The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 (16 page)

Geth shaded his eyes and peered into the distance. Far away, he thought he could see what looked like worn blocks carved out of the living rock of an exposed rock face. “Grandmother Wolf,” he said. “Is that it?”

Ekhaas nodded, but, riding behind them, Midian coughed discreetly. “It’s not Kaal,” he said.

Ekhaas’s face darkened and her ears rose. “It is Kaal,” she said. “The Kech Volaar have records of it. One of the emperors of
Dhakaan even maintained a palace there. There’s a famous song written by one of his wives about the view from the baths in the cliff-side.”

“Maybe he kept a palace at a place called Kaal, but that’s not it.” The gnome kept his voice polite. “I don’t know about this song, but in my experience, descriptions of historic views are notoriously vague. Whatever view your song describes could probably match dozens of places in these mountains. Those ruins are old, no question, but they were built after the fall of the empire as a warlord’s stronghold. The design confirms it. The ‘baths’ there are cisterns built to hold water, nothing more.”

Ekhaas’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out. Kicking her heels into her horse’s side, she rode forward, away from the gnome. Ashi looked at Geth, then rode after her. Geth looked at Midian. “How do you know that this place isn’t Kaal?” he asked.

“A research team from the Library of Korranberg studied the place before the outbreak of the Last War,” Midian said with a shrug. “They wrote a classic paper. Very famous. Your Ekhaas shouldn’t be so sensitive. Kech Volaar legends and songs are interesting starting points, but they don’t always represent the facts.”

Geth could guess now why Ekhaas hadn’t been pleased to have Midian join their party. He felt a growl rising inside him but held it back. “I’ve seen things out of legend,” he said. “Legends have saved my life.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Midian said. He pointed at the sword hanging at Geth’s side. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re wearing a legend. But the Empire of Dhakaan rose fifteen thousand years ago from even older goblin kingdoms. It fell more than five thousand years ago. The legends to which modern Dhakaani clans like the Kech Volaar cling have been repeated and venerated for millennia. They’re not
always
accurate.” He winked at Geth conspiratorially. “That’s why I’m here—to give another perspective on the legends.”

“Wait, you know something about Haruuc’s task?” Geth asked.

Midian smiled, white teeth flashing in his tanned face. “No more than you do, I suspect, but it involves Dhakaani history and that’s what’s important to me. By Aureon’s blue quill, whatever
happens, it’s going to make a fine paper!” He looked ahead to where Ekhaas, accompanied by Ashi, was glowering back at him and sighed, then urged his pony into a trot. “We can talk more later, Geth,” he called back, “but I think I’d better go try to make peace with her, or we’ll have an unpleasant journey.
Duur’kala
don’t often have a good opinion of Korranberg researchers to begin with.”

“I wonder why,” Geth said under his breath.

Chetiin’s voice drifted up from behind him. “The ancient hobgoblins who first encountered gnomes in the jungles between the Seawall Mountains and the Howling Peaks thought they were somehow related to giant rats.”

“Did they really?”

“That’s what the legends say,” Chetiin said dryly, “but they’re not
always
accurate.”

T
hey reached the crest of the pass at dusk. The red light of the setting sun fell full on a massive keep that blocked the pass from side to side. The closer they drew to the keep, however, the less certain Geth was that it really was just a keep. The nearest side of the fortress was largely a blank wall with a reinforced ramp leading up to a single gate wide enough for three wagons to drive through at the same time. The road ended at the wall of the keep, though unlike at Sterngate, it didn’t run directly to the keep’s gate—ramp and gate were strangely misaligned, off-center with the road by a good ten paces. Parapets topped the wall, but behind them were a cluster of towers that rose so high it seemed as if they’d been built on top of the keep. Even odder were the buttresses filling the narrow gaps between the keep and the natural walls of the pass. Geth was no engineer, but it looked as if they were an afterthought, as if the entire keep had been dropped into the pass and efforts made afterward to make it fit the space.

Hobgoblins and bugbears guarded the ramp, gate, and parapets. Geth could hear them calling to each other as the mounted party approached and they recognized Haruuc’s banner. When their party was about fifty paces from the great wall, Aruget, Krakuul, and Thuun dismounted. Facing the keep, they gave a kind of salute by thumping their chests with a fist. Tariic saluted as well, though he remained mounted.

The guards at the foot of the ramp returned the salute. Tariic led the way forward once again, riding up to a hobgoblin wearing
polished armor painted with a silhouette of what Geth assumed were jagged teeth, then realized were actually mountains.

Geth leaned over to Ekhaas. “What is this place?”

“Matshuc Zaal,” she said. “The Stolen Fortress. Once it belonged to Breland as Veldarren, the largest of the mobile fortresses built during the Last War. They tried to bring it against Haruuc in 970 in the Battle of Marguul Pass. It was a disaster for them. Haruuc’s general trapped Veldarren in the pass and brought it down. Darguun’s triumph here forced Breland to sue for peace. It’s a tradition for Darguul soldiers to honor the dead of the battle whenever they approach. Matshuc Zaal will never move again, but now it marks the border of Darguun.”

