Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2
Page 26
“A healing compound,” Tenquis said. The anger faded from his face, replaced by a certain self-satisfaction. “Faster than a body on its own, slower than true magic. A good artificer needs to know something about anatomy, as well as alchemy and artifacts. You had several broken ribs, a broken arm, a broken cheekbone, and were badly bruised all over. Your left hip had a deep wound that was just barely healed—magic or some shifter gift, I assume. The bruising is gone. Your hip is completely healed. The broken bones are likely mended, although you’ll want to be careful of them. They’ll be like green wood for a few days yet.”
Geth bent his bandaged arm experimentally. More dark, glittering powder ran out between the fabric strips. “I … Twice tak, Tenquis.”
The tiefling wrinkled his nose. “You did pass out on my doorstep. It would have attracted attention if I’d left you to die in the street—and once you were inside, I had to do something or I would have had to get rid of the body.”
It was hard to tell if he was joking. Geth waited for him to laugh or smile, but he didn’t. Finally Geth broke the silence. “There’s been trouble.”
“I suspected it.” Tenquis’s voice was flat. His fleshy tail snaked slowly back and forth through the air. “I really was tempted to leave you in the street, but since I’d guess this has something to do with the false rod, whatever happened to you puts me in danger, too.” He cocked his head and his gold-flecked black horns flashed in the light of the lanterns that lit the barn. “Lhesh Tariic discovered the deception.”
“Good guess,” said Geth.
“I wish it wasn’t. Given that you came on the night of his coronation, it seemed obvious, though.”
“Wait.” The tiefling’s words settled into his head like leaves drifting to the ground. “On the night of Tariic’s coronation? How long have I been here?”
“Three nights.”
“Three?” He sat up again, threw his legs over the side of the bed, and stood—almost. Tenquis darted in and grabbed him before his legs folded completely.
“Give yourself a moment,” he advised.
Geth nodded numbly. He wore only his smallclothes. Tenquis dragged a sheet off the bed and draped it around him, then helped him out into his workshop in the main room of the barn.
The bright light of noon shone around the edges of the shuttered windows. “Tiger, Wolf, and Rat,” Geth muttered. He looked at Tenquis. “I need to go.”
“Easy.” Tenquis guided him to a table and pulled out a straight-backed chair so he could sit. Geth grabbed the back of the chair and hung on. Tenquis shrugged and let go. He left him holding onto the chair, fetched a broom, and began to clean up a mess of broken glass and thin, smoking liquid.
Across the workshop, Geth’s clothes lay on another table together with Wrath and his great gauntlet. Geth shook out his legs, took a deep breath, and walked—wobbling only slightly—to the other table. Tenquis paused in his sweeping to watch him. “In a hurry?”
“I’ve been in a bed for three days. I need to get out. I need to find out what’s been happening.” Geth held onto the edge of the other table and let his breath catch up with him.
“As far as I can tell,” Tenquis said, “not much.”
Geth stared at him. “What do you mean ‘as far as you can tell?’ And what do you mean ‘not much?’”
Tenquis ignored him, tipping a bucket on its side, sweeping the glass and smoking liquid into it, then shaking sand from a second bucket over the remaining liquid. When he’d finally finished, he looked up at Geth and flashed sharp white teeth in a sly grin.
“Did you think I was sitting by your bedside? I may make good guesses, but there’s only so much I can glean from someone who’s unconscious. And I’m not the kind of person who waits for trouble to come creeping up on him. While you were sleeping, I went out to see what kind of danger I was in.”
He set the broom aside and moved around the workshop, gathering things—a basin, a brush, hot water from a small iron stove—as he spoke.
“That first night, there were guards from Khaar Mbar’ost looking for a shifter in parts of the city, though not around here and not for long. By dawn, there was no more search. Tariic’s been putting himself on display to the people for the last two days. He’s getting them ready for war with the Valenar—not that dar need much encouragement. I want to see one of his speeches so I could get a look at him, and I noticed two interesting things. The first was that whatever he might know about it, he was still using the false rod. I recognize my own magic.” He stopped in front of Geth, basin held in his arms. “The second thing is you shouldn’t be here because for all appearances, you were there, standing with Tariic.”
