The doom of Kings

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Haruuc’s fortress was a hub of chaos. Messengers ran in and out. Soldiers prowled the courtyard. Inside, small groups of warlords came together, split apart, and reformed as they shared rumors. Geth caught snatches of their words, wild speculations for the most part: the Gan’duur were defeated, Keraal had broken through Dagii’s line and escaped, Breland was attacking the northern border, raiding parties of Valenar elves had appeared to pillage the country. Most of the warlords turned to look as Geth hurried past with Ekhaas, Vounn, and Tariic in his wake, but none tried to stop him. They respected the status of shava that Haruuc had bestowed on him, but they didn’t fully trust him.

Some tried to hail Tariic, but Haruuc’s nephew shook his head and shrugged. “We don’t know anything!” he called back to them.

Just outside the antechamber of the throne room, Munta joined them, his belly rolling as he walked. “Have you been summoned?” he asked Geth.

The shifter nodded.

Munta grunted, “Did he tell you anything?”

“No, but we were at the Orien compound and he sent a message to them that the roads were closed for mourning.”

Munta’s ears rose. “Maabet.” He looked at the others. Tariic just shrugged again. Ekhaas gave no reaction at all.

Vounn’s eyes darted to Tariic, however, and Geth saw her lean a little toward Munta as they walked. He didn’t catch what she said, but Munta gave another grunt. “It will need to wait until later, Vounn,” he said softly.

A small crowd stirred in the antechamber, mostly waiting messengers, but also a few warlords and clan chiefs being kept back by guards. On the stairs up to the throne room, Razu, Haruuc’s old mistress of rituals, waited with more guards. Behind her was something Geth had never seen before-a titanic slab of dark wood that filled the entrance to the throne room and extended up into the ceiling. A wall that could be raised and lowered when Haruuc wanted privacy in the throne room, he guessed. It had been carved with scenes of combat in a vast landscape. Geth thought he recognized some of the most famous battles of Darguun’s birth, but there was no chance to examine the wooden wall closely. Munta mounted the steps to Razu.

“We are summoned,” he said.

“Enter,” the thin hobgoblin woman told him. She pointed to a pair of doors set flush into the wood. “And you, shava. The rest must wait outside.”

“What?” Tariic said. “I need to see my uncle!”

“I know who was summoned and who was not,” Razu said. “The lhesh’s orders are clear. Only those he summoned are allowed to enter.”

The guards around her closed their ranks. Tariic glowered but stepped back. Ekhaas caught Geth’s arm. “Find out what you can,” she said. Geth nodded and followed Munta up the steps and through the carved doors.

The noise of the antechamber vanished with the closing of the doors. The throne room was as still as the fortress had been chaotic. The light that filled it was cold and gray-the great windows showed a sky filled with heavy clouds, and beneath them Haruuc sat brooding on his throne, the Rod of Kings in one hand.

“Haruuc!” Munta called as they strode down the aisle. “What’s going on?”

Haruuc’s answer was to flick a piece of tightly curled paper, the scroll of a messenger falcon, at them. Munta caught it and scanned the lines written there. His ears rose, then sagged. He passed the scroll to Geth.

It was short but written in the dark, angular runes of Goblin. He couldn’t read it. Unless…

He grasped Wrath’s hilt and implored silently, Show me.

The ancient sword stirred and the runes became as clear in his mind as if someone had spoken the message aloud. To Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor-

The Gan’duur are broken. Keraal is my prisoner along with many of his warriors, but victory came at a price. Vanii of ja’aram fell in the final battle.

I return to Rhukaan Draal with his body that he may be given the honors due him.

— Dagii of Mur Talaan

Relief opened inside him. The mourning wasn’t for Dagii. Geth lowered the message and looked up at Haruuc. “I’m sorry.”

Haruuc’s ears flicked forward, and he met Geth’s eyes for the first time. “A hobgoblin doesn’t express sympathy for the death of a friend. A hobgoblin asks what he can do.”

