Chetiin sat on the edge of a table in the room beyond.
Haruuc glowered at the black-clad goblin. “And what do you want?”
“To add the voice of an old friend.” He slipped off the table as Haruuc entered and looked up at him. “You’re letting a small success turn into a big mistake, Haruuc. You’ve won a victory over a rebel clan. You’ve brought Darguun together.” He pointed at the rod. “You’ve secured the symbol of authority that will allow your successor to hold Darguun together as well. But you’re not powerful enough to take on the Five Nations. Darguun isn’t powerful enough.”
“Listen to him, Haruuc,” said Munta. “You know it’s true. You’ve said it yourself. Darguun has no friends in Khorvaire. If we try to attack any human nation, the others will come together against us.” The old warlord squeezed one hand into a fist. “We can’t fight a united force. The Treaty of Thronehold protects us as much as it limits us.”
Daavn shook his head sharply. “You’re wrong, old man. The Five Nations are still recovering from the war. They hate each other more than they hate us. Now is the time to strike!”
Haruuc turned to glare at him. “Why are you here, Marhaan? How did you become one of my councilors?” He looked at each of them in turn. His gaze settled on Tariic. “What do you have to say?”
“I-” Tariic hesitated, his eyes on the rod in Haruuc’s grasp, then bowed his head. “I support whatever decision you make, lhesh.”
“As you should,” Haruuc rasped. “As you all should.” He looked at them. “I am the lhesh. I created Darguun. You will follow me. Is there any question of that?” He thumped a fist against his chest.
Tariic and Daavn repeated the gesture. So did Munta, although a little more slowly-and, Geth thought, regretfully.
Chetiin did not. He stood looking up at Haruuc, and his big ears twitched. “Haruuc,” he said quietly, “when we brought the rod to you, you told us that if we ever had need, you would listen. I have need. I want you to listen.”
Haruuc’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “Then speak,” he said.
“For as long as I’ve know you, you’ve put thought before deed. Now you’re letting Keraal’s words goad you into action. Think before you act on your words, or you put Darguun in danger.” The goblin bent his head. “That’s all I can say, old friend.”
“Cho,” said Haruuc. “It is.” He leaned over Chetiin. “Now you will listen to me, ‘old friend.’ Keraal’s words don’t goad me. They show me the way. They agree with what I see as the future of Darguun-a future as glorious as the past.” His eyes narrowed. “And I should ask what the shaarat’khesh care for Darguun. The Silent Clans have always stood apart. They’ve never shown their loyalty to me.”
Chetiin stiffened. “The shaarat’khesh owe no allegiance beyond our contracts. We never have. I am here as your friend.”
“Would a friend stand against me?”
“I stand with you, Haruuc.” His scarred voice strained. “I stand with you and try to make you see that you follow a path to disaster!”
Rage flooded Haruuc’s face and his hand shot out. Chetiin was faster-he slid away from the lhesh. His arms crossed and suddenly he held the curved dagger he kept sheathed on his left wrist. Tariic started to draw his sword. Geth’s hand snapped out and closed on his arm, forcing the weapon down again. Tariic glared at him, but Geth just shook his head.
Chetiin and Haruuc stared at each other, then Haruuc straightened. “Get out,” he said. “Get out of Khaar Mbar’ost. You’re no friend of mine. When I need the shaarat’khesh, I will hire you-or perhaps another.”
For a moment, Chetiin was very still, staring at Haruuc, then he slowly straightened as well and slid his dagger back into its sheath. “You are not the Haruuc I have known for so many years. You will destroy what you have built unless you are stopped.” The black-clad goblin glanced at Geth, nodded once, then put his back to Haruuc and walked out the door.
The lhesh clenched both fists around the Rod of Kings as if he could snap the wrist-thick byeshk. He turned and glared at Munta, Tariic, and Daavn. “Go wait with the rest of the court. You have places there. If you have anything more to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
The three hobgoblins left the room like scolded children.
Geth lifted his head as Haruuc’s eyes fell on him. “What about me?” he said. “Do you want me to leave?”
“You were going to leave already, weren’t you?” Haruuc eased his grip on the rod and took a slow breath. “Stay long enough to do one thing, then you may go. Leave Darguun. I’ll release you from your responsibility for the games. I will not call on you as a shava ever again.”
“What’s this one thing?”
“Stand with me to honor Vanii.” He looked at Geth. “For the sake of friends lost in battle, stand with me.”
Geth’s mouth twisted. “You’re a bastard, Haruuc.”
“I’ve been called worse. You’ll do it.”
“I’ll do it-for Vanii,” Geth said. “He has no blame in this. He deserves to be honored.”
“I liked your bluntness from the moment we met, Geth. Aram chose well when it accepted you.” He turned the Rod of Kings in his hands for a moment, then jerked his head at the door that led onto the dais in the throne room. “Come through. Razu will open the great door and let people in soon.”
As soon as Haruuc opened the door, however, Geth could see that there had been a change in the throne room. The big, blocky throne had been shifted to one side of the dais to make way for a bench-like stone bier-for Vanii, Geth assumed-but also for something else. Standing over the bier, rising a little more than half the height of the throne room, was a tree sculpted of white stone. A thick trunk rose, narrowed, then spread and split into curved segments. The stone branches were sharp with ridges and thorny spikes that cast hard shadows in the torchlight that lit the throne room. The entire tree was cut with grooves along and across its surface. Many of the grooves were stained dark. Geth’s stomach rose into his throat. He’d seen the tree’s twin-the original, in fact-in the great underground hall of Taruuzh Kraat, the workshop of Taruuzh. This one was smaller than that had been, but it was still frightening to look upon.
Geth could hear the faint sound of the court waiting in the antechamber beyond the great carved doors, but for now the throne room was empty and silent. He looked to Haruuc. “That’s a real grieving tree. An original Dhakaani grieving tree.”
The lhesh leaned against the throne and stared up into the branches. “There are ruins in the south of Darguun that have lain undisturbed for many centuries. When I forged the alliance among the Ghaal’dar tribes that became Darguun, I traveled everywhere in search of allies-even through the Torlaac Moor and into the jungle of the Khraal. I found this in the Khraal and had it brought back into the north. It’s been hidden until now. Waiting for the right time to be used.” He glanced at Geth. “A secret is only a surprise once.”
Geth felt sick. “Have you ever seen a true grieving tree feeding?”
“Feeding… I hadn’t thought to call it that. But yes. One of the men I had with me when we found it accidentally activated it. I know the words.” He spoke a word in something that sounded like Goblin but that Wrath didn’t translate for Geth. A shiver passed through the stone branches of the tree. Haruuc spoke another word and the shivering stopped. Geth looked away and tried not to think of Keraal hung in the branches.
“Do you really want revenge for Vanii’s death so badly that you want to do this to Keraal?” he asked.
“I told you,” Haruuc said, “this isn’t about Vanii-”
Something inside Geth snapped. “Boar’s snout!” He turned back to Haruuc, his teeth bared. “If this wasn’t about Vanii, you wouldn’t have made Iizan’s slaves move a forest in three days. You would already have planned something.”
Haruuc’s ears bent flat. “The Gan’duur warriors had to die. Their clan had to be destroyed.”
“You could have found another way to do it! You’re selling women and children into slavery. Couldn’t you have sold the warriors, too?”