The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [163]
Geth felt like someone had punched him in the gut. This is the heritage of Dhakaan—a heritage that we will reclaim!
By the time they reached the gates of the red fortress, the cheers of the people had become a chant of war. It took a line of soldiers three deep to keep the crowd from trying to follow the court inside. The casket, borne aloft by six bugbears, that contained Vanii’s body traveled within a bubble of more guards. Riots almost broke out when Keraal, back in the tribex drawn cart once more, was brought across the plaza around the fortress. It took soldiers from Dagii’s column to escort him to safety—and even then, he suffered a rain of spittle from disdainful warlords before he could be whisked to safety.
In the comparative calm of Khaar Mbar’ost’s courtyard, Haruuc raised his hands in an appeal for silence. The court fell quiet. “We have a fallen friend to bid farewell to,” he called, “and a fallen enemy to punish. I will deal with these things before any others. But be assured”—he raised the rod—“I mean what I say!”
The court roared its approval again. At least most of the court did. There were pale faces among the clan chiefs and especially among the representatives of the powers beyond Darguun. Geth noticed that the ranks of ambassadors and dragonmarked viceroys were thin—some of them must have managed to slip away. He had no doubt that messages were already being composed. Within a day, the most powerful people of Khorvaire would know what Haruuc had said on the bridge over the Ghaal.
The lhesh acknowledged his court with another flourish of the rod, then strode out of the courtyard and along a corridor. Geth clenched his jaw and hurried after him. He wasn’t the only one. Munta and Tariic were on Haruuc’s heels—and with Tariic came Daavn of the Marhaan. Geth’s jaw clenched a little tighter at that.
“Do you mean it, uncle?” Tariic asked as they went. “Will there be war?”
“It’s a great thing, lhesh,” added Daavn. “You know you have the support of the Marhaan.”
Munta used his bulk to cut off the other warlord as they went around a corner. “It’s madness,” he said. “Haruuc, we can’t go to war!”
Haruuc stopped before a door—Geth recognized it as one that led to a small chamber off the dais of the throne room—and looked back at them. His face was bright with energy and enthusiasm. “I didn’t say we were going to war,” he said. Tariic’s ears fell. Munta’s rose. Haruuc shook his head. “I didn’t say we weren’t, either.”
“You signed the Treaty of Thronehold,” Munta growled.
“If treaties were inviolable, the world would be a far different place,” said Haruuc. “In any case, I haven’t declared war yet.”
“Yet,” repeated Geth.
Haruuc frowned at him. “Keraal was right in one thing. Darguun stands on the doorstep of humans—but it’s our doorstep. The Five Nations occupy our house. They need to be reminded of that.” He flung open the door—and paused.
Chetiin sat on the edge of a table in the room beyond.
Haruuc glowered at the black-clad goblin. “And what do you want?”
“To add the voice of an old friend.” He slipped off the table as Haruuc entered and looked up at him. “You’re letting a small success turn into a big mistake, Haruuc. You’ve won a victory over a rebel clan. You’ve brought Darguun together.” He pointed at the rod. “You’ve secured the symbol of authority that will allow your successor to hold Darguun together as well. But you’re not powerful enough to take on the Five Nations. Darguun isn’t powerful enough.”
“Listen to him, Haruuc,” said Munta. “You know it’s true. You’ve said it yourself. Darguun has no friends in Khorvaire. If we try to attack any human nation, the others will come together against us.” The old warlord squeezed one hand into a fist. “We can’t fight a united force. The Treaty of Thronehold protects us as much as it limits us.”
Daavn shook his head sharply. “You’re wrong, old man. The Five Nations are still recovering from the war. They hate each other more than they hate us. Now is the