Don Bassingthwaite - The doom of Kings

No, she realized. Not waiting. Clustered together, they faced the trolls that crouched like guard dogs on the ancient stone stairs. Dabrak’s voice rolled out of the shrine.

“Bring back the rod!”

Empty-handed, she turned to stare into the firelight that spilled from the shrine’s door-firelight that was swiftly blotted out by an intense green glow. Shining with power, untouched by the flames of the pits, a withered figure filled the doorway. Around it, the fine carvings of the ancient shrine became dull and dusty, as if the long delayed years of its preservation were being drawn away. Green light cast sharp shadows into the bottom of the pit. The low growling of the trolls rose into frightened mewling.

Burning from within like a coal from a fire, Dabrak Riis, marhu of Dhakaan and twenty-third lord of the Riis Dynasty, stretched out his hand. “Give me the rod!” Time shivered at his words.

But Ashi stared at his fingers.

They were shriveling, shrinking away even as he opened them. His arm grew thin. It was a stick, then a switch, then a long, dry twig. Ashi looked up at his face and watched wrinkled skin draw tight over bone that became green ash. Dark hair sifted away. Silk crumbled. Gold flared bright, burning up as if it were paper.

And like a coal from a fire, Dabrak’s power consumed its fuel. Without speaking again, the last living emperor of Dhakaan collapsed in a winking shower of green sparks that were dark before they hit the ground.

Darkness fell over the pit once more, and its silence was broken by the wailing of the trolls as they fled. Ashi and all of the others stared at the black dust that had been Dabrak as it slowly trickled from the featureless ruins that had been a perfectly preserved pre-Dhakaani shrine.

Then they turned to look at Geth. The shifter held out the Rod of Kings. “We have it,” he said.

Dawn came as they climbed back up the stairs from the pit. Like the shrine, the ancient stonework had crumbled, but the same weird stillness remained in the air. The Uura Odaarii still held its power, even if some of it seemed to have been drawn back. Midian even recovered enough to moan about the loss of the astounding artifacts.

Ashi and the others were less interested in the crumbled stairs than in the trees and the forest around them. How much time had passed while they were in the green cavern? Had a night turned into a year as in Geth’s story of fairy glades? It was hard to tell. The air felt different than it had in the night, but that could just have been the breaking day. The forest in the valley seemed as it had the day before, but what was there to tell one day in the forest from the next? There was no sign of the terrified trolls.

The hedge of thorns, when they reached it, still had the fresh smell of trampled plants, though. Above the slope of the valley, the remains of the bugbear camp still smoldered. Marrow was even waiting for them, still licking red blood from her black muzzle. She yipped and growled at Chetiin.

“She says the bugbears have fled into the mountains to the west. She’s disappointed we came back, though. She wanted to find out what a magebred horse tastes like.”

Midian let out a hiss of relief. “One night,” he said. “One night was one night.”

“Cho,” said Ekhaas, “and I don’t want to have another one like it.” She gestured to the south, where they’d left the horses. “Let’s get back out to the Dhakaani road and make camp there. We’ll start back to Rhukaan Draal tomorrow.”

“Wait-how far have the bugbears fled?” Geth asked. He looked at Marrow. “Was Makka, the chief, still with them? Is there any chance we could catch him and get Ashi’s sword back?”

Marrow snarled an answer. “Beyond this mountain,” Chetiin translated. “Beyond the length of the valley before Marrow stopped following them, but they were still running. They probably won’t stop until night falls again. Makka was with them when they left. Whether he is still is uncertain-the pack has turned on the leader.”

“Bugbears move fast, especially in their own territory, and they’ll be alert for pursuit.” Dagii’s ears bent down. “I doubt that we’d be able to catch them without spending days to do it. The sword is lost.”

Geth’s jaw tightened.

Ashi felt the loss of Kagan’s honor blade all over again, but it wasn’t the only thing making a knot inside her. “I know,” she said. “Thank you for considering it. There’s something else, though.” She swallowed, not quite certain how to say what she knew in her gut needed to be said. She threw herself into it. “Should we take the rod back? Haruuc sent us to retrieve a symbol of power. We’re bringing him real power. Should we put that in his hands-or anyone’s hands?”

She looked around at the others and nearly bit her tongue when she saw the same concern written on their faces. “I’ve thought about that,” said Dagii.

Chetiin and Midian nodded as well. So did Ekhaas, but more slowly. “Dabrak said that it took him centuries to unlock the powers of the rod,” she said. “For generations of emperors, it was nothing more than a trinket. Dabrak is gone.”

Geth held out the rod again. Unlike the other things that had been preserved by the Uura Odaarii, it had remained whole and untouched by the withdrawal of the cavern’s power. Its surface did seem duller, though, not quite so bright as it had while Dabrak held it. “I think it might even be asleep,” Geth said. “The way Wrath was when I found it.”

“But Wrath had powers even when it was asleep.”

“Speaking languages and fighting monsters.”

“Have you tried to do more with it?”

“Why should I?”

Chetiin raised his hand. “That may be our solution,” he said. They all turned to him and he spread his fingers. “If we keep the true power of the rod to ourselves, there’s nothing to hint at what it can do. The tales preserved by the Kech Volaar said nothing. Haruuc wants his symbol. Let him have his symbol.”

They looked at each other. Finally, Ashi said, “It’s a dangerous plan. What if Haruuc-or his successor-does discover the rod’s power?”

“Then we do what we have to,” said Chetiin. “But what else can we do now? Put the rod back and return empty-handed? Haruuc trusted us with the future of Darguun.”

Dagii’s ears bent back. “You don’t offer us an easy choice, Chetiin.”

“The choice between two secrets,” the goblin said, “is seldom easy.”

Haruuc had summoned the assembly of warlords back to Rhukaan Draal. When Vounn entered the gallery that overlooked the lhesh’s throne room, a clan chief was speaking below. “What you ask is difficult for my clan, lhesh. The Gan’duur raids left us with just enough food to see us through the lean months. If we give you what you have requested, our stores will run out.”

“They will be replenished, Ruuthic,” said Haruuc. “Not just in gold, but in kind. Food will come from Breland before your storehouses are empty.”

“Why not buy from Breland now?” Ruuthic asked.

“It takes time to negotiate the purchase and the shipment. The stores of Darguun are close at hand. Working together, we will overcome the weakness that the Gan’duur have inflicted on us.”

There were a number of people already in the gallery. Pater d’Orien. Sindra d’Lyrandar, viceroy of House Lyrandar in Darguul, together with a trio of men wearing the jackets of ships’ captains. Tariic, chatting with the Brelish ambassador. Senen of Kech Volaar and a few other representatives of clans who shared relations with Lhesh Haruuc but didn’t directly follow his rule. The gallery had been built specifically so that people like them, who had no place among the assembly, might have a place to listen discreetly to those proceedings they had an interest in. Vounn nodded courteously to Sindra, Senen, Tariic, and the ambassador from Breland, but took a seat beside Pater.