the crowd in the throne room burst into applause, the goblins striking hands against chest, the dignitaries of other nations slapping palm against palm. From the antechamber came shouts of enthusiasm from those spectators of less dignity. Ekhaas applauded as well. Haruuc’s plan had worked-he had the symbol he would pass on to his successor. She looked up at him, light from the window flowing around him, shining from crown and rod, his ears held high, his mouth wide in a smile of triumph…
Her applause slowed. She squeezed her eyes shut, then looked at Haruuc again. The light still shone around him, and he still looked majestic, but no more than that. The rod, she thought; it’s the power of the rod. She looked around her, at Dagii on one side and Chetiin on the other. Dagii looked worried. Chetiin looked thoughtful. “Geth’s sword had powers even while it was asleep,” he said under the applause. “We should expect the rod will, too. An aura of majesty is a minor magic.”
Ekhaas studied Haruuc. He looked out onto the throne room with bright eyes but no sign at all that he was aware of the rod’s effect. He was no more commanding its power than Geth commanded Aram. She nodded slowly. Dagii did, too, but added, “Minor magics can lead to greater. We will watch him.”
“Mazo,” murmured Chetiin.
Haruuc relaxed and lowered the rod to look down at the party before him. Tariic stood and moved back to one side. Geth stood as well, the tray whisked away by a goblin wearing an armband of red cords. As the applause slowly died, Haruuc raised his free hand. “Darguun commends you who risked your lives to bring back Guulen. Rewards come to the heroes who deserve them.” He gestured, and the goblin who had taken away Geth’s tray brought it back.
This time, four daggers rested on the gold cloth. Ekhaas caught her breath. They were exquisite, combining the best work of a weapon smith and a gold smith. The bright blades were fine steel, chased with golden letters that spelled out atcha-honor. The grips were fantastic constructions of gold and silver woven around sparkling gems. Set into the crosspieces were jewels the size of her knuckle, different on each dagger-a ruby, an emerald, a sapphire, and a golden crystal that was a Siberys dragonshard.
“Ekhaas of Kech Volaar, Chetiin of the shaarat’khesh, Ashi d’Deneith, Midian Mit Davandi,” said Haruuc, “you owe allegiance to other lords, but I gift you with these in thanks, and tell you that you are friends of Darguun. If ever you have need, speak and Haruuc will listen.”
The goblin passed among them, offering a dagger to each. Ekhaas received the emerald dagger, Ashi the dagger with the Siberys dragonshard, Chetiin the ruby, Midian the sapphire. After the goblin retreated, Haruuc looked down again. “Geth, who bears Aram, the Sword of Heroes. Without your aid, Guulen could not have been found. What reward can I offer you? Will you take wealth? I would give you a chest full of gold.”
Geth’s eyebrows rose, then fell again. He shook his head. When he spoke, his Goblin was once again broken and crude. “Lhesh, no. How would I carry it?”
“Land, then?” Haruuc asked.
Geth shook his head a second time, then a third when Haruuc offered him a rank in his army. The lhesh’s ears flicked twice rapidly. Although he didn’t smile, Ekhaas guessed that he had expected Geth to turn down all three offers and was somehow pleased that he had.
“Geth, who bears Aram, you show your honor and prove yourself worthy of the greatest reward that any warrior can give. You owed me no allegiance, yet you sought Guulen at my request. You performed a great deed for Darguun, yet you accept neither wealth nor power. You have my trust in all things.” He stood up tall and straight. “Will you be my shava, to call me friend and stand at my back when I have need, to call on me to stand with you when you have need?”
It was hard to tell who was more surprised: Geth, who stood in silent shock, or the Darguuls in the throne room, who broke out in low murmurs. Ekhaas found herself among them. It had been unusual for Haruuc to take three shava. To take a fourth-and one who was not of the goblin races at that-was unheard of. Geth turned and glanced at her as if seeking guidance. Ekhaas spread her hands helplessly. There was no advice she could give him in this. Behind Haruuc, however, Vanii smiled and nodded to Geth. The survivor of Haruuc’s three shava approved.
Geth swallowed. “I will, lhesh,” he said.
“Join me,” Haruuc said, stepping away from the edge of the dais. He reached back, set the rod aside, and took up his sword from where it rested against the arm of his throne. As Geth mounted the steps of the dais, the high warlord said, “Draw your sword.”
