The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [155]
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