The doom of Kings

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Following Wrath through the mountains was like fighting a battle from sunrise to sunset. In a time years ago-a time that felt like another life-Geth had fought just such a battle along the border between Cyre and Karrnath. In the end, he hadn’t been able to tell whether any ground had been gained, only that he would have laid down among the corpses on the battlefield if it meant a chance to rest.

He and the others felt the same way at the end of every day now. Their pace slowed even more as they crept up toward, then climbed among, the Seawalls. Distances they should have covered in a few hours took an entire day as they went around canyons and sought out gentler inclines to follow. The weather turned colder as they pushed higher. Occasionally, they saw signs of habitation, of the rare goblins who lived in the mountains, but they made no effort to seek shelter with them. As Chetiin pointed out, if someone chose to live in the wilderness, they probably wanted to be left alone.

One night Midian pulled out a map and some shiny brass instruments. He made observations of several stars, worked out calculations in chalk, traced a line across his map, and cursed. “Sage’s shadow! We’re traveling on a line with Paluur Draal and Korranberg.”

“What’s Paluur Draal?” asked Ashi.

“It was a shining jewel of the Empire of Dhakaan,” said Ekhaas. “A great city, now ruined, overrun in the past by gnomes and kobolds- even humans tried to live there for a time. The rod couldn’t be there, though. The ruins have been thoroughly explored.”

“Don’t be sure of that,” Midian said, stowing his instruments back into his pack. “The last time I was there, the expedition I was with found evidence that the roots of the city extended deeper than anyone expec-” He caught Ekhaas’s glare and quickly changed the subject. “The point is that Paluur Draal is quite close to Korranberg. We could have ridden back to Sterngate, caught the lightning rail into Zilargo, and been there already.”

“What if the rod has already been found?” Chetiin asked. “You said we’re also on a line with Korranberg. What if the rod rests in your famous library?”

Midian flushed. “Now see here! If the library held a Dhakaani artifact as significant as the Rod of Kings, I’d know about it!”

“I notice you don’t say that the library would give it back,” said Ekhaas.

“Maybe no one has asked for it!” Midian screwed up his face. “Not that we have it. I mean that if we did have it and Haruuc sent someone to explain why it was important that it be returned to Darguun, I’m sure the library would repatriate it immediately. Trust me, no nation wants to see Darguun remain peaceful more than Zilargo.”

“All those gnomes helpless before the threat of invading Darguul slavers?” asked Chetiin dryly.

“Exactly!” said Midian. “It’s in Zilargo’s best interest to support a stable leadership in Darguun.”

Chetiin scratched Marrow’s head. “You don’t have to worry,” he said. “I understand Zils make terrible slaves.”

Midian’s mouth opened, but no sound came out and his face turned an even deeper shade of red.

Geth sighed and put an end to it. “The rod can’t be in the library. Korranberg’s below the mountains and we”-he drew Wrath and held it out so that everyone could see the angle of the pointing blade-“are still going up.”

They caught a bit of luck the next day. During their time in the mountains, they’d passed a number of ancient ruins, some Dhakaani, some dating from the Desperate Times after the fall of the empire-Ekhaas and Midian generally agreed, surprisingly, on what belonged to which period. Most of the ruins had consisted of a wall or two, sometimes even less, emerging from the undergrowth or perched high on a bit of bare rock, but that day they rounded the shoulder of a hill to find themselves on a stretch of Dhakaani road.

The stone surface was washed with drifting soil, broken by weather and by the roots of trees that were themselves centuries old. It coiled across the landscape, running roughly northwest to southeast along the line of the mountains in that area. Both behind and ahead, it seemed to appear in stretches, then vanish among the trees before reappearing once more along the curve of a distant ridge.

Geth could guess at what they were all thinking: the curving road might take them out of their way, but it was still a road, and following it was easier than breaking their own trail. He lifted Wrath. The sword pointed in the same general direction as the road. “Grandfather Rat smiles for a change,” he said.

Even when the ancient road was under the canopy of trees that had grown up through it, they made good time. “Where do you think it goes?” Dagii asked as they paused to take some food.

“We’re not likely to follow it to the end,” Geth pointed out.

“No, but the Dhakaani must have. No one builds a road to nowhere.”

“We’re approaching the headwaters of the Torlaac River,” Ekhaas said. She pointed to a distinctive cleft peak far in the distance. “I think that’s the back of Giim Astraa. There are extensive ruins there.”

Midian’s eyebrows rose and he took a sudden interest in the hazy peak, but Ekhaas didn’t seem to notice.

Dagii nodded and said, “I think you’re right. Well done.”

Ekhaas flicked her ears casually in response, but Geth could see the expression of self-satisfaction she tried to hide.