The murmurs of the crowd hushed abruptly as Aram emerged. Haruuc raised his sword, gesturing for Geth to match the gesture. The two swords, red-stained steel and twilight purple byeshk, touched. Haruuc twisted his wrist and the teeth of the swords’ notched edges locked together. He reached under the joined swords and grasped Geth’s hand. Ekhaas heard him murmur, “Repeat what I say,” then he raised his voice.
“Before witnesses, I make this oath,” he said.
“Before witnesses, I make this oath,” Geth repeated.
For a moment Ekhaas was afraid that his broken Goblin might spoil Haruuc’s grand gesture, but as the shifter spoke, his words once again took on the ancient accent. It had to be some power of Aram, she guessed-the sword was giving strength to his words. If Haruuc noticed anything, he didn’t react, but continued the oath, with Geth echoing every phrase with faithful intensity.
“On blood and graves, I swear I will protect you and guide you, avenge you and cherish you, in life and death so long as I draw breath.” Haruuc paused. “Geth, you are shava to me.”
“Haruuc, you are shava to me.”
The two swords fell apart and Haruuc swept Geth into a rough hug. The lhesh’s embrace of Vounn before the assembly of warlords had been scandalous, but a hug between shava was an embrace of brothers and warriors. Vanii was the first to applaud, the beating of his hand against his chest a lonely sound for a moment in the great hall. Then Chetiin joined him and Ekhaas, Dagii, and Ashi an instant later. By the time Haruuc released Geth and showed him to a place on the other side of the throne from Vanii, very nearly the entire crowd was applauding. Ekhaas caught Geth’s eye and nodded at him. The shifter replied with an uncertain smile.
Haruuc took up the Rod of Kings again and gestured, sword in one hand and rod in the other, for the crowd to be silent. “There is another reward that must be given,” he said. “Dagii of Mur Talaan, stand forward.”
Dagii did. There was a slight limp in his step, a permanent legacy of her hurried healing of his ankle in the valley. Haruuc held his sword out, naked blade toward the waiting warrior. “Dagii of Mur Talaan, I offer you the rank of lhevk-rhu. Do you accept this challenge?”
Ekhaas’s ears rose, and there was a new murmur in the crowd. Lhevk-rhu was the third highest rank in the military structure Haruuc had created after the war. It raised Dagii above most common warlords, leaving him outranked only by a few elder warlords, like Munta the Gray, and the lhesh himself. Dagii looked up and met Haruuc’s eyes.
“I accept it,” he said. He reached out and wrapped his left hand around the sharpened edge of the offered sword. With a slow, steady motion, Haruuc withdrew the sword and fresh blood ran along the blade. There was new applause from scattered warlords in the crowd-applause that Haruuc stopped with a gesture.
“Dagii,” he said, “your new rank comes with a responsibility. Remind me-remind all gathered here-where the territory of the Mur Talaan lies.”
Dagii’s ears stood high. “Lhesh, the territory of the Mur Talaan is the land beneath Rhukaan Draal.”
“If the territory of a clan has been attacked, what must its warlord do?”
Confusion and suspicion narrowed Dagii’s eyes, and his gaze flicked to the smoke still visible over Rhukaan Draal. “The warlord must defend his clan’s territory. If the attack cannot be defended against or occurs in his absence, he must strike back against the attacker-if the lhesh, by your law, grants him permission to do so.” Dagii drew himself up. “Lhesh, has the territory of the Mur Talaan been attacked?”
“Today and in your absence,” Haruuc said solemnly, drawing out the words. The hall was absolutely still. “Warriors of the Gan’duur make free with your territory, lhevk-rhu. They threaten the peace by starving the people. Keraal of Gan’duur claims he has disciplined those responsible. As lhesh of Darguun, I must be satisfied with this.”
Dagii clenched his wounded fist. Blood dripped onto the floor of the throne room. “Lhesh, my clan’s honor cannot be satisfied by words. A warlord may do what a lhesh cannot. On behalf of the Mur Talaan, I ask your permission to strike back against the Gan’duur.”
The stirring among the warlords was like a wave, as if Dagii’s words had burst a dam. Haruuc smiled, looking