Geth’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “How—?”
“A changeling? An illusion disguising someone else?” Tenquis shrugged again. “How it’s been done doesn’t matter so much as that it’s been done at all. Someone, whether it’s Tariic or someone else, is trying to cover up the fact that you’re missing. And given that neither you nor Tariic has the true Rod of Kings right now, I’m going to guess that someone else has it. Am I right?”
Geth blinked, then nodded slowly.
“Boiled down, yes.” He looked at Tenquis for a long moment and the tiefling looked back. Questions raced through Geth’s head. What had happened to Ashi and Midian? Where was Chetiin now? Had Dagii and Ekhaas engaged the Valenar? What was Tariic up to?
The one that made it to his tongue, though, was, “Why are you doing this? You didn’t want anyone to know your name. You didn’t want to be involved.”
“I told you—whatever happened to you puts me in danger too. If Tariic knows about the false rod, he could find a way to track it back to me. I think we’ve just been lucky that he hasn’t.”
“No,” said Geth, shaking his head. He felt ashamed at the suspicions that gnawed at him. Tenquis had hidden and healed him. Why shouldn’t he trust him? But he’d trusted Chetiin, too. “I mean why are you still here and not halfway out of Darguun? Why go out looking for answers?”
“Like I said, I’m not one for letting trouble creep up on me.”
“Trouble’s not going to creep up on you if you’re in Breland or Aundair.”
“If I were Tariic and I was looking for the true Rod of Kings, a little thing like distance wouldn’t stop me. But your point is taken.” Tenquis grimaced and set the basin, brush, and water down on the table. “I thought about running—for about the time it takes water to boil. The thing is, I don’t run easy. Most tieflings have the fury of ancient devils in their blood. I’ve got the other side of our heritage too: the curiosity of the sorcerer-kings who made deals with those devils.”
His tail lashed from side to side. “You know I’m interested in the lost lore of the Dhakaani daashor. Darguun is the place to be to look for that lore. Ekhaas still owes me the stories preserved by the Kech Volaar. You still owe me time with your sword and I have a feeling that if I stay with you, I’ll find out even more. Why would I give that up by running?” Tenquis crossed his arms. “When I was young, my grandmother said to me, ‘Quiso, curiosity has consequences—if you’re going to ask questions, you need to be ready for the answers, or they’ll take you down hard.’ I’m all for self-preservation, but outright fear is something else, and I haven’t seen anything yet that makes me think I should be afraid of helping you.”
Geth looked at him again, suspicion turning into a strange camaraderie for the feisty artificer. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Do I need to remind you that I’m already in it?”
Geth felt a crazy grin spread across his face. “You’ve got guts, Tenquis. You’re like rolling over a log and finding a wolverine underneath.”
Tenquis snorted. “You don’t know many tieflings, do you? I’m practically a coward.” He picked up the brush from the table and thrust it at him. “Clean yourself before you get dressed. Brush off the healing compound first or it will turn to
mud when it gets wet. Are you hungry?”
He was. “Ravenous. Like I haven’t eaten for three days.”
“I’ll cook something and you can tell me all about what I’m really getting into.” Tenquis stepped behind Geth and the shifter felt him unfastening the bandages around his chest. “Let’s start with how you ended up looking like you found the bad side of an angry ogre.”
“I jumped out of Khaar Mbar’ost.”
The hands on his bandages paused. “You’re joking.”
Geth thought of the stones of the plaza rushing at him. His belly clenched and rose at the memory. “I wish I was,” he said.