“Then what can I do?”

“You can stand with me, last of my shava.” Haruuc bared his teeth. “And you can be unoffended when I say I wish I’d sent you against the Gan’duur instead of Vanii!”

The pain in Haruuc’s voice was naked. Geth bent his head. “I lost someone close to me in battle,” he said. “I understand.”

“Do you? It’s different for shava.”

Geth clenched his jaw and tried to hold his temper in check. “Not so different, I think.”

Munta raised his voice, interrupting quickly. “What must be done, Haruuc? We’ve heard that you’ve closed the roads, but this is a time of victory as well as mourning. How will people celebrate the triumph over the Gan’duur if they can’t get into Rhukaan Draal?”

“Cho.” Haruuc sat back on his throne. He stared out into the empty chamber with cold eyes. “First, we mourn, then we celebrate. For five days, no one is to travel except under my authority. No new fires are to be lit in Rhukaan Draal. At dawn and dusk, the streets will be empty-these will be the times of mourning. Munta, I place the enforcement of these laws in your hands.”

The old warlord looked startled. “Haruuc, aren’t the terms harsh? That’s the kind of mourning performed in a clan stronghold on the death of a warlord. You can’t mean for all of Rhukaan Draal to follow those terms.”

Haruuc just turned his cold eyes on him.

Munta nodded. “Mazo,” he said, “but it exceeds the mourning for Fenic and Haluun. Did you love your other shava any less?”

“Fenic and Haluun died in different times,” Haruuc said. “I must be strong. I must show my power. If I could have done this for them, Munta, I would have.” He leaned his head back and, after a moment’s silence, added, “The people may have fire. But the punishment for failing to observe mourning at dawn and dusk is a public whipping. If the people love me as they say they do, they will mourn with me.” He looked at Geth. “Your task will be to organize the games.”

“Games?” Geth asked.

“Contests of strength and skill. Tales from duur’kala. Fights between gladiators. Razu can help you with the details. One day of games for Vanii, three days for victory over the Gan’duur. Don’t look at me like that, Munta!” Haruuc’s voice rose to a sudden roar, and Munta, who had been about to speak, closed his mouth. “It is within my right! These will be games to remember. I want them to be talked about ten-no, twenty years from now. This is my gift to the people.”

“Lhesh,” Munta said humbly, “they will cost money. There are still food shortages. We still need to buy grain.”

“There is money enough.” Haruuc pointed at Geth. “Speak with Senen Dhakaan. Ask her about the games held in the time of the empire. Make me proud, shava.”

Geth swallowed and bent his head. “I will.”

At the back of the throne room, the carved door opened again to admit a thin, nervous hobgoblin who looked more like a merchant than a warlord. Haruuc’s ears went back, and he gestured for the hobgoblin to come forward. “Iizan of Ghaal Sehn, join us. The Ghaal Sehn hold the territory on the west side of the Orien trade road from the Gathering Stone to Rhukaan Draal?”

Iizan dropped down to his knees. “We do, lhesh.”

“And there is a forest in your territory, not too far from the road?”

“There is, lhesh. A small one.”

Haruuc nodded. “Good. Take the slaves from your fields-”

A flush sprang up in Iizan’s face. “The Ghaal Sehn no longer keep slaves, Lhesh Haruuc!” he said. “We followed your example and freed them.”

The lhesh stood and stepped down from his throne to stand over the kneeling hobgoblin. “I didn’t ask if you have slaves, Iizan! I know that you do. I know that seven of ten warlords who swear they follow my example still keep slaves in secret!”

