The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [66]
An icy chill plunged into Ekhaas’s gut. Senen’s face flushed with new anger. “You wouldn’t—”
“I think he would,” said Haruuc, and the room went quiet. Haruuc looked down at Geth—he was a good two handspans taller than the shifter—and Geth raised his chin to look back up at him. After a long moment, Haruuc bent his head.
“Shii marhu polto huuntad ka ruuska atchot,” he said in Goblin, then spoke in the human language as Geth had. “Even an emperor must think twice when looking a tiger in the eye. You will rarely hear me say this, Geth, but you are right and I apologize. You’ve waited too long to hear what needs to be said. You and Munta have persuaded me. Midian will live.” Senen made a noise of objection, but Haruuc silenced her with a gesture before turning to Midian. “What you do for me, you do in secret. Your library will not hear of it.”
Midian’s features twisted in a kind of agony. “Surely a paper of some kind?” he said. “Maybe with some details altered? I could show it to you before I submitted it to the library.”
“Your life or your silence,” Haruuc said with a heavy finality, and Ekhaas saw Midian’s throat bob as he swallowed.
“No papers,” he agreed.
It was enough for Haruuc. He put his back to the gnome and returned his attention to Geth. “Of the welcomes I’ve made tonight, this is the one that I have anticipated the most. And I regret that it has been delayed. I would welcome you before my court, but I think you understand that I can’t. Still, know that you have my highest respect.” He put his fist to his chest and held it there. “Saa’atcha, Geth, bearer of Aram and hope of Darguun!”
“Saa’atcha,” repeated Munta, Dagii, the unknown hobgoblin, and even—after a sharp glance from Haruuc—Senen.
The self-assurance that Geth had displayed in defending Midian seemed to evaporate before the formal greeting. Or rather, Ekhaas suspected, before the prospect of being the hope of Darguun. “Uhh … twice tak,” Geth said, then thumped his gauntleted fist against his own chest. “Saa’atcha, lhesh.”
Haruuc smiled. “I prefer your bluntness, Geth. You may use my name.” He swept his arm around the room. “Within these walls, you may all use my name. Like thieves in a den, tonight we conspire to manipulate a nation.”
There were chairs in the room, and Haruuc indicated that they should sit. Wine had been left, and the lhesh poured it for them all as he made the final necessary introductions. Midian flinched at Senen Dhakaan’s name, either because, Ekhaas guessed, he knew her by reputation or because he recognized the prestige that the grant of the Dhakaan name—an homage to the great empire—carried among the Kech Volaar and the other modern Dhakaani clans.
The unknown hobgoblin was Vanii of the Ja’aram. “The last of my shava,” said Haruuc.
“Shava?” asked Ashi.
“A sword brother,” Haruuc told her. “Someone who is trusted to fight beside you in battle, to defend you, to take charge of your affairs and deliver news of your death if you die in battle. It is an ancient and highly honored tradition.” He sat down in his chair by the window. “Many warriors never trust anyone enough to have a shava. I was fortunate enough to have three.” He tilted his cup, letting a little wine fall to the floor. “To your father, Tariic—and yours, Dagii,” he said. “We owe tonight to his words.”
He drank deeply. The rest of them followed his example and Ekhaas found that the wine was excellent, deliciously tart after so long drinking wine made in the human fashion.
Haruuc lowered his cup. “Geth,” he said, “show us Aram.”
The shifter stood and drew the sword. The light in the room shimmered on the purple byeshk metal of the blade. Ekhaas felt the same thrill that she had felt when she’d first seen Geth draw it, before she’d even recognized the