”

Geth stared at him in shock. He could push Wrath’s memories away if he wanted to—it was easy. But before he claimed it, Wrath had lain silent in the ghost fortress of Jhegesh Dol for five thousand years. The rod had remained in the grasp of Dabrak Riis, trapped in the timelessness of the Uura Odaarii. Geth swallowed. “I took the rod from Dabrak Riis. I carried it. Why didn’t it speak to me?”

“Because you’ve already been claimed by Aram. Because the Sword of Heroes can’t be held by a coward and the Rod of Kings answers only to someone with the will to rule,” Haruuc said. His mouth twisted and he looked down at the rod. “The emperors knew that.” His hands squeezed hard on the back of the throne. “Help me,
shava,”
he said. “Help me save Darguun again.”

“How—?” Geth started to ask, but the answer burst over him before he could even finish. “Ashi! Her dragonmark may be able to block the rod’s influence on you.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough,” Geth said. He sheathed Wrath—just as three slow knocks sounded against the great wooden door of the throne room.

Haruuc started. “Razu,” he said. “It’s time to end Keraal’s rebellion.” He let go of the throne’s back and walked around it. His hand hovered over the rod, then he took it and seated himself. Geth hissed, but Haruuc shook his head. “This can’t be delayed. It must be done. Nothing can save Keraal now. I would only look weak if I let him live. I know this without the rod. But hurry.” The lhesh raised his voice in a powerful shout and said in Goblin, “Enter! Enter to mourn! Enter to witness judgment!”

Down at the end of the throne room, the great wooden door began to rise.

Geth jumped down from the dais and raced up the aisle. Ashi would be with the court. He could catch her as she entered and take her around to the side of the dais. She only needed to touch Haruuc and they could put an end to this—

And why do you care so much? he found himself wondering. Not so long ago, you were ready to leave and put Darguun behind you.

He ground his teeth together. Call it the influence of the sword, he thought. But Haruuc’s words came back to him.

Weren’t you already a hero before you took up the sword?

“Rat,” he muttered as he slid to a stop beside the rising door. Shins were visible on the other side. Knees. Thighs. Waists. Geth threw a final look back at Haruuc, sitting like a statue on his throne, then ducked under the moving door.