Don Bassingthwaite - The doom of Kings

The caravan master’s face turned as red as the goblin’s uniform, and he snatched at a scroll the runner offered to him. The noise in the compound rose at the sudden delay. The goblin, however, turned around as if searching for something more and his gaze landed on Geth. He stumbled over to him. “Shava, Lhesh Haruuc calls you to Khaar Mbar’ost immediately!”

Geth stiffened, and his eyes opened wide, but before he could say anything the caravan master’s voice rose in another bellow. “Someone fetch the viceroy! He needs to see this. Kol Korran’s golden bath-closing the roads for mourning?”

It was as if the din of the compound suddenly faded into the distance. Mourning, Ashi thought. Who died?

Ekhaas, her face suddenly gray, spoke the name that none of them wanted to hear. “Dagii.”

Then the duur’kala was sprinting across the compound to where she and the others had left their horses. Geth would have run after her, but Vounn grabbed his arm.

“I’m going with you,” she said. The shifter nodded sharply and pulled away.

Vounn looked to Ashi. “Wait here until we know what’s going on.”

“He was my friend, Vounn!”

Vounn’s faced softened slightly. “I know, but I want you out of Darguun. If the chance comes to leave, I want you to take it.”

“Why?” Ashi asked. “Vounn, what’s wrong?”

But Vounn was already hurrying after Geth and Ekhaas, and Tariic along with her. In only moments all four were galloping out of the compound in a cloud of Rhukaan Draal’s yellow dust.

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.”