The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [159]
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