The tiefling was not a good cook. The stove on which he made their food seemed to be the same one on which he heated various experiments. The spices and herbs he used came out of jars plucked from among others that Geth felt certain contained alchemical ingredients. The bowl he eventually put in front of Geth contained balls of starchy noon bobbing in an over-spiced broth alongside uncertain meats, mushy vegetables, and bits of black loosened from the bottom of the pot. More noon balls, slightly stale, were served as bread, with hard cheese, slightly moldy, on the side.
But with one bite, Geth’s hunger seemed to explode and he ate everything. As he spun out the story of the Rod of Kings, however, Tenquis’s appetite appeared to shrivel. Finally, he pushed his bowl away. “So the true rod wants to make its wielder an emperor bent on conquest and can give him the power to make it happen. Tariic knows about the true rod and is aligned with Makka, who wants to kill all of you. Chetiin has betrayed you twice and currently has possession of the rod. Two of your allies are off to fight the Valenar and the other two are likely under Tariic’s watchful eye.” The artificer slumped on his stool. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“I killed a dragon once.”
Tenquis’s gold eyes opened very wide.
Geth shrugged. “I thought you might find that reassuring.”
“It disturbs me that you were in a position where you had to fight a dragon.”
“No dragons this time. At least not so far.” Geth lifted his bowl and swallowed the last of the broth. “I want to find out what’s happened to Ashi and Midian. I need to know if Tariic has harmed them.”
“I have a better idea,” said Tenquis. He leaned forward. “Track down the true rod first.”
Geth growled as he set the bowl down. “How are we supposed to do that? Chetiin could have taken it anywhere, and he’s hard enough to keep track of when you’re looking right at him.”
“The same way you found it before, of course. Use Wrath.”
Geth blinked and looked at the tiefling. Tenquis spread his hands. “It stands to reason, doesn’t it? You say the duur’kala opened a connection between them so you could locate the rod in the wilderness of Darguun. Is there any reason the connection shouldn’t still exist?”
“I … hadn’t thought of it.” Geth shook his head. “I haven’t tried it since we brought the Rod of Kings back to Haruuc. I just thought the magic would end when we found it.”
Tenquis snorted. “The sword is still the sword. The rod is still the rod. Try it.”
Geth rose, went to the table where Wrath lay, and drew the sword from its sheath. It felt good to hold the twilight-purple blade in his hand again. The grip, the weight and feel of the sword—even the sense of it at the edge of his awareness—had become familiar to him. Geth moved to the open center of Tenquis’s workshop, held out the sword, and opened himself to it.
He felt the pull immediately, a draw toward the sibling artifact that had been crafted from the same vein of byeshk and by the same as hands as Wrath. The same pull he had felt when they’d first sought the rod. Turning slowly, he found the direction in which the pull was strongest. “That way,” he said. “I can’t tell how far it is, but the rod is that way!” He grinned. “Grandmother Wolf, that’s perfect!”
“Chetiin probably assumed the same thing you did,” said Tenquis. He got up from the table. “I assume you’re ready for a little scouting?”
“Almost.” Geth sheathed Wrath again, then picked up his great gauntlet and slid his arm into it. Tenquis had repaired the dented metal and the joints of the armored sleeve moved freely once more. Geth tightened the straps that held it in place, flexed his arm, and bared his teeth. “Now I’m ready.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
28 Sypheros
They walked out of Tenquis’s workshop into a day that was cool and bright, though gray clouds were piling up in the east. Geth could smell rain on the wind, faint behind the odor of the kitchen and workshop scraps that Tenquis had used to disguise him. Egg and carefully drawn soot gave him wrinkles while ash streaked his hair. Walking with a hunch and hanging onto Tenquis’s arm completed the appearance of an aged shifter. Not so impenetrable a disguise as the illusion Ekhaas had created, but it would do the job. If Tariic had people watching for Geth, they wouldn’t give him a second glance.
“You should hope they don’t,” Tenquis said when Geth admired his handiwork. “This kind of trick works better at night. Keep your face down so no one gets a good look at you.”
