journey, they’d also found themselves shying away from the rod. As the first one to grasp it, Geth had been appointed the rod’s keeper with unspoken assent-no one else had wanted to touch it. Ekhaas and Midian had inspected the simple shaft and examined the runes on it, but not as closely as they once might have. Geth had held the rod for them.
Laid out on the tray, though, purple byeshk against rich gold, it did have a certain majesty. A sense of excitement rose inside her. The rod wasn’t just an artifact of the great empire. It was something that had been held by the hands of countless emperors. It had seen the rise and fall of dynasties. And she had helped find it. Ekhaas of Kech Volaar had helped to bring it back into the world.
“This is what’s going to happen,” Munta said, passing the tray to Geth, then leading them out of the chamber and into the corridor. “Haruuc wants to have a very public presentation of the rod so that everyone who matters knows how important it is. The presentation will take place in the throne room. As you enter, a duur’kala will tell the story of the rod. When you reach the foot of the throne, Tariic-as a representative of the people-will take the rod and give it to Haruuc, who will then speak. After that, there’s no particular order of ceremonies you need to follow. Haruuc’s instructions will guide you.”
“You make it sound like a pageant,” Midian said.
“Rule is as much spectacle as it is action.” Munta stopped at a tall door. From the other side of it, Ekhaas could hear the indistinct murmurs of a great many people. “This leads into the antechamber of the throne room,” Munta said. “When the drums start, the doors will open and you’ll go in.” He looked at them all and solemn pride filled his face. “Haruuc won’t be able to say this in public, but he asked me to tell you. Kaaspanozhii kitaan atcha.”
We owe a debt to your honor. He turned and hurried up the corridor, heading, Ekhaas assumed, to take his place in the throne room. She glanced at the others. From their expressions, they might have been walking to an execution rather than a celebration.
“It’s too late not to do this, isn’t it?” asked Ashi.
“Far too late,” Ekhaas said.
A drum stroke sounded from beyond the door. The murmurs of the crowd died out. The drum continued, its beat throbbing on the air in a slow rhythm. “The call to advance,” said Dagii. “Armies march into battle at that pace.”
At the head of their small party, Geth shifted his grip on the tray and raised one hand to touch the collar of black stones around his neck.
The tall doors opened.
Representatives of all three goblin races filled the antechamber. Ekhaas recognized minor dignitaries, wealthy merchants, and officers of Haruuc’s guard. Soldiers holding crossed spears as a barrier kept clear a path through the crowd and up to the wide stairs of the throne room. Faces turned to stare at them. Ekhaas saw Geth swallow, the hair on his neck and forearms rising, then he started to walk, matching his pace to the drum.
A voice rose, speaking in Goblin. “Raat shi anaa. In the ancient days of Dhakaan lived the great dashoor Taruuzh, who found inspiration in all things. It pleased him to work in the mines, where he could handle the raw material of his creations, and he was so working in the mines of Suthar Draal when he found a vein of byeshk so pure that he named it the Blood of Dusk.”
It was the same story that Senen Dhakaan had told in the small chamber high in Khaar Mbar’ost, the story that had launched their quest. This time, however, it was not Senen Dhakaan who told it. Ekhaas recognized the voice that rose and fell in time with the drum, a voice like seawater and beeswax. Walking through the antechamber and up the stairs was like passing through a legend. The ears of every goblin in the crowd lifted to listen, captivated by the words of Aaspar, the elderly mother of the dirge, as she spoke of the wonders Taruuzh created from the byeshk of the Blood of Dusk. First of Aram, the Sword of Heroes. Then of Muut, the Shield of Nobles. And finally of-
“-a rod carved with symbols that had been old when the first daashor took up a hammer and the first duur’kala sang. A rod which Taruuzh gave to the emperor of Dhakaan and which he named-”
They reached the top of the steps. The throne room opened before them. The first thing Ekhaas saw was Haruuc, seated on his throne, the light that came through the tall windows striking bright rays from his armor and the spiked crown of Darguun. The second thing was Aaspar, dressed in black and standing before Haruuc.
