Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [14]
One by one, the bearers climbed the ridge, bowed once before the priests and twice before Haruuc’s corpse, then vanished briefly into the tomb before reappearing without their burdens. It took a long time, but when all of the bearers had returned to the field below, the priest of Dol Dorn spoke again.
“Traditions tell that the People were born in caverns and lived there before we emerged to fight beneath the sun and the sky. When we pass through the gates of death, we return to caverns, the womb and the grave. Life continues. Tradition continues.”
He gestured for the bugbears holding Haruuc’s throne to kneel. When they had, he reached up and pulled free Haruuc’s sword, then turned to Geth. “The People have mourned Haruuc’s passing. Free them to continue their lives.”
Geth nodded. Tucking the Rod of Kings between his arm and his body, he knelt before the priest and the sword. The other two priests came forward. Balinor’s priest now carried a broad tray. Dol Arrah’s stood close with an unlit torch.
From the tray, Geth took a copper bowl lined with thick shreds of fiber and a flint, laying the Rod of Kings in their place. He set the bowl on the ground. The priest of Dol Dorn grounded Haruuc’s sword in it. Carefully angled so that all could see what he did, Geth leaned forward and struck the flint on the blade of the sword.
Sparks jumped from the sword into the tinder. Smoke curled up in a fine wisp, growing thick as Geth bent close to blow gently onto the bowl. When he sat back, the torch was ready for him. He took it and touched it to the burning tinder. Flames leaped into life. Geth lifted the torch and stood to face the warlords.
“From this will fire return to Rhukaan Draal,” he said. “From this will life continue.”
He took back the rod. The priest of Dol Dorn returned the sword to Haruuc’s grasp, then looked out over the crowd.
“This was Haruuc!” the priest shouted, his ears high and quivering. “Haruuc who founded Darguun and Rhukaan Draal, whose boldness made a new homeland for the People. He will never be forgotten! He will live in stories and legends as long as mighty, quick, and strong people draw breath. He will inspire us as long as the Ghaal and Torlaac Rivers flow from mountain to sea. Let all who would be great follow in the path that his red sword has carved!”
The roar that rose from the gathered warlords was as loud as anything Ashi had heard in the city. Weapons were drawn and flashed against the sky. Ashi felt the fervor of the moment sweep her up—she drew the sword at her side and raised it high as well. “Haruuc!” she shouted along with the Darguuls. “Haruuc!”
The priest of Dol Arrah nodded and the bugbears lifted the throne again. Turning underneath it, they reversed their positions so that they could walk forward. With his warlords shouting his name, Haruuc was borne into his tomb facing outward and the shadows of the grave closed over his face like dark water.
The three priests followed him in. Geth moved to stand before the doorway and the shouts of the warlords died away. In the silence, the noise of the cataract seemed louder than ever.
After a moment, Pater spoke softly. “The first time I met Haruuc, I expected him to talk about taxes or tolls. Instead he asked me if the trade roads were in good enough condition to allow easy trade between Darguun and Breland.”
The humble memory startled Ashi, but then she realized that throughout the crowd, warlords and ambassadors were whispering, sharing quiet reminiscences.
“He asked me about distant ports,” said Sindra. “He knew what was happening across Khorvaire.”
The Zil ambassador, Esmyssa Entar ir’Korran, stood nearby. “He always spoke to me as if I was as tall as he was.”
“We discussed philosophy,” said Vounn.
Ashi tried to find her own most significant memory of Haruuc. It took her a moment—his presence, even before he held the