He seized a handful of Iizan’s hair and dragged him to his feet so sharply that Iizan didn’t have a chance to cry out. “I want you to take the slaves from your field and raze that forest. Take the strongest trees, strip them of leaves and small branches, and stand them along the trade road, one pair every two leagues from the Gathering Stone to the bridge over the Ghaal River. This will be done within three days, in time for the return of the soldiers from the north. You will have aid-the slaves of neighboring clans will be sent to you.” He looked into Iizan’s face as if searching for something, then flung the warlord away. “Do this and you will be rewarded. Do you understand, Iizan?”

“Mazo, lhesh,” Iizan choked.

Haruuc gestured with the Rod of Kings, dismissing him, and the warlord fled. Geth stared at Haruuc as he returned to his throne. The image of a tree, bare of all but the strongest branches rose up in his imagination. He’d seen a shape like that before. From the expression on Munta’s face, he knew the old warlord recognized it as well.

Ekhaas had once told him that one of the greatest creations of Taruuzh, the ancient dashoor who had forged the Sword of Heroes and the Rod of Kings, had been a device of execution. In the time of Dhakaan, his device had spread to every city in the empire. The secret of making them had been lost in the Desperate Times after the empire’s fall, but hobgoblins of all clans, she’d said, still emulated their use in ending the lives of criminals and traitors.

Geth wet his lips and looked up at Haruuc. “Grieving trees?” he asked. His voice sounded thin in the emptiness of the throne room. “You’re lining the road to Rhukaan Draal with grieving trees?”

“The Gan’duur must be punished.” Haruuc’s face was hard.

Munta actually seemed frail with worry. “Haruuc, what will the Five Nations and the dragonmarked houses say? This is too much.”

“You have your instructions, Munta,” Haruuc said. “So does Iizan. Dagii’s instructions have been dispatched to him.”

“But the Five Nations-”

“This is no concern of theirs!” Haruuc’s voice rose again. “It is a matter for Darguun and Darguun alone. Our traditions are as old as our claim on this land, and both are older than the Five Nations. Go and do your duty, Munta. Let Rhukaan Draal know whom it mourns.”

There was a finality in his voice that would accept no further argument. The warlord of the Gantii Vus nodded stiffly, turned, and walked back up the long length of the throne room to the carved doors. Geth was left facing Haruuc alone. After a long moment, he asked, “Can I go too?”

“No. Stay. I’m expecting one more visitor, and I want you here as witness to one of the most sacred duties of a shava.” Haruuc gestured behind himself. “Stand at my shoulder. Where Vanii stood.”

Geth stepped up onto the dais and moved behind Haruuc. The lhesh lapsed into silence. Anger and disgust whirled in Geth’s mind. Organizing funerary games in memory of Vanii and to commemorate victory over a rebellion-that was something he could deal with. There was nothing he could object to except the task itself. The games even sounded like fun, but now they were irrevocably tainted by the thought of so many grieving trees and the victims they would claim.

“You know why I have to do this, don’t you?” Haruuc said without turning around.

“No,” Geth growled. “I don’t.”

“I have to show the other warlords what happens to rebels. I have to remind them of who I am-of what the lhesh is. It’s ironic that in defeating the Gan’duur, I have no choice but to become the bloody tyrant they wanted me to be. Our culture is not merciful, Geth. It does not favor forgiveness. Humans have difficulty understanding that. I thought a shifter might.” He paused, then added, “When your friend died in battle, what did you do?”

“I put my sword through the belly of the man who killed him,” Geth said. “Blood paid for blood spilled.”

“You killed him.”

Geth bared his teeth. “I killed him. I didn’t order someone else to hang him on a tree.”

“Is it so different from ordering soldiers into battle? People kill and die at the command of rulers all the time,” said Haruuc. “Don’t think I wouldn’t do it myself. When I read Dagii’s message, I wanted to ride north and put a sword through Keraal-although, of course, I don’t know it was Keraal who struck Vanii down. I wanted to put a sword through Dagii for letting Vanii die. I even wanted to put a sword through myself for sending him up there.” He let out a slow breath. “But this isn’t about Vanii, anymore. It’s not even about me. It’s about Darguun, just like retrieving the rod was.”