His prediction that they wouldn’t see the end of the road seemed accurate, though. When they started on the road again, he checked their direction. Wrath didn’t point anywhere near Giim Astraa, but rather along the road and directly to the massive bulk of a much closer mountain. The road curved wide around the mountain’s flank. He grimaced. “It was nice while it lasted.”

“Follow the road around,” Ashi suggested. “It might curve back again.”

It didn’t. As they came around the mountain, a stray sunbeam, the last light of the day, fell on the road ahead. The way was remarkably clear, the road a pale ribbon-one that snaked off in the direction of Giim Astraa and away from where they needed to go. There was no chance it would curve back.

“Rat,” cursed Geth.

“We’ll make camp here for the night,” said Dagii. “We can carry on in the morning.”

“Aye,” Geth said. Out of habit, he drew Wrath and held it out to get a new sense of their bearings.

His gut twisted. The sword no longer pointed south-southwest, but northeast toward the mountain they had just come around. “Look,” he said, then louder, “Look!”

Everyone turned to him and froze. Ekhaas’s ears rose sharply. “It’s here. Guulen is on this mountain.”

Excitement ran high in the camp that night. They ate a dinner of sour sausages and starchy dumplings in silence, each of them wrapped up in his or her thoughts. Ekhaas stared into the fire. Midian dug out his little silk-bound book and seemed to read it, though Geth noticed he was very slow in turning the pages. Dagii set himself to inspecting his armor. Chetiin examined the edge of his curved dagger, honing it with a worn sharpening stone: Geth realized for the first time that, though the goblin wore a pair of daggers sheathed to his forearms, he only drew and used the one on his left arm. He would have asked Chetiin about it, but it seemed somehow wrong to break the silence of the camp.

When his time came to sit watch, he stood and stared up at the mountain overhead. In his hand, Wrath throbbed as if in anticipation. Geth’s heart beat in the same time and he wondered if this was how the heroes of the name of Kuun had felt as they drew close to the ends of their adventures. “Grandmother Wolf,” he murmured, squeezing Wrath’s hilt, “the duur’kala are going to need to come up with some new stories for us!”

They were all up with the sun and ready to attack the mountain. It was still a daunting chunk of landscape to search. Broadleaf trees hugged the lower slopes, giving way to the thick dark green of pines and firs higher up. The peak, shining in the morning sun, was a cap of bare rock dotted with thin patches of grass like hair on the head of a bald man. Dagii rode a little farther along the old road to get a different view and came galloping back to them. “There’s a saddle just around the mountain and about halfway to the peak,” he said. “We should be able to reach it. Using Aram there should eliminate the need to search at least half the mountain.”

It was frustrating to leave the road again and re-enter the green world of the forest. The trees seemed particularly thick on the mountain. Within paces of leaving the road, they had lost site of it. It took a long while before the ground started rising, and they had to stop and wait at least twice while Chetiin climbed a tree to check their position. The second time he came down, he said, “I see the saddle,” and led them off at an angle to the way they’d been heading.

The ground began a sharp ascent shortly afterward. By mid-morning it was too steep to ride the horses, and they had to dismount. Even Chetiin got off Marrow and let the worg pad about on her own. The speed of Tariic’s magebred horses had ceased to be a benefit days before. Geth was glad that they had also been bred for endurance.

“Should we leave them behind?” he asked Dagii after a particularly difficult stretch that left them all sweating. “We could go faster on our own without them.”

“I’d rather haul them up the slope than risk something happening to them. We’ll still need to get out of the mountains and back to Rhukaan Draal.” The warrior was covered with dirt and leaf mould from slipping face first to the ground during the climb, but he still managed to keep his stiff manner. Maybe he was even more stiff, as if trying to hold onto his dignity. Geth felt the distinctly unheroic urge to push him down again, just to see if he could get him to laugh.

He didn’t have a chance to act on the urge. Marrow, who had been wandering ahead, came loping back. Her black fur stood on end, adding bulk to her neck and shoulders, and she was growling. She trotted to Chetiin and said something in the snarling language of worgs. Chetiin stiffened, and his ears flicked.

“What is it?” Dagii asked, and suddenly his stiffness didn’t seem so out of place.

“Bugbears. Marrow caught their scent. They’re not close, but we’re in their territory.”

“That’s not good, I guess,” said Ashi.

Dagii shook his head. “The Marguul tribes of the mountains have resisted swearing allegiance to Haruuc,” he said. “A few Marguul tribes are loyal, but others only acknowledge their oaths when it’s convenient to them. Tribes in the high mountains often don’t even bother to pretend.”

“And these are the high mountains.”

“Oh, yes.”

