“I’m not used to sending other people out to fight in my place,” said Geth with a grunt. “I’m surprised Wrath hasn’t pushed me to go myself.”
“Fighting isn’t always the hero’s part,” Chetiin said. He twisted around and swung his legs out the window, then nodded toward the glowing horizon. “The last day of Haruuc’s games. The beginning of the end. Good luck, Geth.”
“Rat and Tiger dance for you, Chetiin.” Geth leaned out and watched the goblin start his climb down the wall of Khaar Mbar’ost like some big shadowy spider.
The end began as Haruuc’s funeral had begun-with a procession.
At first there was little to see from where Ekhaas sat in the stands of the arena, but she could hear the waves of cheering that accompanied the progress of the procession through Rhukaan Draal. It was like listening to the approach of a violent storm. The excited murmur of those lucky enough to have found a place in the arena itself-and there wasn’t a spare place to be had, even among the sections reserved for dignitaries-was wind in storm-tossed trees. The blurred susurrus grew louder and louder until the storm was upon them. One pair of the arena’s great gates opened and lightning might have struck. The roar of the crowd was thunder.
Where Haruuc’s corpse had led the funeral procession, Geth led the way onto the blood-damp sand of the arena floor. Somehow, Ekhaas thought, the shifter managed to look even more grim than the dead lhesh had. Ashi, sitting at her side, took her hand and squeezed it. The very human gesture was embarrassing, but Ekhaas didn’t pull away. It felt good to share her anxiety.
The four claimants to Haruuc’s throne followed Geth, smiling like victorious soldiers and waving to their supporters. Among the deafening echoes that illed the arena, it was impossible to tell who received the loudest cheers. Iizan looked just as conident as Tariic, and Garaad looked just as conident as Aguus. All four were dressed in splendid armor that flashed in the sunlight. All four walked as if they strode the polished stones of a throne room rather than an arena that had seen five days of combat and bloodshed. Not that any of them had any choice now, even if they doubted their true chances. To abandon their claim would be a stain on their honor.
The warlords and clan chiefs of Darguun came last. They entered as a group, more solemn than the contending heirs, though not so grim as Geth, and took their places for the final ritual of Haruuc’s mourning.
Geth moved to stand against one wall of the arena, the rival claimants against the others. The warlords-Dagii among them, the three tribex horns mounted to shoulders of the ancestral armor of Mur Talaan rising over his head-spread themselves out on either side, leaving a broad pathway between them.
Drums took up a deep rolling heartbeat that sounded even above the noise of the crowd. Slowly, sound in the arena died away until only the drums remained. Then they, too, fell silent and Razu stepped onto the raised platform that had recently been occupied by the announcer of the games. Her staff rapped the platform three times.
On the other side of Ekhaas from Ashi, Senen leaned close. “Did you know that Razu moved the date of the coronation by two days on the advice of your friend Midian Mit Davandi?”
“I didn’t,” Ekhaas lied.
“Tariic isn’t happy.”
“I don’t imagine he is.”
Razu spoke, her voice ringing. “By tradition, when a warlord of the Ghaal’dar Clans dies without declaring an heir, any senior warrior of his clan who believes he can hold the position may seek it. Rivals must pass the judgment of the other senior warriors and meet the approval of the members of the clan. If they cannot, they are not strong enough, and only the strong may take a place as warlord.” The beat of a single drum began again, a counterpoint to the old hobgoblin’s words. “Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor died without declaring an heir. We look to tradition to guide us!”
She thrust out her staff. “Iizan of Ghaal Sehn. Aguus of Traakuum. Garaad of Vaniish Kai. Tariic of Rhukaan Taash. You believe you have the strength to take the throne of Darguun as lhesh. With the warlords of Darguun to judge you and before the people of Darguun”-her staff swung around to encompass the crowd in the arena-“step forward and claim it!”
The sound of all the unseen drums surged together into a powerful, throbbing beat that Ekhaas felt in her belly. The crowd remained very nearly silent, however. Ekhaas could see the four claimants studying Geth and each other.
Iizan moved, taking a slow step forward. His eyes swung around the assembled warlords.
One… two… three of them met his gaze. The rest looked down or up or simply away, anywhere but into his face. Among the stands, there were only scattered shouts. Iizan trembled and took another, tentative step, still searching the faces of the warlords for support, but even those who had met his gaze before looked away. The shouts from the stands gave way to mocking hoots. Iizan stopped where he stood, his face pale, his ears sagging.
Garaad, Tariic, and Aguus didn’t wait to take turns. As Iizan stood in shame, they stepped out almost at the same time. The noise in the stands exploded and once again it was impossible to tell who had the greatest support from the people. It was simpler, though, to tell who had support among the warlords. Aguus and Garaad advanced across the sand step by step, finding and then losing the gazes of the lords of Darguun. Garaad made it several paces beyond Iizan before the last of his supporters looked away. Aguus stopped a short way beyond that.
Tariic’s stride was casual, almost arrogant. He didn’t pause to search for support, he paused to accept it. As Garaad and then Aguus stopped, it became abundantly clear whom the people of Darguun-or at least those of Rhukaan Draal-favored as well. One loud voice broke free to rise above the others. “Tariic and victory over the Valenar!”
Tariic lifted his head and pointed out into the crowd in the general direction of the shout. The noise in the arena seemed to double. Tariic strode across the sand, stopped in front of Geth, bowed his head, then stepped to the shifter’s side and raised his hand.
Warlords and people alike roared their approval of the next lhesh of Darguun.
He’s done it, thought Ekhaas. Ashi squeezed her hand. Ekhaas squeezed back.
Razu didn’t appear again to make any kind of formal announcement of Tariic’s succession to the throne. There really wasn’t any need. Aguus, Garaad, and Iizan came forward and knelt before him in acknowledgement of his triumph-a true pledge of allegiance would come after his coronation. The rhythm of the drums shifted into something almost festive, and the warlords, Tariic, and Geth retreated from the arena to the cheers of the crowd. A few moments later, Tariic and Geth appeared together at the rail of the warlords’ box. Tariic waved once more to the crowd, allowed them to cheer a little longer, then nodded to the announcer, who had reclaimed his platform. The drums fell silent, and so did much of the crowd. The event, aside from the selection of the lhesh, that had driven their anticipation through much of the day had arrived.
The announcer raised his speaking trumpet to his mouth. “By tradition, the final match of the games honors both the old warlord and the new with the finest fighters available. Today we honor Lhesh Haruuc”-a cheer from the crowd-“and Lhesh Tariic”-a second cheer-“with the final battle of the only man to fight matches on all five days of the games!”
A rumble grew in the audience. The announcer gestured with a flourish to one of the gates of the arena. “I give you Keraal!”
As the gates swung open to reveal a chain-draped figure and an enthusiastic roar leaped from the audience, Ekhaas couldn’t help wondering if the people in the stands remembered that this was the man who had led a rebellion against Haruuc. Who had tried to starve Rhukaan Draal by burning crops and storehouses. She leaned forward to get a better look at him.