Don Bassingthwaite - Word of traitors

“What will do?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re out. Where’s the rod?”

“Here.” Geth had the Rod of Kings wrapped up in the soft oiled leather that normally protected his gauntlet. He reached for the anonymous bundle and was startled to see an unfamiliar hand pick it up-a hobgoblin’s orange-red hand on the end of a slender arm wearing a black wool sleeve. He glanced at Ekhaas.

“Illusion,” she said. “Just take the rod. We need to leave.”

He didn’t ask anything more, but grabbed the wrapped rod and followed Ekhaas out the door, closing it behind him. The guards that stood on either side of the door-an honor for the shava of Haruuc more than anything else-were leaning back against the walls, both of them lightly dozing under the subtle effect of Ekhaas’s magic. They wouldn’t know he had slipped out of his chamber.

Dagii was waiting just along the hall. For the first time Geth could recall, the young warlord wore no armor, though he did carry a sword. His shadow-gray hair had been shaken loose and brushed forward over his face. Dagii barely looked like himself. His ears rose at the sight of them, but he said nothing and fell into step alongside them.

As soon as they were away from the hall outside his chamber, Geth looked down at himself. He wore-or seemed to wear-a robe of black wool and a wide girdle of red leather tooled in the angular patterns favored by hobgoblin design.

He also appeared to have breasts.

“A woman?” he said under his breath. “You made me a woman?”

“My older sister, actually,” Ekhaas whispered. “I was in a hurry. I had to choose someone I knew well but that no one in Khaar Mbar’ost was likely to recognize. The illusion won’t last long-that’s why I prefer non-magical disguise. Try not to talk. The magic doesn’t change your voice.”

“You don’t know any hobgoblin men?”

Dagii’s voice was thick with restrained laughter. “If it’s any consolation, Ekhaas is clearly the beauty in the family.” He nodded to the duur’kala. Ekhaas’s ears flicked and she returned the nod gracefully, a smile playing around her lips.

Geth ground his teeth together.

If it was embarrassing, the illusion was effective. They tried to move through the least busy parts of Khaar Mbar’ost, but even at night the fortress was an active place. Still, no one within the walls gave them the slightest glance except for one hobgoblin warrior whose gaze lingered on Geth. They couldn’t sneak around the guards at the gates, but there Dagii simply looked one of the guards in the eye. The guard, startled by his unexpected appearance, snapped up straight. If anyone cared to question him, the hobgoblin might report that the warlord of Mur Talaan had left Khaar Mbar’ost, but Geth doubted if he would remember the two women who passed by with him.

Beyond Khaar Mbar’ost, the daytime revelry of the games spilled over into the night. Bonfires burned in the middle of some of the wider streets, and the people of Rhukaan Draal gathered around them to sing and dance and drink. The guards that had patrolled the city during the period of mourning were all but gone. Those few Geth spotted as they passed through the shadows were celebrating as heartily as the rest of the crowd. Here and there, vast casks of ale stood open and whole roast hogs were laid out courtesy of those with aspirations to the throne. Geth recognized the chiefs of a few lesser clans calling out the virtues of Aguus or Iizan or Garaad. The warlords had called on their allies to help support the costs of their campaigns of popularity.

“I don’t see anyone touting for Tariic,” he said.

“He’s being clever,” said Dagii. “Here all the food and drink blur together. He’s concentrating his attention on the arena and on winning over the unallied warlords.”

“He may win over some with a previous allegiance, too, if the others push their client-clans too far,” Ekhaas added.

The street where the artificer lived was far from the busy parts of the city. Here no light but moonlight illuminated the crooked streets. In spite of the silence and the darkness-or maybe because of them-Geth felt a distinct unease. When Ekhaas’s illusion finally dissipated in a flickering of ghostlight, he was more than glad to be rid of it. The sight of Wrath and his great gauntlet might hint at his identity to anyone watching from the shadows, but they would also be a greater deterrent to attack than a gown and a girdle.

The buildings in the area were, for the most part, dark and in poor repair, leaning on each other like a bunch of drunkards. Ekhaas guided them to a low stone building that was doing most of the work of propping up its neighbors. It had the look of human construction rather than dar, and Geth guessed that it predated Haruuc’s creation of Darguun and the establishment of Rhukaan Draal. With a wide double door and only a few small, high windows, he suspected it had originally been a barn or a dairy or some other outlying farm building. Light shone around the door and the shutters. Ekhaas gestured for him and Dagii to hang back along the stone wall, then she went forward and knocked in a short rhythm on the double door.

A moment later, light stabbed her face as a peephole opened up. Geth heard a murmuring voice. Ekhaas gave an answer. The peephole closed again, then bolts rattled and one half of the door opened wide. Ekhaas waved for them to join her and stepped inside. Holding the bundle containing the Rod of Kings close, one hand on Wrath, Geth went after her.

Barn, he decided as he stepped through the door, the stone building had definitely once been a barn. The central room of it was lined with the remains of stalls and the cobble floor showed channels where filth had once been sluiced away. Any animal odor was gone, however, replaced by a strange smell like hot copper. The stalls had been lined with shelves which were in turn filled with books and papers and strange implements. Everbright lanterns hung from the rafters, illuminating the space with an unwavering magical light.

Ekhaas was in conversation with their host-a horn-browed tiefling. As Dagii closed the door behind himself, both turned to face them. “This,” said Ekhaas, “is Tenquis.”

The tiefling was tall and lean, his skin of his face smooth and dark brown. Geth would have said that he was probably a little bit older than either Ekhaas or Dagii, possibly even around his own age. It was difficult to tell because his eyes were solid golden orbs without white, iris, or pupil. Descendants of ancient mages who had bargained with devils, tieflings showed the taint of their ancestors’ bid for power. Tenquis’s strange eyes were echoed in gold flecks on the polished heavy black horns that curled back from his forehead above dark, wavy hair. Horny spikes edged his chin in imitation of a sharp goatee. He wore a kind of long vest embroidered in an intricate labyrinthine pattern over a much-laundered shirt and brown leather trousers; in the back, vest and trousers were cut to make room for a thick fleshy tail, brown like his skin.

And as Tenquis stared at Geth staring at him, the tail rose and lashed the air. “I know you,” he said. His teeth, sharp as a shifter’s, flashed white with each word. His voice had a husky rasp. He glared at Ekhaas. “A Dhakaani artifact? I know what you want! By the sorcerer-kings, get out before you ruin me!”

“Tenquis, wait,” said Ekhaas, raising her hands. “Everything I told you this afternoon is true. Listen to us before you answer. You don’t know what we want-”

“I can guess.” He pointed a finger at Geth. His nails were the same color as his horns, black flecked with gold. “You want a copy made of a Dhakaani artifact. What artifact does Haruuc’s shava hold? The rod of the Dhakaani emperors. I’m no idiot. I am not bloody copying the symbol of the lhesh’s rule! Get out!”