He rapped the byeshk shaft on the arm of his throne, and the heavy clang echoed in the room. “That’s the doom of kings, Geth. We’re men and women when we take the throne, but we lose ourselves to our people. We stop being individuals and become nations. And mark my words”-he twisted around to meet Geth’s eyes-“the nation of Darguun will not cry for the Gan’duur. It will dance under the grieving trees. It would dance if I hung on the tree. Darguun wants blood. The people always want blood.”

“Find another way to give it to them.”

Haruuc’s ears lay back. “But I am Darguun,” he said slowly. “I am one of the people.”

The hair on Geth’s arms and the back of his neck rose. He felt, for a moment, as if he was looking at Haruuc and all hobgoblins for the first time. Wide face, flat nose, mobile ears, sharp teeth-goblins were no more human than he was. Less, because his ancestors had been human once upon a time. The ancestors of the goblin races had always been goblins. But he understood what Haruuc meant. He had felt it himself, a discomfort in the sprawling cities of humans, a predator’s instinct to see crowds as either prey or threat.

But there had never been any question of giving in to those instincts. Shifters knew they were wrong. Any shifter who did give in was no better than an animal. Looking into Haruuc’s eyes, he knew it would be a mistake-it had been a mistake-to assume the same of goblins. He thought of a hundred little things about Ekhaas or Chetiin or the heroes of Kuun that Wrath remembered. How they ate. How they moved. How they spoke-so many ways to express honor and hierarchy, so many ways to say, “Thank you,” but no words, he realized abruptly, for, “You’re welcome.”

A goblin that gave in to his instincts was no animal. He was simply a goblin.

Suddenly, Geth felt like a tamed dog. He struggled to find something else to say, some other argument to put before Haruuc. “Think of the good of Darguun then,” he said. “Munta was right. The other nations of Khorvaire won’t like this.”

“And what will they do? For the sake of Darguun, I became a sheep. Now for the sake of Darguun, I must be a wolf again-and the sheep should be wary.”

The carved doors opened again. This time Razu stepped through. “Rekseen of Ja’aram comes in answer to Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor’s summons.”

Another hobgoblin woman entered, and Razu stepped out, closing the door behind her. Rekseen of Ja’aram wore the armor of a warrior and, although many years younger than he had been, bore a strong resemblance to Vanii. As she walked down the aisle of the throne room, Haruuc spoke quietly over his shoulder. There was grief in his voice again, existing alongside the craving for blood with no hint of contradiction.

“The most sacred duty of a shava,” he said, “has always been to take charge of his brother’s affairs when he dies and to carry news of his death. Our every tradition respects it. Vanii’s death serves Darguun now, but in this at least I can serve him. The grieving trees are not your concern, Geth. You’ve spoken as a shava should. Now organize the games as I’ve asked-and make sure she has good seats.” He rose from his throne, set down the Rod of Kings, and faced the warrior woman. “Rekseen of Ja’aram, I have news of your uncle.”

The time of mourning passed. Geth spent the next five days walking with a knife in his gut. Word of the funerary games to come and of the forest that grew along the road to the Gathering Stone spread in Rhukaan Draal. Just as Haruuc had predicted, the people of Darguun greeted both with eager anticipation.

He organized the games with a kind of numb detachment. In truth, Razu did most of the work for him-Haruuc’s throne room remained sealed and the lhesh in isolation, so there was little else for the mistress of ceremonies to do. Geth approved her suggestions without much thought. He wasn’t sure what else there was for him to do. He felt helpless and not at all heroic, in spite of a sense of approval from Wrath. He suspected that only came because he was fulfilling his duties as a shava.

Ekhaas and Chetiin were no help. They came to see him the first day, and he poured his emotions out to them-at least as much as he could without offending them. Both the duur’kala and the shaarat’khesh elder offered consolation, but no condemnation for Haruuc’s actions. “What did you think he would do, Geth?” Ekhaas asked. “Keraal didn’t act alone. All of the Gan’duur warriors were with him. At least Haruuc’s not using the rod.”

