the Sword of Heroes and the Rod of Kings, had been a device of execution. In the time of Dhakaan, his device had spread to every city in the empire. The secret of making them had been lost in the Desperate Times after the empire’s fall, but hobgoblins of all clans, she’d said, still emulated their use in ending the lives of criminals and traitors.
Geth wet his lips and looked up at Haruuc. “Grieving trees?” he asked. His voice sounded thin in the emptiness of the throne room. “You’re lining the road to Rhukaan Draal with grieving trees?”
“The Gan’duur must be punished.” Haruuc’s face was hard.
Munta actually seemed frail with worry. “Haruuc, what will the Five Nations and the dragonmarked houses say? This is too much.”
“You have your instructions, Munta,” Haruuc said. “So does Iizan. Dagii’s instructions have been dispatched to him.”
“But the Five Nations-”
“This is no concern of theirs!” Haruuc’s voice rose again. “It is a matter for Darguun and Darguun alone. Our traditions are as old as our claim on this land, and both are older than the Five Nations. Go and do your duty, Munta. Let Rhukaan Draal know whom it mourns.”
There was a finality in his voice that would accept no further argument. The warlord of the Gantii Vus nodded stiffly, turned, and walked back up the long length of the throne room to the carved doors. Geth was left facing Haruuc alone. After a long moment, he asked, “Can I go too?”
“No. Stay. I’m expecting one more visitor, and I want you here as witness to one of the most sacred duties of a shava.” Haruuc gestured behind himself. “Stand at my shoulder. Where Vanii stood.”
Geth stepped up onto the dais and moved behind Haruuc. The lhesh lapsed into silence. Anger and disgust whirled in Geth’s mind. Organizing funerary games in memory of Vanii and to commemorate victory over a rebellion-that was something he could deal with. There was nothing he could object to except the task itself. The games even sounded like fun, but now they were irrevocably tainted by the thought of so many grieving trees and the victims they would claim.
“You know why I have to do this, don’t you?” Haruuc said without turning around.
“No,” Geth growled. “I don’t.”
“I have to show the other warlords what happens to rebels. I have to remind them of who I am-of what the lhesh is. It’s ironic that in defeating the Gan’duur, I have no choice but to become the bloody tyrant they wanted me to be. Our culture is not merciful, Geth. It does not favor forgiveness. Humans have difficulty understanding that. I thought a shifter might.” He paused, then added, “When your friend died in battle, what did you do?”
“I put my sword through the belly of the man who killed him,” Geth said. “Blood paid for blood spilled.”
“You killed him.”
Geth bared his teeth. “I killed him. I didn’t order someone else to hang him on a tree.”
“Is it so different from ordering soldiers into battle? People kill and die at the command of rulers all the time,” said Haruuc. “Don’t think I wouldn’t do it myself. When I read Dagii’s message, I wanted to ride north and put a sword through Keraal-although, of course, I don’t know it was Keraal who struck Vanii down. I wanted to put a sword through Dagii for letting Vanii die. I even wanted to put a sword through myself for sending him up there.” He let out a slow breath. “But this isn’t about Vanii, anymore. It’s not even about me. It’s about Darguun, just like retrieving the rod was.”
He rapped the byeshk shaft on the arm of his throne, and the heavy clang echoed in the room. “That’s the doom of kings, Geth. We’re men and women when we take the throne, but we lose ourselves to our people. We stop being individuals and become nations. And mark my words”-he twisted around to meet Geth’s eyes-“the nation of Darguun will not cry for the Gan’duur. It will dance under the grieving trees. It would dance if I hung on the tree. Darguun wants blood. The people always want blood.”
“Find another way to give it to them.”
Haruuc’s ears lay back. “But I am Darguun,” he said slowly. “I am one of the people.”
The hair on Geth’s arms and the back of his neck rose. He felt, for a moment, as if he was looking at Haruuc and all hobgoblins for the first time. Wide face, flat nose, mobile ears, sharp teeth-goblins were no more human than he was. Less, because his ancestors had been human once upon a time. The ancestors of the goblin races had always been goblins. But he understood what Haruuc meant. He had felt it himself, a discomfort in the sprawling cities of humans, a predator’s instinct to see crowds as either prey or threat.