Geth had checked the direction Wrath pointed before they left and they went that way, west and somewhat north. The twisting, crowded streets of Rhukaan Draal forced them make frequent detours and left them guessing that they were going in the correct direction. Fortunately, the winding path didn’t require them to pass close to Khaar Mbar’ost.
The influence of the mighty fortress—or at least of its new master—seemed to have grown, though. Geth could feel a new edginess to the crowds in the streets, a new aggression and confidence among the dar. People of other races stayed out of their way. Weapons, not uncommon before, were even more apparent. Small groups of militia drilled wherever there was open space.
“You can thank Pradoor as well as Tariic,” Tenquis said. “She’s well-known. People put a lot of store in her words. The last few days she’s been preaching in support of war with Valenar and in support of Tariic.” He rubbed the horny spikes that edged his chin. “If she’s joined with Tariic, it would explain a few things.”
“Like?” Geth growled.
Tenquis pointed as they turned a corner and Geth followed his finger—not that what he pointed at would have been hard to miss. They stood on one side of a crossroads where five streets came together. At the center of the intersection stood a flat-sided pillar of white stone surmounted by a sculpture of four metal arms, three vertical and one horizontal, a very large version of the eight-pointed Octogram, symbol of the Sovereign Host. Carved into the pillar below it were the symbols of Dol Arrah, Dol Dorn, and Balinor, the gods Haruuc had chosen to venerate over those of the Dark Six. The monument seemed familiar. It took Geth a moment to remember why. Haruuc’s funeral procession had come this way, pausing briefly before the column. There were words written on the column, Geth remembered now. Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor gives thanks for Darguun’s victory at the Battle of Marguul Pass.
The dedication was obscured by the naked body of a skinny elf that hung from a rope lashed around one of the arms of the Octogram. Dried blood made new symbols on the white stone, those of the Fury, the Mockery, and the Keeper.
“Bear and Boar,” muttered Geth. “Was he a Valenar?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s hard to tell now.”
The people of Rhukaan Draal passed around the desecrated monument without looking up, although Geth noticed they did give it a wide berth. “Why hasn’t he been cut down?”
“I suspect it suits Tariic to leave him up,” Tenquis said tightly. “Maybe you’re right when you say Haruuc picked a fight with Valenar to avoid fighting all of Khorvaire, but what he’s started is going to be very bad.”
Geth stared at the body as it rocked against the stone, pushed back and forth by the breeze—then started forward.
Tenquis grabbed him and held him back. “No. You can’t do anything for him and you’ll only draw attention to yourself.”
“Fair enough.” Tenquis steered him out of the intersection and into the temporary shelter of a stopped wagon. “Check our direction.”
The sword was disguised just as he was, wrapped up in leathers and carried under his arm as an anonymous bundle. Geth slipped a hand through the leathers, grasped the hilt, and held it out just enough to tell which way it pointed. They’d drifted only a little from their course. They left the shelter of the wagon just as the carter, a fat hobgoblin, appeared, ready to curse them for thieves. Tenquis flicked his tail at him as they strode off.
The farther they went, the more Geth was certain that he’d been this way before, though he didn’t recognize the buildings or the shops that lined the streets. The twists and turns that he and Tenquis followed, though … those seemed somehow familiar, except that the crowds were out of place.
Then he saw why their route was familiar. Empty the streets and put the crowds in front of the shops and on top of the buildings and the scene made sense to him just as the monument had.
“This is the same way Haruuc’s funeral procession came,” he said.
“It’s just a coincidence,” said Tenquis. “We’re staying on the larger streets and the funeral procession couldn’t very well have gone through alleys.” His nose wrinkled and his tail lashed. “You don’t think Chetiin could have taken the Rod of Kings out of the city, do you?”
“Maybe,” Geth said. His mind was only half on the answer. A coincidence? He had to work to make himself believe it. Belief came even harder as the crowd thinned out and the buildings of Rhukaan Draal became shacks and huts along the side of the road, thick at first, then scattered, and finally nonexistent. The roar of the first cataract of the Ghaal filled empty space.