Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [5]
Tariic looked over his shoulder as he walked. He met Aguus’s challenge with a practiced calm. “I speak to a friend, Aguus.”
“So long as he holds the throne, he is no friend of yours,” Aguus snapped. “The assembly of warlords swore to respect the terms of mourning. We do not seek to advance ourselves until Haruuc is laid to rest. You already force the terms by marching in a place of pride.”
Tariic’s ears pressed back against his skull. “Haruuc was warlord of the Rhukaan Taash clan before he was lhesh. The traditions of the Rhukaan Taash are clear. By those traditions, I am Haruuc’s heir as warlord. A place of pride is my right.”
“Haruuc’s status as lhesh takes precedence over his status as warlord. You try to influence the assembly by putting yourself on display before the allotted time.”
“And what do you do by challenging him, Aguus? Why do you challenge Tariic’s place when no one else does?”
The words came from the young warlord who walked on Geth’s left. Dagii of Mur Talaan’s gray eyes flashed, and his ears shivered as he glared back at Aguus. Geth had asked him to walk at his side as an advisor—a good choice. In the battle-scarred ancestral armor, the three long horns of a massive tribex mounted on its shoulders and back, of the warlords of Mur Talaan, Dagii made a commanding figure. Warlords who might have mistrusted the shifter who had seized the Rod of Kings could respect the hobgoblin who had defeated the Gan’duur for Haruuc.
Aguus’s glare shifted from Tariic to Dagii, but other warlords were rumbling their agreement with the chief of Mur Talaan. Aguus dropped his gaze. “Haruuc must be honored,” he said. “He leaves us a great legacy.”
“He is honored,” said Dagii. “No more challenges. Let the people see that the lords of Darguun are united in their respect for Haruuc.” With a fluid motion, he drew his sword and thrust it into the air. “Haruuc!” he shouted. “Haruuc!”
The other marching warlords followed his example, drawing their weapons and holding them aloft. Tariic, Geth noticed, was the fastest to put his sword in the air. For a moment, it seemed as if the watching crowd paused in their own shouting—then the air shook with a roar that was louder than ever. Light flashed from polished blades as the gesture was imitated in a ripple along the procession of the powerful and important—warlords and chiefs, ambassadors and envoys from hobgoblin clans that stood apart from the lhesh’s authority, from the nations beyond Darguun, and from the great dragonmarked houses—that followed behind the throne.
Haruuc’s dead ears heard nothing, but the bugbears carrying his throne stood taller and the day seemed a little brighter.
Geth’s hand squeezed the rod until his fingers ached. He glanced at Dagii and found the young warlord looking back at him. He nodded grimly and Dagii nodded back. Geth drew breath between his teeth and turned his eyes forward again. Somewhere back in the procession, Ekhaas and Ashi would be feeling the same thing he did.
If they failed in what lay before them, Haruuc’s only legacy would be chaos and the collapse of the nation he had founded. Darguun would die. And so might they.
Ten days earlier—9 Sypheros
Smoke rose in a column over Rhukaan Draal, illuminated by flames below and moonlight above. From the window at which Ekhaas stood, high in Khaar Mbar’ost, she could see only the one fire, but others were probably burning. Word of Haruuc’s assassination had spread into the city. The night would be violent.
Word had almost certainly spread beyond Rhukaan Draal. Beyond Darguun, as well. Across the city, ambassadors and envoys would be employing any means at their disposal to rush news of the lhesh’s death to their lords. House Sivis’s network of speaking stones would be alive with whispers. House Orien’s legion of couriers would be flashing across vast distances. In every nation of Khorvaire, in palaces and seats of power, sovereigns