“Would you have done it?” Geth asked her bluntly.

Her mouth opened and closed, but she finally said, “Tales of the Empire of Dhakaan speak of even harsher actions.”

“So you would have done it.”

Ekhaas’s ears went back flat.

“It’s the right response for the situation,” Chetiin said. “I wouldn’t have expected it from Haruuc, but it’s what a strong ruler should have done. The warlords like it. Haruuc has greater support now than in the first years of his rule.”

If the Darguul warlords liked Haruuc’s actions, reaction from the representatives of the other nations of Khorvaire and the dragonmarked houses was exactly what Munta had said it would be. Razu’s main distraction from helping Geth plan the games was dealing with the formal messages of disapproval that arrived at Khaar Mbar’ost from ambassadors and viceroys. Most urged mercy. House Orien threatened action if Haruuc hung his victims along the trade road. First Ashi, stuck in Rhukaan Draal while the roads were closed, and then Vounn tried to contact Geth-guessing at what they wanted, he turned them away with shame and took to avoiding them.

Midian wasn’t so easy to get rid of. The gnome turned up in Geth’s chamber one morning. “You’ve got messengers crossing Darguun lining up fighters and strong men. Get me out of here. I’ve got supplies ready to go. I’ve got guards hired and costing me money every day. I want to be on the road!”

“Wait two more days,” Geth said. “You can leave then.”

“With every goblin in Darguun trying to get into the city for these games of yours? No, thank you. I want to go before they come. Word about the games was spreading across the country as soon as they were announced.” Midian’s mouth twisted. “Just like word is spreading that Dagii reached the Gathering Stone yesterday and is traveling south along the trade road now.”

A messenger falcon had come to Khaar Mbar’ost at dawn with the news that the grim march had begun. The Gan’duur were dying. Dagii’s arrival in Rhukaan Draal would coincide with the end of the mourning period. Geth hung his head and closed his eyes. “Go to Munta,” he said. “Tell him I said he should give you a pass out of the city.”

Midian gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Geth.”

Geth clenched his teeth. “You’re welcome.”

The fifth day of mourning came. The games that would commemorate Vanii’s death and the defeat of the Gan’duur were ready. Spectators and participants would begin to arrive the next day and for four days after that, the fields burned by the Gan’duur south of Rhukaan Draal would become the site of a celebration that would be talked about in ten-no, twenty years. “You’ve done well, Geth,” said Haruuc as his court gathered at dusk on the bridge over to the Ghaal River to wait for Dagii’s arrival.

“Razu did well, lhesh. She knew what needed to be done.” Geth looked across the crowd gathered on the crest of the bridge. The entire court had turned out-warlords, clan chiefs, and councilors. The sun’s last rays struck reflections from polished armor, threads of gold, and rich jewelry. Haruuc wore ornate armor edged with the claws of great cats polished like gems. The Rod of Kings shone in his grasp, twilight metal in the twilight of the day.

Geth curled his fist inside his great gauntlet. He had dressed in his best-clean pants, a good white shirt, and a fitted leather vest purchased in Rhukaan Draal’s markets-just as the other members of the court had, but by comparison he was a shadow. He felt like a shadow too. The Darguuls were filled with an excitement he didn’t feel at all. He drew a breath and said, “Haruuc, I’m leaving when the games are finished.”

Haruuc looked at him for a moment, then turned away to watch the road again. “It is your choice, but you judge me harshly, shava. I do what must be done.”

Geth didn’t have anything else he could say to that. He turned away.

Haruuc caught his arm. “I want you at my side when Dagii returns.”

