The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [62]
With her head bowed, she could see nothing of the hall at the top of the stairs. She had a sense of a large space, of the presence of a small crowd of people attempting to be silent, of softly crackling fires, of the harsh odor of some strange blend of incense. All she could see was the stone of the floor underfoot, and that was still rough-edged, relatively new and not yet worn down by the centuries and the passing of countless feet. There were shadows—the room was dimly lit but not dark—and off to each side she could see ranks of heavy hobgoblin boots. Ahead of her, Vounn walked with calm assurance, as if out for a stroll. Behind her, Geth was swearing softly in amazement.
She clenched her teeth and kept her head down for a good fifteen paces, but then she could stand it no longer. She lifted her head for a swift and surreptitious look around—only to find that she couldn’t lower her eyes again.
The throne room of Lhesh Haruuc was as big as she’d imagined it, made larger by the deep shadows that spread up the walls to the ceiling and gathered between the pools of light shed by widely spaced everbright lanterns. Tall statues of hobgoblin warriors stood against the wall, the lanterns at their feet emphasizing the fierce faces that snarled down at those below. Between the statues hung banners with the crests of the clans of Darguun. There were easily two dozen or more of them—some large, most smaller—and for each banner there was a warlord.
They stood in front of benches, heavily carved with images of battle, that had been placed at an angle to the front of the hall. Hobgoblins, some bugbears, a very few goblins, all of them dressed in robes and polished armor, all of them watching the party pacing the length of the throne room. Ekhaas had said that some of them were only warlords by formality, that many were really just clan chiefs given a place in Haruuc’s assembly by tradition. When the assembly wasn’t in session, they would return to territories often as small as a single crude holding.
Clan chief or mighty warlord, it made little difference. Ashi felt as though she bore the weight of each dark-eyed gaze, and it was almost enough to make her lower her head again. Almost, but not quite. The throne rose up ahead of her.
Benches, banners, and statues all seemed designed to focus attention on the dais at the end of the hall. Tall windows rose behind the dais, framing it with night’s dark skies and gently swirling draperies. On the dais stood a blocky throne, and on the throne sat Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor.
Ashi’s first thought was that she wouldn’t want to face him on the battlefield. Haruuc was powerfully built. He had big hands and wide shoulders, and his armor carried vicious spikes. A heavy hobgoblin sword, its blade stained red, leaned against one arm of the throne as if ready for use—the infamous shaarat’kor that had carved out a nation. Haruuc’s face was strong, the sharp lower teeth that pushed over his upper lip and a thin beard giving him an expression of perpetual ferocity. He wore a spiked crown on his brow that looked like it might have been fashioned from broken swords. His eyes were bright and intense, and when they settled briefly on her, Ashi felt for a moment as if she were the focus of all Haruuc’s interest.
“Who comes to the court of Lhesh Haruuc?” he asked in the same deep voice she had listened to from the antechamber. Without Geth’s sword translating his speech in her mind, she heard his words in Goblin and felt the power he put behind even such a simple, ritual phrase.
“Tariic of Rhukaan Taash, son of Haluun, nephew to Haruuc, comes,” said Tariic. “He comes with guards and a scholar who serve him. He returns from Karrlakton in Karrnath with a guest to the court.”
“Vounn of Deneith, daughter of Sigor, comes,” said Vounn in turn, her Goblin flawless. “She comes at the invitation of Lhesh Haruuc as the envoy of Deneith. She comes with Ashi of Deneith, daughter of Ner, and a guard who serves