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By Root 1223 0

then, Daavn had found new favor with Tariic. Even before Haruuc’s death, the two had become close, as Tariic, confident his uncle would eventually name him as heir, looked for supporters. Vounn d’Deneith had suspicions that Daavn was even more ambitious than Tariic—and more ruthless. She believed Daavn might have been behind an attempt to kidnap her from Khaar Mbar’ost—an attempt that had been widely blamed on Keraal of the Gan’duur and that would have shamed Haruuc had it succeeded. They had no proof to confront Daavn with, however, and so Vounn’s suspicions remained just that.

Whenever Daavn spoke, though, his words left Geth with a sense that he was up to something. The shifter had fallen into a habit of turning them over in his mind, trying to find the hidden danger. “I … hadn’t thought about leaving yet,” he said cautiously.

“You hadn’t?” Daavn asked. “Then you’re a true friend to Darguun. A lesser man would have left at the first opportunity. But when your duty as a shava ends, what reason will there be for you to stay?”

“Don’t pressure him, Daavn,” said Tariic. His ears twitched as he smiled again. “As you say, Geth is a hero. He’ll always have a place of honor in Khaar Mbar’ost.” He rose. “But you have other duties to see to, don’t you, Geth?”

He did, but he raised his eyebrows and looked at Tariic. “How did you know—?”

“I asked Razu. These games honor my uncle. I want to know what’s happening. Lead on. I’ll come with you.” He gestured for Geth to go ahead of him.

“You’re not going to stay for the games?” asked Geth. “I thought you’d want to be seen.”

Tariic bent his head. “My presence isn’t strictly necessary. Daavn will be here.”

The gates of the arena opened and two bugbears advanced across the sands in the second bout of the games. “Pesh of Ghaal Cave and Riil of Thunder Gap fight open-handed,” called the announcer. “To the victor of this match, Tariic of Rhukaan Taash promises a chalice of gold from his own table! Hail to Tariic, nephew of Haruuc Shaarat’kor!”

The crowd bellowed its approval as Daavn produced a shining goblet. Tariic turned and waved. The bugbears looked up at him, then at each other—then roared and came together like twin juggernauts.

Khaar Mbar’ost was less than thirty years old. Built by the humans of House Cannith under commission from Haruuc, it was a blend of human and dar styles. It was also the tallest building in Rhukaan Draal. A mighty fist of a structure, it rose against the sky in a demonstration, to both Darguun and other nations, of the strength of the lhesh.

It also still felt almost new when compared to any other fortress Geth had been in. Most were many decades—or even many centuries—old, their stones worn and stained. The stones of Khaar Mbar’ost, however, still had the sharp corners put on them by masons’ chisels. Their surfaces were dry and clean. In places where the odor of living hadn’t permeated the air, Geth sometimes thought he could still smell the dusty, fresh-cut stone.

Even the dungeons sunk into the rock beneath the fortress still had a crisp new feel to them, though they smelled nearly as bad as Geth had expected. It felt strange to step into an almost pristine corridor lit by everbright lanterns while grubby faces peered through the barred windows cut into the cell doors on either side, the interiors of the cells lost in stinking darkness.

The noise that the prisoners made was startling as well, echoing in the closed space until it seemed as loud as the crowd in the arena. Prisoners yelped and cursed as they fought to get a look out at those who had descended to their world: Geth, Munta the Gray, Tariic, and a large number of guards. Geth had left the Rod of Kings in his chamber, locked safely away and with guards posted outside the door. It felt good to be rid of it for a time. He looked back at the prisoners and tried to guess how many were packed into each cell. “It’s crowded,” he said in halting Goblin.

The dungeon keeper, a big hobgoblin with numerous scars and only one ear, looked at him blankly. Geth had to repeat himself twice more, speaking