“I’ll be back,” Geth said tersely, pulling his arm free and slipping into the crowd. Warlords called to him. The mistrust they’d shown him only days before seemed to have vanished as if organizing the funerary games had suddenly made him worthy of attention. Geth ignored them all and pushed to the other side of the bridge.

The southern bank of the Ghaal and both sides of the way through Rhukaan Draal were filled with the ordinary folk of the city, all of them eager for a glimpse of what was to come. Haruuc and he had both been wrong about one thing: It wasn’t just the goblins who wanted blood. The humans, elves, dwarves, and half-lings who had found a home in Rhukaan Draal were a part of the howling crowd as well.

They were represented on the bridge, too, but Geth couldn’t have called the representatives of the dragonmarked houses and the Five Nations eager for what was to come. They stood at the back of Haruuc’s assembled court, dressed as well as any hobgoblin but looking far more somber. None of them wanted to be there, he guessed, but none of them wanted to be seen to have stayed away, either.

“You!” Hands grabbed him roughly and turned him around. Ashi glared at him. She was dressed as a lady of Deneith and the effect was startling. Her voice, however, was as rough as ever. “You’ve been hard to talk to lately, Geth!”

“Hush.” Vounn appeared on Ashi’s other side to draw both her and Geth back against the rail of the bridge. Ashi didn’t release her grip on Geth’s arms, though.

“What do you think you’re doing, shutting yourself away?” she snarled at him. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“Let me go, Ashi.”

“No.” Her eyes searched his. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“You wanted me to get you out of Rhukaan Draal, didn’t you?” He looked away. “I couldn’t have done that. I didn’t want you to ask.”

Ashi slapped him. “Blood in your mouth! You got Midian out, didn’t you? That wasn’t why I wanted to talk to you at all! Ekhaas said you were angry at what Haruuc was doing. I wanted to know if you needed to talk about it.”

“You…” Geth stared at her.

“Rond betch, Geth, sometimes you need a friend to talk to when you’re stuck in a situation that makes you angry. I know that.” She didn’t look at Vounn, but Geth knew exactly what she was talking about. Vounn could probably guess as well. Her lips pressed together, but she said nothing. Ashi’s eyebrows drew together. “How are you feeling now?”

“Helpless.” The word slipped out before he even thought about it. He grimaced. “This is wrong, Ashi, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Haruuc won’t listen to me or to Munta. He doesn’t even care what the powers outside of Darguun think.”

“He knows there’s not much we can do,” said Vounn coolly. It earned her a glare from Ashi, but the lady seneschal ignored her. “The kings and queens of other nations can make sanctions, the dragonmarked houses can take economic action, but ultimately it’s a matter internal to Darguun. And one that needed to be dealt with. If we interfere too much, we weaken Haruuc, and the unity he built in Darguun disappears.”

Geth glowered at her. “And you wanted to talk to me so I’d feel better?”

Vounn’s lips pressed together again. “That wasn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Wait-Vounn?” Ashi looked from one of them to the other. “You were trying to talk to Geth too?”

“You didn’t know?” Geth asked her.

“Be quiet, both of you.” Vounn turned so that her back was to the crowd on the bridge and her face hidden from anyone who might be watching them. “Geth, do you remember that I tried to talk to Munta the day Haruuc closed the roads?”

He nodded but she didn’t wait for a response.

“I’ve been trying to talk to him or to Haruuc for the last five days. They wouldn’t see me. You were a third choice. Someone needs to get a message to Haruuc. I don’t think Keraal was the only one plotting against him. I don’t think Keraal was the one who had the fires started in Rhukaan Draal or tried to have me kidnapped.”

“What?”

Vounn grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, her fingernails digging into his flesh. “Keep your voice down! I don’t have any proof. While you were away, I overheard Tariic talking to Daavn of the Marhaan. Daavn got Tariic to tell him where you’d gone. Tariic lied when he said no one outside of Haruuc’s circle knew about your mission. Daavn knew you rode to the southwest on a mission for Haruuc.”

“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.