Then the drum paused and Geth paused with it. In the silence, Aaspar flung up a thin hand, pointing along the aisle to those framed in the doorway. Her voice soared to fill the great hall. “-Guulen, the Rod of Kings!”
A hundred heads or more turned to follow her hand and voice. A hundred pairs of eyes or more stared at them. At the byeshk rod that Geth carried.
In that moment, the throne room of Khaar Mbar’ost seemed as timeless as the cavern of Uura Odaarii. Ekhaas was aware of the beating of her heart. It seemed that every warlord and clan chief of Darguun was in the hall, together with dignitaries wearing the crests of every nation of Khorvaire and every dragonmarked house. She saw Munta. She saw Senen Dhakaan. She saw Vounn d’Deneith. She saw Tariic standing across from Aaspar before the throne and Vanii standing in a place of honor behind it. Through the window, she could see smoke still rising in gray streamers from Rhukaan Draal, but that hint of conflict only seemed to add to the aura of the conqueror that clung to Haruuc.
The slow cadence of the drum returned, and Geth resumed his measured pace along the aisle. Aaspar’s voice continued to ring from the high ceiling, so powerful it almost seemed enough to shake the banners that hung from the walls or to wake the statues that looked down from above. “For centuries upon centuries, the emperors of Dhakaan held Guulen. For centuries upon centuries, they ruled with might and wisdom-until Guulen was lost and the Empire of Dhakaan crumbled. But now the dar are united once more. Now…” Her words slowed along with the drum as their party reached the dais upon which Haruuc’s throne stood. “… Guulen… returns!”
Her final cry echoed for a moment, then faded. For a long moment, the hall was silent-and Haruuc spoke.
“Who comes to the court of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor?”
For an instant, an awkward horror ran through Ekhaas. Munta hadn’t said Haruuc would address them with the traditional challenge. She wanted to look at the old warlord, but didn’t dare. She pushed her shock aside and spoke boldly.
“Ekhaas of Kech Volaar, daughter of the dirge, comes.”
The others picked up her cue. Dagii’s voice rose. “Dagii of Mur Talaan, son of Fenic, comes.”
“Chetiin of the shaarat’khesh comes.”
“Ashi of Deneith, daughter of Ner, comes.”
“Midian Mit Davandi, son of Tivani Mit Davandi, comes.”
“Geth…”
The shifter hesitated. Ekhaas glanced at him. So did Aaspar. So did Tariic and Vanii. Haruuc probably would have glanced at him, too, if he wasn’t frozen in a stiffly formal posture. There was confusion and maybe even struggle in Geth’s eyes, then they cleared. He straightened, and, in Goblin that was far more precise than his usual broken attempts at the language and burred with the ancient accent of Dhakaan, he said, “Geth, who bears the sword Aram, who carries the honor of Kuun, who killed the dragon Dah’mir, comes.”
He dropped to one knee and held out the tray. “Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor, we bring Guulen, the Rod of Kings.”
Ekhaas saw Tariic blink in surprise at Geth’s dramatic statement. He stepped forward, though, and lifted the rod from the tray. Climbing the steps of the dais, he sank down in front of Haruuc. “As Taruuzh said to his emperor,” he said solemnly, “in this are the glories of the people. Bear them in mind, and the people will always know their king.”
Haruuc stared at the rod for a long moment, then reached out his hand. Ekhaas found she was holding her breath and watching the lhesh closely. Would he change when he held the rod? Would he feel the power within it?
His fingers closed on the metal. Haruuc took the rod from Tariic, looked at it, then rose and held it high. “As Guulen passed from emperor to emperor in the age of Dhakaan,” he said, his voice filling the hall, “so shall it pass from lhesh to lhesh in this new age. Who holds Guulen is the ruler of Darguun. Look on this symbol of the glories of the people, warlords and clan chiefs, ambassadors and envoys, and know that it is true!”
The words were well-chosen. The gesture was perfect. Caught up in the spectacle of the rod’s presentation,
