The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [77]
The lhesh wore armor, heavy and spiked, with a helmet to take the place of his crown. Tariic and Vanii wore armor as well. Munta wore a grave expression.
“Don’t speak!” Aaspar said sharply. “Look at me!”
Geth turned back to her, the motion bringing new pain into his legs. Aaspar lifted her hand and Geth, instinctively, raised Wrath to match her. The old woman drew breath and began to sing again, her voice blending back into Senen’s and Ekhaas’s.
The song had changed. It was deep and dark, like a cave that had never seen daylight. There was a longing in it, a reminder of … Home? Friends? Family? Geth found himself thinking of a village in the northern Eldeen Reaches that he hadn’t thought of in years and of a man and a woman who had died long before. But he caught only the edge of the song. Aaspar was singing to Wrath.
He felt the sword’s response, and new images passed through his vision. Taruuzh with miner’s pick in hand, breaking rocks to expose the dark ore vein of Khaar Vanon. Taruuzh with a hammer before a forge. The song altered slightly and the image shifted to focus on a rod of byeshk, as long as Geth’s forearm and as thick as his wrist, that shone in the forge light as Taruuzh polished its rune-carved surface. A tremor passed through Wrath.
“Now,” said Aaspar, “turn and point the way!”
The voices of the duur’kala rose once more, then fell away, but the surging pulse in Wrath remained. With the certainty of a compass needle, Geth turned and pointed the sword south-southwest.
“There.” His voice was cracked and raw. “The rod is there.”
Aaspar clicked her tongue in satisfaction, then broke the charcoal circle with a brush of her foot. For a moment, the roof remained silent as if everyone watching Geth were afraid to say anything, then a look of annoyance crossed Aaspar’s face. “It’s over,” she said, turning away. “It worked.”
Voices broke out all around him with expressions of excitement and thanks. Ekhaas and Ashi were the first ones to reach him. As if the touch of their hands had severed ropes holding him up, Geth drooped back into their arms. Exhaustion, pain, and hunger washed over him. Senen held Wrath’s scabbard, and with her help, Geth guided the sword back into it. His fingers cramped, and he had to will them to open and release the sword’s hilt. The magic of the song was still in the sword—he knew that he could touch Wrath and he would feel the distant presence of the rod once more.
“I saw the stories of Kuun,” he croaked.
“I knew you would,” Ekhaas said. “I knew you were listening.”
“No, it was Wrath—Wrath remembers,” he said, but his dry throat seized and the words just came out as a rasp. Chetiin held out a cup of water. Geth took it with shaking hands and drank eagerly. Before he could try to repeat himself, though, Haruuc stepped in front of him.
“You know where the rod is? Do you know far?”
Geth shook his head. “I can feel a direction, but that’s all. It could be in Rhukaan Draal or it could be across the Thunder Sea in Xen’drik.”
Haruuc’s ears dipped but he nodded. “It is as much as I should have hoped for. Thank you, Geth.” He put a hand on Geth’s shoulder. “I would have given you a week to rest after this, but we don’t have that time. You have a day at most—you must leave tomorrow morning.”
“What? Why?” Geth asked, then remembered what he had glimpsed and twisted around against the hands that supported him to look at the smoke billowing into the northern sky. “What is that? What’s burning?”
“The fields on the far side of the Ghaal,” growled Haruuc. “The Gan’duur struck last night. They’re burning crops.”
“Grandfather Rat.”
“Cho. They’re getting too bold. I want you away in case they try to come south of the river.” The lhesh stepped back and put a fist to his chest. “Swift travel and great glory, Geth.”
He turned and left the rooftop with Tariic, Vanii, and Munta following him. Tariic turned and met Geth’s eyes, saluting him as his