The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 (51 page)

“What if he did?”

“Ashi says you were attacked by desperate bandits on your return journey. What if there was no desperation in that attack? She said locals told you the bandits had come south from Rhukaan Draal a couple of weeks before. What if they’d been hired to wait along the road for your return?”

Geth frowned. “That’s risky. No one could have known we’d come back that way.”

“Call it a calculated risk. Based on what Tariic told Daavn, you were most likely to return to Rhukaan Draal the same way you had left.” Vounn’s grip tightened. “The fires in Rhukaan Draal were set by locals hired by a masked hobgoblin. The changeling who tried to kidnap me was hired in Rhukaan Draal by the same person. We assumed it was Keraal. If the bandits were hired in Rhukaan Draal, too, that changes things. It’s possible Keraal might have found out about your mission for Haruuc, but Daavn definitely knew about it—and he’s no friend of Haruuc’s.”

“It’s a thin argument,” Ashi said. “It’s all suspicion.”

“But Haruuc needs to know. Haruuc or someone who can be trusted.”

“What about Tariic?” asked Geth. “If Daavn was using him for information, he should know.”

Vounn shook her head. “You haven’t been paying attention in court.” She looked around, then nodded toward the crest of the bridge.

Tariic stood with Daavn, laughing heartily.

“Tariic’s been making allies among the warlords,” Vounn said. “He’s expecting Haruuc to name him as his heir. Since the last assembly of warlords, Daavn has become one of his closest friends. They’re not often apart.” She turned back to Geth. “I don’t think he’d believe me. You have to tell Haruuc. Daavn needs to be investigated.”

“I—” Geth stared at her, then shook his head. “No. I can’t.”

“Geth!” Vounn hissed. “This is serious! If I’m right, Daavn is a threat.”

“And if I tell Haruuc your suspicions, what do you think he’ll do? He’ll send Dagii after the Marhaan and the warriors of another clan will hang on the grieving trees.”

Ashi’s eyes opened wide. “Blood in your mouth! He wouldn’t do that.”

“Right now, I think he would.”

Somewhere in the distance, a horn wailed, rising and falling in the dusk like the scream of a hunting cat. A murmur ran through the gathered warlords, and they all turned to look along the road to the north.

“That’s the signal from Dagii,” said Geth. “He’s close. I have to go.” He pulled Vounn’s hand from his. “I’ll tell Munta. He’ll know what to do.” He looked at Ashi. “If you’re staying in Rhukaan Draal until after the games, we’ll be able to talk on the road.”

“You’re leaving?”

Geth nodded, then turned and pushed his way back to where Haruuc stood, now at the front of the crowd. The lhesh barely gave him a glance as he took up his position at his shoulder.

The column of Dagii’s soldiers was still just a cloud of dust on the other side of a hill in the road, but Geth could already hear the rattle of arm and treading of feet. There was another sound, too— the screaming and crying of dozens of voices. “What’s that?” he asked Haruuc.

“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.

T
hey 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 back 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.”