Don Bassingthwaite - The doom of Kings

He shook the shifter’s hand. Geth saw him out. Once the door was closed, he turned around and surveyed the chamber. The hair on the back of his neck and on his forearms had lifted while he’d been talking to Midian. They hadn’t been alone in the room, but at least the unseen presence seemed familiar. “Chetiin?” he said.

The sharaatkhesh elder slipped out from behind a cabinet that Geth could have sworn had been flush against the wall. “I spent too much time riding with you,” he said in his scarred voice.

“How did you get in here?”

“With Midian.”

“No, you didn’t,” Geth said. Chetiin’s ears just twitched slightly. Geth shook his head and sighed. “Was there something you wanted?”

“To wish you luck in the ritual. If it succeeds, preparations are ready and we’ll ride out in three days.”

“Why wait so long?”

“It was Senen’s suggestion. She thinks you may need time to recover after the ritual.”

Geth grimaced. “That doesn’t sound promising,” he said. “You’ll be able to use the time, though-you’ll need to arrange supplies for an extra person. Ashi’s probably going to come.”

Chetiin’s face creased in a smile. “So I heard-but that’s no problem. I assumed that she’d eventually get her way and planned accordingly. We’ll still be ready to go. Tariic is lending us some of his magebred horses for the journey.”

“Will you need to ride with me again?”

“I have arranged for my own mount this time.” the goblin said. His smile disappeared, though. “The news of a traitor in Matshuc Zaal is disturbing. I heard it from Haruuc this morning.”

“A traitor could let enemies pass through Matshuc Zaal,” said Geth.

Chetiin shook his head. “The Gan’duur oppose Haruuc, but they have no more desire to see the forces of Breland enter Darguun than anyone else. It’s disturbing to know that the Gan’duur found a sympathizer in such a sensitive position. Their strength is increasing. For Haruuc’s sake, I hope our mission is a swift one.” He went to the door, then turned back to look at Geth. “I’m pleased that you’ve chosen to work with Haruuc, Geth.”

“I thought the Silent Clans were officially neutral.”

“We are. I’m pleased because I like you.” Chetiin’s expression was sober. “You should know that the bearer of Aram isn’t as important to Haruuc’s cause as the sword itself. If you hadn’t agreed to help us-here, in Sigilstar, or in Lathleer-I would have had to kill you and take Aram. I’m glad I didn’t have to do that.”

A chill brought Geth’s hair up again, but before he could say anything, there was another knock on the door. Chetiin stepped to one side of the door and motioned for Geth to open it. The shifter did. It was Senen and Ekhaas, both dressed in black robes. Senen held out a fold of white fabric to him.

“It is time,” she said.

Geth glanced down and was somehow not surprised to find that Chetiin was gone. He took the white fabric from Senen. It turned out to be a simple linen robe with a loose belt. “Undress and put it on,” Senen told him. “You must wear nothing else.”

She and Ekhaas turned their backs. Geth shrugged and followed her instructions. As he undressed, he asked as casually as he could, “Ekhaas, what would have happened if I hadn’t agreed to go to Sigilstar with Chetiin?”

“I would have gone to Lathleer or wherever you were and tried to talk you into coming myself.”

The answer was direct and honest, but Geth couldn’t help but wondering if it came too easily. He pushed away the cold feeling that welled up inside him and pulled the robe over his head, tying the belt around his waist.

“Ready,” he said.

Senen turned and looked him over, then pointed at his throat. “Nothing else.”

Geth reached up and his fingers touched the collar of black stones. “No,” he said. “I keep this.”

“Anything you wear could affect the ritual,” Senen insisted. “Take it off.” She stepped forward as if she’d pull it off him herself.

“Senen,” Ekhaas said quickly, “it won’t interfere. It’s an orc Gatekeeper artifact, and Gatekeeper magic only makes Aram more powerful. I’ve seen it.”

Senen looked at Ekhaas, her ears folded down, then she moved back. “Are you certain?” she asked. “Nothing can go wrong.”

Ekhaas glanced at Geth, then nodded.

Senen pursed her lips and for a moment reminded Geth very strongly of Vounn. “Ban,” she said. “Bring Aram in its scabbard and come with us.”

They led him up, climbing higher and higher in the tower. Geth’s stomach gurgled unhappily, and the exertion of climbing made his head feel a little bit light. Senen nodded approvingly. “It is as it should be,” she said.

Geth held back a curse.

The final climb was up a tightly wound spiral staircase down which flowed the smell of night air. The stone steps were cold under Geth’s feet. When they stepped up from the staircase, they were on the very roof of Khaar Mbar’ost, a small space that was perhaps fifteen paces from side to side and surrounded entirely by open air. Geth didn’t need to go near the edge to know how high above the ground they were. The sounds of the city that were clearly audible from lower windows were only a dull murmur, obscured by the constant whisper of a breeze. The sun was just settling below the horizon, and the sky that surrounded them was a fiery canopy, purple like Wrath in the east and overhead, blue, then pink, then red and orange to the west. The moons had not yet risen, no stars were visible, and the Ring of Siberys was a pale smear in the south.

Another person waited on the roof, another hobgoblin woman in a black robe like those Ekhaas and Senen wore. The third woman was old, though-so old and seemingly frail that when she moved to meet them it was like watching an injured bat crawl across a rock. Her eyes were sharp, however, and she looked him over carefully, asking the same questions about the stone collar-in Goblin this time-that Senen had. Ekhaas gave her the same answer, but at least the old woman grunted and nodded with more conviction than Senen had, then turned to Geth.

“I am Aaspar,” she said. “This is the first part of the ritual that will wake Aram.” She gestured around them with a gnarled hand. “Tonight you will hold vigil beneath the moons and think on the history of the sword that you hold in your hand.”

“I don’t know its history,” said Geth.

The old woman looked at him blankly and Ekhaas murmured in her ear, translating his words for her. Aaspar clicked her tongue. “You know the history. Ekhaas tells me she has told you stories of the name of Kuun. They are the same.”

Geth blinked. He remembered-vaguely-stories Ekhaas had told him to pass the nights during a desperate race across the Shadow Marches. “I… I might not always have been listening,” he said.

Ekhaas scowled at him as she translated, and Aaspar laughed.

“Think on them. You’ll remember more than you believe. Now go to the circle and kneel. Leave Aram’s scabbard outside it before you enter.”

There was a circle drawn on the rooftop in charcoal. Geth walked to it, drew Wrath, set aside the scabbard, and stepped into the circle, kneeling on the stone of the roof. Aaspar swooped down after him, more like a bat than ever, and with a quick motion filled in a small portion of the circle that had been missing.

“When we are gone, you may move about the roof,” she said, “but you must remain awake and you must hold onto Aram through the night. Don’t release it. Do you understand?” He nodded and she clicked her tongue again. “We will return at dawn.”

She stepped back to form a line with Ekhaas and Senen. “Face the sun,” she told Geth, and he shifted around so that the red light was in his eyes. The movement put the three women at his back. His shoulders prickled, knowing they were back there but not knowing what they were doing.