Don Bassingthwaite - Word of traitors

“Concentrate,” she said, “and you can fight it. It’s not as powerful as you think.”

Geth blinked and pushed back. The illusion of glory and greatness slipped away and Ashi was herself again. He whistled. “Grandfather Rat! Even Haruuc would have been satisfied with that.”

“You could never feel the effect of the rod when Haruuc held it, but it was almost exactly like that.” Ashi handed the false rod to Geth. It felt no different in his hand than the true rod, a heavy bar of cold metal, but Ashi and Midian’s eyes turned to him like a needle to lodestone. Midian’s smile faded, however. “That’s bad,” he said. “The true rod doesn’t have that effect when you hold it. People might be suspicious.”

“Rat.” He was surprised Tenquis hadn’t thought of that.

Or maybe he had. Geth replaced the true rod in the chest and moved the false rod to his gauntleted hand. Ashi’s eyes refocused. Midian shook his head. Geth nodded in satisfaction at Tenquis’s work and a lightness he hadn’t felt since before Haruuc’s death settled over him. Their plan was going to work! “Just like the true rod,” he said. “You need to touch it with bare skin.”

“Brilliant,” said Midian. “Now, what about the true rod?”

Geth reached out and closed the lid of the chest. The triple locks snapped closed. “It will be safe here for now,” he said. “We’ll find another place for it after the coronation. And after that-”

“Ekhaas and Dagii’s return?” Midian asked. He made a pinched face. “We’re putting an awful lot of faith in their survival.”

“I’d rather assume their survival than count on their deaths,” Ashi said hotly. “If they don’t come back, we’ll deal with the rod on our own-until then, I’m happy knowing that the danger is past.” Her lips twitched and curled. “Rond betch, we did it. Tariic will take the throne with the symbol of rulership that Haruuc wanted his successor to have. Is there a better tribute than that?”

“Maybe not going to war with Valenar?” asked Midian. But he sighed and his face unwound into a smile as innocent as if he hadn’t plotted Haruuc’s death. “Lords of the Host, I guess it could be worse, couldn’t it? Haruuc wanted Darguuls to be united and they are. Maybe Dagii will spank the elves hard enough that they’ll ride home with pillows on their saddles.”

Geth forced a smile onto his face. Maybe they still had to deal with the gnome’s treachery and maybe Ekhaas and Dagii were still at risk-even if they did have Chetiin to back them up-but Midian and Ashi were right about one thing. Darguun was safe from the danger that had brought down Haruuc. He closed his armored fist around the false rod and felt a little pulse from Wrath.

Even if no one else would ever know the truth of what they had accomplished, the Sword of Heroes approved.

The plain little room that opened onto one side of the dais in the throne room had memories attached to it-not good ones. Here Geth had witnessed the argument that had broken the friendship between Haruuc and Chetiin. From here and out onto the dais, Geth had followed Haruuc in the wake of that argument and discovered the terrible influence that rod held over its wielder. Into this room, he had led Ashi in a desperate effort to reach Haruuc and use her dragonmark to break the rod’s hold on him, only to watch as he was struck down.

It was still too easy to think of the assassin as Chetiin. Another of the shaarat’khesh, Geth reminded himself, services paid for by Midian.

He also tried to remind himself that the small room would soon also have a more triumphant memory attached to it. From here, Tariic’s reign as lhesh of Darguun would begin-although it was hard to be optimistic when the air in the room was stifling from the bodies crowded into it. Tariic, wearing bright armor of brass-chased steel, the chestplates worked into the pattern of a skull, the helmet riveted with rows of sharp blades. Razu, staff in hand, fussing as she awaited the arrival of the priests of Dol Arrah, Dol Dorn, and Balinor. A hobgoblin servant, likewise awaiting the appearance of the priests, held the spiked crown of Darguun on a velvet cushion. Daavn of Marhaan, grasping Tariic’s sword. Aguus of Traakuum, carrying a heavy cape of tiger skin edged in the soft white fur of a tiger’s belly. Munta the Gray, balancing a tray holding a pitcher of water and a silver basin.

And Geth, holding the false Rod of Kings. The shifter who had claimed-for nearly three weeks-the throne of a goblin nation and in doing so had saved it. His mouth curved into a grin.

“You look pleased with yourself,” said Munta. “Ready to give up the rod?”

“More than you know.”

Munta laughed. “I’ll tell you something Haruuc told me,” the old hobgoblin said. “Sometimes he wanted to leave the throne behind and go back to being the warlord of Rhukaan Taash or even just a warrior of the clan. He couldn’t, though. The throne held him tight.”

“He told me something like that once, too.”

Munta’s ears flicked and he smiled. “You’re luckier than most warriors who leave the battlefield to take a throne, Geth. You’ve tasted power but you have the chance to walk away-and without anybody trying to kill you!” He laughed again.

Geth laughed with him. Heads around the room turned to look at the pair of them. The stares didn’t bother Geth. He felt a flush of confidence. Beyond one of the room’s two doors, the throne room was full of all the warlords of Darguun and all the ambassadors and envoys in Rhukaan Draal. He could hear them. Soon the responsibility for Darguun would be in Tariic’s hands. All he had to do was keep the true rod hidden for a little longer. For a moment, he even dared to dream about what he’d do after they’d found a way to deal with the true rod. He had friends in Fairhaven in Aundair and in Zarash’ak in the Shadow Marches that he could trust to keep a secret. The stories he’d be able to tell them…

Across the room, Daavn said something to Tariic. The new lhesh laughed at it, but Daavn’s eyes darted toward Munta. The old warlord didn’t seem to notice, but there was something in Daavn’s gaze that Geth didn’t like. Something cunning. Something scheming.

The confidence he felt coalesced into a need to act. He’d held off telling Tariic about Vounn d’Deneith’s suspicions of Daavn for lack of any hard evidence. He’d never gotten the chance to bring Daavn and Ko the changeling face-to-face to see if there was any recognition between the two of them. Maybe there was one last thing he could do before he passed power on to Tariic.

He left Munta and crossed the room to the two warlords. “Tariic,” he said, ignoring Daavn, “I need to talk to you for a moment. Alone.”

He tipped his head to the door that opened into a corridor beyond the little room.

Under his helmet, Tariic smiled. “Of course.” He nodded to Daavn-who shot Geth an angry glare-and led the way out the door. Once they were in the corridor, he sighed extravagantly. “Maabet, if you think it’s hot in there, you should try wearing this.” He rapped his helmet. “What did you need to talk about?”

He seemed more relaxed than Geth had seen him since Haruuc’s death, but then Geth felt more relaxed, too. It almost seemed wrong to spoil that. He did it anyway. “It’s Daavn,” he said. “I think he’s been getting close to you so that he comes into power when you take the throne. Some of us think it may actually have been him, not Keraal, behind the attempt to kidnap Vounn. We don’t have anything more than guesses right now, but the changeling in the dungeon who made the attempt might be able to-”

“Wait.” Tariic held up his hand and Geth stopped with the explanation still on his tongue. Tariic smiled. “I know.”