Chetiin listened to a few more yips and growls from Marrow. “There’s a hunters’ trail a short way ahead.”

“We need scouts,” Dagii said. “Chetiin, Geth, Ashi-follow Marrow and see what we’re dealing with. We’ll wait here.”

“Mazo,” said Chetiin. Geth shrugged out of his pack, Ashi did the same, and the three of them slid into the forest after Marrow.

The trail was only about thirty paces away. If they’d kept going, they would have blundered right into it. The four of them crouched in the brush a short way off the trail and watched for a short while. When there was no movement, they crept closer. Geth gestured, and Ashi stepped out into the open while Geth and Chetiin remained behind, hands on weapons. Ashi walked a few paces up and down the trail, then rejoined them.

“I don’t know what bugbear footprints look like, but a lot of big creatures on two feet use this trail frequently,” she said, and pointed first south, then north. “They walk that way with light loads and return heavily laden. There’s drops of old blood. Most likely hunters returning to a camp or a village with prey.”

“Camp or village?” asked Chetiin.

“Given how often the trail is used, I’d say smaller than a village, but more permanent than a camp.”

Geth cursed and drew Wrath. The blade pointed across the trail but at an angle that followed it up the mountain. “It doesn’t look like they’re in our way.”

“There’s no telling where this trail ends,” said Chetiin. His big eyes narrowed. “Bugbears are more nocturnal than other goblin races. We should take advantage of that to have a look around.”

Geth cursed again. He kept Wrath out as they made their way cautiously up the trail with Marrow shadowing them from the cover of the trees. The trail followed a relatively gentle slope up the mountainside. If nothing else, it was easier than walking with the horses. When the slope became even more gentle and the trees began to thin out, Geth guessed that they had almost reached the top of the saddle. A little farther on and Marrow whined gently in warning. “She smells the camp,” said Chetiin.

“I smell the camp,” Geth whispered as a gentle breeze from above brought a stink of rotten meat and dung.

A ridge rose from the woods on the left side of the track. Geth nudged Chetiin and pointed to it. The goblin nodded. A short time later, the two of them and Ashi were stretched out on top of the ridge in the afternoon sun and looking down on the bugbear camp.

Ashi was right. It was more permanent than what Geth would normally call a “camp” but it was also so disgustingly dirty he couldn’t call it anything else. Half a dozen large huts dotted the camp, as well as a longhouse that had been built against the steep fir-covered slope leading to the mountain’s peak. Geth suspected that the longhouse concealed the entrance to a cave in the mountainside. The whole camp was surrounded by what could loosely be called a yard of patchy grass and worn soil. Animal carcasses-deer, boar, mountain lions, wolves-hung from rough frames between the huts, and a big firepit lay at their center. Pots of something dark and steaming were dug into the ashes at the edge of the pit. Pine pitch to be used as a weapon, Geth guessed. Nasty stuff that would stick as it burned. Thick stakes sharpened, smeared with more pitch, and set into the ground at an angle made a crude barrier around the camp. Three bugbears dressed in rags of leather lounged sleepily near the opening in the barrier that was the closest thing there was to a gate.

Geth couldn’t see what the camp harbored that was worth protecting, but he could see why the bugbears would want to protect a claim on their territory. The saddle of the mountain opened onto something of a miracle, a snug little vale sheltered on the north by another ridge sweeping down from the mountain peak. The ridge blocked the north wind, hid the vale from anyone traveling south along the ruined road, and trapped the sun’s warmth. What was more, the southern saddle they’d climbed wasn’t the only approach to the vale. A second trail led from the camp down another gentle slope to the west. From atop the ridge, Geth could look down both the southern and western saddles and see broad, level plateaus among the surrounding mountains. Judging from the carcasses strung up around the camp, hunting was very good.

A third way led down from the vale as well. Between the ridge on which they lay and the western saddle, the land plunged into a deep valley. The way down into the valley wasn’t gentle. There was no trail and it didn’t look like the bugbears went that way often or at all. There was a patch of worn dirt at the edge of an especially steep bit of the valley wall, and the bushes below seemed broken, as if things were frequently thrown down into the valley. Maybe the valley served as the bugbears’ waste dump-though from the condition of the camp, Geth would have guessed they otherwise lived happily among their own filth.

Wrath left no doubt of which way they needed to go. The blade pointed unerringly into the valley.

Geth peered over the edge of the ridge. The valley wall below was so steep as to be almost sheer, and spiked with stunted trees that poked out of the crumbling rock. Climbing down that way wasn’t an option. If they wanted to get into the valley, they’d have to go past the camp.

“Any ideas?” Ashi whispered to Chetiin.

“Yes,” said the goblin. “Ekhaas.”