But there had never been any question of giving in to those instincts. Shifters knew they were wrong. Any shifter who did give in was no better than an animal. Looking into Haruuc’s eyes, he knew it would be a mistake-it had been a mistake-to assume the same of goblins. He thought of a hundred little things about Ekhaas or Chetiin or the heroes of Kuun that Wrath remembered. How they ate. How they moved. How they spoke-so many ways to express honor and hierarchy, so many ways to say, “Thank you,” but no words, he realized abruptly, for, “You’re welcome.”
A goblin that gave in to his instincts was no animal. He was simply a goblin.
Suddenly, Geth felt like a tamed dog. He struggled to find something else to say, some other argument to put before Haruuc. “Think of the good of Darguun then,” he said. “Munta was right. The other nations of Khorvaire won’t like this.”
“And what will they do? For the sake of Darguun, I became a sheep. Now for the sake of Darguun, I must be a wolf again-and the sheep should be wary.”
The carved doors opened again. This time Razu stepped through. “Rekseen of Ja’aram comes in answer to Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor’s summons.”
Another hobgoblin woman entered, and Razu stepped out, closing the door behind her. Rekseen of Ja’aram wore the armor of a warrior and, although many years younger than he had been, bore a strong resemblance to Vanii. As she walked down the aisle of the throne room, Haruuc spoke quietly over his shoulder. There was grief in his voice again, existing alongside the craving for blood with no hint of contradiction.
“The most sacred duty of a shava,” he said, “has always been to take charge of his brother’s affairs when he dies and to carry news of his death. Our every tradition respects it. Vanii’s death serves Darguun now, but in this at least I can serve him. The grieving trees are not your concern, Geth. You’ve spoken as a shava should. Now organize the games as I’ve asked-and make sure she has good seats.” He rose from his throne, set down the Rod of Kings, and faced the warrior woman. “Rekseen of Ja’aram, I have news of your uncle.”
The time of mourning passed. Geth spent the next five days walking with a knife in his gut. Word of the funerary games to come and of the forest that grew along the road to the Gathering Stone spread in Rhukaan Draal. Just as Haruuc had predicted, the people of Darguun greeted both with eager anticipation.
He organized the games with a kind of numb detachment. In truth, Razu did most of the work for him- Haruuc’s throne room remained sealed and the lhesh in isolation, so there was little else for the mistress of ceremonies to do. Geth approved her suggestions without much thought. He wasn’t sure what else there was for him to do. He felt helpless and not at all heroic, in spite of a sense of approval from Wrath. He suspected that only came because he was fulfilling his duties as a shava.
Ekhaas and Chetiin were no help. They came to see him the first day, and he poured his emotions out to them-at least as much as he could without offending them. Both the duur’kala and the shaarat’khesh elder offered consolation, but no condemnation for Haruuc’s actions. “What did you think he would do, Geth?” Ekhaas asked. “Keraal didn’t act alone. All of the Gan’duur warriors were with him. At least Haruuc’s not using the rod.”
“Would you have done it?” Geth asked her bluntly.
Her mouth opened and closed, but she finally said, “Tales of the Empire of Dhakaan speak of even harsher actions.”
“So you would have done it.”
Ekhaas’s ears went back flat.
“It’s the right response for the situation,” Chetiin said. “I wouldn’t have expected it from Haruuc, but it’s what a strong ruler should have done. The warlords like it. Haruuc has greater support now than in the first years of his rule.”
If the Darguul warlords liked Haruuc’s actions, reaction from the representatives of the other nations of Khorvaire and the dragonmarked houses was exactly what Munta had said it would be. Razu’s main distraction from helping Geth plan the games was dealing with the formal messages of disapproval that arrived at Khaar Mbar’ost from ambassadors and viceroys. Most urged mercy. House Orien threatened action if Haruuc hung his victims along
