Balinor’s priest paused before responding solemnly, “You have the right.”
Dol Arrah’s priest put out his hand. “Bring forward the treasures that will pass with Haruuc through the gates of death!”
There was movement behind Ashi, and she stepped aside as those who had walked through Rhukaan Draal at the end of the funeral procession came forward. Bearers representing all three races of the dar passed among ambassadors, envoys, and warlords, the sun’s light gleaming on what they carried in their arms. Caskets full of gold and jewelry. Chests packed with bright weapons and armor. Fine goods from across Khorvaire, from exotic Xen’drik, and from distant Sarlona as well. If Ashi hadn’t known better, she would have thought that Khaar Mbar’ost had been stripped to fill Haruuc’s tomb, but this was only a fraction of the treasures that Haruuc had amassed and some of what would follow Haruuc were offerings from other clans-even from dragonmarked houses. She saw the crest of Deneith on a polished shield and the sign of Orien on a small but exquisite sculpture of a horse cast in silver. There was also a bearer who walked apart from the others with nothing more than a small open chest in his hands. A single dagger rested inside the chest, the deadly weapon, left behind by Chetiin, that had struck the fatal blow. By dar custom, it would rest with its victim.
One by one, the bearers climbed the ridge, bowed once before the priests and twice before Haruuc’s corpse, then vanished briefly into the tomb before reappearing without their burdens. It took a long time, but when all of the bearers had returned to the field below, the priest of Dol Dorn spoke again.
“Traditions tell that the People were born in caverns and lived there before we emerged to fight beneath the sun and the sky. When we pass through the gates of death, we return to caverns, the womb and the grave. Life continues. Tradition continues.”
He gestured for the bugbears holding Haruuc’s throne to kneel. When they had, he reached up and pulled free Haruuc’s sword, then turned to Geth. “The People have mourned Haruuc’s passing. Free them to continue their lives.”
Geth nodded. Tucking the Rod of Kings between his arm and his body, he knelt before the priest and the sword. The other two priests came forward. Balinor’s priest now carried a broad tray. Dol Arrah’s stood close with an unlit torch.
From the tray, Geth took a copper bowl lined with thick shreds of fiber and a flint, laying the Rod of Kings in their place. He set the bowl on the ground. The priest of Dol Dorn grounded Haruuc’s sword in it. Carefully angled so that all could see what he did, Geth leaned forward and struck the flint on the blade of the sword.
Sparks jumped from the sword into the tinder. Smoke curled up in a fine wisp, growing thick as Geth bent close to blow gently onto the bowl. When he sat back, the torch was ready for him. He took it and touched it to the burning tinder. Flames leaped into life. Geth lifted the torch and stood to face the warlords.
“From this will fire return to Rhukaan Draal,” he said. “From this will life continue.”
He took back the rod. The priest of Dol Dorn returned the sword to Haruuc’s grasp, then looked out over the crowd.
“This was Haruuc!” the priest shouted, his ears high and quivering. “Haruuc who founded Darguun and Rhukaan Draal, whose boldness made a new homeland for the People. He will never be forgotten! He will live in stories and legends as long as mighty, quick, and strong people draw breath. He will inspire us as long as the Ghaal and Torlaac Rivers flow from mountain to sea. Let all who would be great follow in the path that his red sword has carved!”
The roar that rose from the gathered warlords was as loud as anything Ashi had heard in the city. Weapons were drawn and flashed against the sky. Ashi felt the fervor of the moment sweep her up-she drew the sword at her side and raised it high as well. “Haruuc!” she shouted along with the Darguuls. “Haruuc!”
The priest of Dol Arrah nodded and the bugbears lifted the throne again. Turning underneath it, they reversed their positions so that they could walk forward. With his warlords shouting his name, Haruuc was borne into his tomb facing outward and the shadows of the grave closed over his face like dark water.
The three priests followed him in. Geth moved to stand before the doorway and the shouts of the warlords died away. In the silence, the noise of the cataract seemed louder than ever.
After a moment, Pater spoke softly. “The first time I met Haruuc, I expected him to talk about taxes or tolls. Instead he asked me if the trade roads were in good enough condition to allow easy trade between Darguun and Breland.”
The humble memory startled Ashi, but then she realized that throughout the crowd, warlords and ambassadors were whispering, sharing quiet reminiscences.
“He asked me about distant ports,” said Sindra. “He knew what was happening across Khorvaire.”
The Zil ambassador, Esmyssa Entar ir’Korran, stood nearby. “He always spoke to me as if I was as tall as he was.”
“We discussed philosophy,” said Vounn.
Ashi tried to find her own most significant memory of Haruuc. It took her a moment-his presence, even before he held the rod, had been inspiring and it was hard to pick out just one memory. She finally found the one she sought. Something that probably would have seemed small to anyone else but made a great difference to her. “He saw me as more than my dragonmark.”
Vounn raised a slim eyebrow at the statement, but said nothing.
The throne-bearers were the first to return to the surface, followed by the three priests. The priest of Balinor stepped around to the side of the tomb and, straining hard, pushed. The massive door swung shut. Stone as thick as a dagger’s length moved ponderously but, once set in motion, smoothly. The dark doorway became a narrow gap, then a sliver. Then the great door closed with a solid boom-and a hollow crack as the pivots that had allowed it to swing broke as they had been designed to do. The tomb of Haruuc Shaarat’kor was sealed. From the front of the door, an effigy of Haruuc glared down, a fierce warrior and a mighty king at the height of his power, the guardian of his own grave.
Standing under that gaze, Geth raised the torch and the rod high above his head. “The time for mourning is done. We remember Haruuc’s death-but now we celebrate his life. Now the games begin!”
The cheer that rose from the warlords was not as powerful as that which had honored Haruuc, but it was joyful and enthusiastic. Ashi was certain that she even heard an echo of it from the common people who waited beyond the arch.
Geth began the descent of the ridge, new fire for the city held out before him, and warlords shifted in an attempt to be among the first to accompany him back into Rhukaan Draal. Ashi tried to catch his eye, to give him a simple gesture of encouragement and show him he had done well, but it was no good. There were too many people vying for his attention. She started to turn back to Vounn — and felt the back of her neck prickle with the sensation of being watched. An old hunter’s instinct. She glanced around. This wasn’t like it had been while the funeral procession moved through Rhukaan Draal. No crowd watched her here.
No crowd except the one beyond the arch. Ashi spun sharply.
And the feeling was gone. The crowd was already breaking up and streaming back into the city, eager for the start. If someone had been watching her, they’d needed only to turn away to lose themselves in the crowd. Ashi found her hand was back on the hilt of her sword. She trusted her instincts. Someone had been watching her. Who?
Her hand tightened on the sword. Chetiin?
“Ashi?”
The sound of her own name made her whirl. Her sword was halfway out of its sheath before she realized it was Ekhaas. The duur’kala’s ears rose at the sight of her blade. “Is something wrong?”
Ashi felt blood rush to her face and she shoved the blade back. “No.”
Ekhaas’s ears didn’t drop but she nodded. “Would you like to watch the start of the games together?”
The thought of a fight after the long period of mourning was good-it certainly seemed like a fitting tribute to Haruuc. Ashi looked back to the tomb, then nodded. “I’ll tell Vounn.”
She glanced at the arch and the moving crowd beyond one last time. Someone had been watching her. That didn’t mean it was Chetiin. With such a large crowd, it could have been anyone.
CHAPTER THREE