They spent their first night in Darguun within the walls of Matshuc Zaal. Geth could truthfully say it was unlike any other fortress he’d ever been in. There were frequent reminders of Matshuc Zaal’s first life as Veldarren—splashes of Brelish blue paint, human-styled carvings, and a layout familiar to anyone with military experience—but it was all dominated by thirty years of occupation by Darguuls. Most of the carvings and decorations that might have appealed to a human sensibility had been hacked away at some point in the past and replaced, where decoration was called for, with garish fixtures of brass and banners depicting clan symbols. What Geth might have expected to be crew quarters, and probably had been intended as such, was instead the mess hall, with the open space of the mess hall turned into, from the sounds he heard as they passed, a training space.

A strange smell hung in the air, the odor of different races eating unfamiliar foods, and the entire fortress seemed strangely quiet. The mercenary company he’d served with during the Last War hadn’t been unruly, but there had been a friendly camaraderie when they’d been off duty. During the time that he’d spent more recently among an orc horde in the Shadow Marches, he’d gotten used to boisterous nights of drinking and fighting, bonding with the other warriors. Matshuc Zaal, on the other hand, was pervaded
by a sense of goblin discipline so strong it left him speaking in hushed tones and fighting back an urge to polish something.

The fortress was also dark. Not merely night dark, which wouldn’t have presented him with a problem, but as dark as a cave or a vault. The Darguuls had no difficulty, of course—goblin sight was different from a shifter’s nightvision—but only a few paces in from the big gates, Geth found himself as blind as Ashi or Vounn. Fortunately Midian had a small everbright lantern in his capacious pack, and that provided enough light for them to make their way without needing to be led.

There was a third distinct difference. As they were escorted through the fortress to their quarters for the night, Geth caught glimpses of huddled goblins or stick-thin hobgoblins, even a couple of scaly kobolds. Compared to the uniformed garrison of Matshuc Zaal, these creatures were dressed in tatters and rags. When Geth and his companions reached their quarters, another of the goblins was lighting a fire in the hearth. When they entered, she glanced up and actually cringed as if trying to make herself even smaller. She finished her work and all but fled out the door. Geth stared after her. Not even the menial goblins in the cities were so timid.

“Slaves,” said Vounn with disgust in her voice. Ever since her praise of Tariic’s horses at Sterngate, Geth had noticed that she’d been playing on her charm. The comment was the first hint of disapproval she’d expressed since the morning.

“Our people have kept slaves since before Dhakaan, Vounn,” said Tariic. His ears dropped apologetically. “It’s a difficult tradition to suppress, but since Haruuc embraced the worship of Dol Dorn and the Sovereign Host, progress has been made. He has freed his personal slaves and forbids others to bring slaves into his fortress. Warlords and clan leaders who seek his favor are following his example.”

“It holds you back, Tariic,” Vounn said. “If Darguun wants to be truly accepted as a civilized nation, then Haruuc—or his successor—needs to eliminate it.”

Tariic spread his hands. “You wash the bather, Vounn. I freed my slaves the day my uncle freed his.”

“The Dhakaani owned slaves?” Geth asked Ekhaas.

The
duur’kala
nodded. “Not all the people of the empire were heroes. The modern Dhakaani clans still keep slaves. Before I left Darguun I thought little of it, but the time I spent in the larger world has convinced me that the traditions of Dhakaan are wrong in that at least. Our people change slowly, though. Haruuc’s position has not added to his popularity.”

When slaves brought them dinner later, Vounn insisted that they eat a portion of the food as well. When they left, she had one of Tariic’s soldiers accompany them back to the kitchens with a harsh message that she’d been the one to feed them and that anyone who objected should come to her. No one came.

Pipes and drums signaling the change of a duty shift in the fortress roused their party before dawn, and they rode out of Matshuc Zaal’s eastern gate in thin but welcome light. They spent the second day of their journey in the descent of the pass and camped below the mountains that night. A well-used fire ring showed where many other groups had camped on the site.

“I’m surprised House Ghallanda hasn’t set up an inn here,” said Ashi.

“They did,” said one of the soldiers—Aruget, Geth thought. The hobgoblin pointed to the far side of the road. “You can still see the foundation over there.”

“What happened to it?” Geth asked.

The hobgoblin smiled. “Darguun.”

When they rose the next morning, they armed themselves as Tariic had suggested, putting their strength on display for any bandits that might otherwise be tempted to test them. Tariic and his soldiers donned armor of chain mail and linked plates, spiked at the joints. Ekhaas wore leather armor set with dark studs of steel. Midian produced a stiff leather vest. Neither Ashi nor Chetiin wore armor—they both fought fast and light, Geth knew, relying on skill and the steel of their weapons to protect them. Vounn didn’t don armor either, but just sat and watched the others with a smile of mild amusement.

For himself, Geth reached into his pack and pulled out a bundle wrapped in soft oiled leather. The bundle had taken up most of the space in the pack, and without its bulk the pack sagged like a discarded boot. He traveled light, but the bundle contained one of his most prized possessions. Setting it on a rock, he folded back the leather.