Don Bassingthwaite - Word of traitors

Chetiin didn’t move.

Geth saw the others exchange glances, then Ekhaas raised her voice. “What are you doing? Midian has turned on us three times.”

“Four,” he corrected her.

“And you still want to let him live?”

Geth struggled to his feet. “I’m trying to stop Tariic from getting his hands on the rod,” he said. “I don’t think Midian and his masters in Zilargo want it to happen any more than the rest of us do. We know him now. We won’t give him the chance to turn on us.” He moved unsteadily to Midian and nudged him with his toe. The gnome groaned again and Geth said, “If we can catch Makka, maybe we won’t need him. If we can’t, if Makka gets the rod to Tariic, I think we will.”

Midian’s features twitched-Chetiin dropped into a crouch, dagger ready to strike-and one bright blue eye opened, rolling around to look at them. “You’ll need me for what?” he croaked.

“Awake after all,” Geth said. He crouched down beside the gnome and bared his teeth. “If Makka gets the rod to Tariic, we’re going to need all the help we can get, including you and your crossbow. We’ll have to finish what you started.” He looked up at the others. “We have to kill a king.”

They galloped back into Rhukaan Draal on the horses left behind. Chetiin rode with Geth, Midian with Aruget. The gnome looked as grim as any of them. Geth knew he’d guessed correctly. Even if Midian was a Zil agent, even if he wanted to capture the Rod of Kings for his own people, he didn’t want the rod under Tariic’s control. Or Tariic under the rod’s.

Beyond that, Geth didn’t trust him any more than a dog with a sausage. Midian rode with his hands tied behind his back. His crossbow rode with Ashi.

“I don’t like this,” said Chetiin in Geth’s ear, his voice pitched just over the thunder of the horses’ hooves.

“Killing Tariic or working with Midian?” Geth asked.

“Both. And working with an agent of Breland.”

Geth glanced at Aruget. “We can trust him. Or at least we could trust Benti.”

“Exactly.” The goblin’s strained voice dropped even lower. “He did nothing until he was forced to.”

“When Ashi was in trouble.”

“When his source of information was in trouble. He works for Breland just as Midian works for Zilargo. Be wary, Geth.”

He said no more.

Ekhaas and Tenquis, knowing the city best, rode point. Makka was long out of sight. Any hope of catching him seemed gone, but Tenquis still led them toward Khaar Mbar’ost by the route he swore Makka would most likely have followed, although he’d warned them that it might be crowded.

“The city will come out to see Dagii return,” he’d said. “It will slow us but it will slow Makka, too.”

Except that the streets weren’t crowded. Most were less busy than when they had made their way out to Haruuc’s tomb. “Where is everyone?” asked Ashi.

A distant cheer answered her. “Dagii has crossed the Ghaal River,” said Ekhaas. “Everyone has gone to watch his procession.”

“By the sound of it, he’s near the Bloody Market,” Chetiin said.

Ekhaas’s face went hard and for a moment she looked like she might add something, but then she closed her mouth and put her ears back. Geth could guess what she was thinking. “Dagii needs to know what he’s heading into,” he said. “We need to warn him.”

“He already knows there’s danger,” said Ekhaas. Her ears flicked. “It’s best for him if he can deny any part in this.”

No one answered that. They all knew the same thing: the time for tricks and clever plans was over. If they wanted to keep the power of the rod a secret, to prevent Haruuc’s dream from destroying itself in the memories of a fallen empire, Tariic had to be the last to hold the Rod of Kings.

If they succeeded, they’d be the most famous assassins and thieves in Khorvaire-and the most hunted.

Riding alongside the noise of the crowd that cheered for the hero of the Battle of Zarrthec was like riding parallel to an unseen but rushing river. Along some of Rhukaan Draal’s straighter streets, Geth caught glimpses of the crowd, and once the flash of sunlight on spearpoints and armor like water seen through trees. After a long while, though, the shouting fell behind. Khaar Mbar’ost rose ahead-and the river fed into an ocean.

People packed the plaza before the red fortress. Off to their left, a wide path, kept open by bugbear guards, led directly to the gates of Khaar Mbar’ost. Warlords and dignitaries stood on a raised platform of about shoulder height, waiting for Dagii’s approach. As Geth and the others reined in their horses at the edge of the crowd, he saw familiar faces on the platform. Aguus of Traakuum. Garaad of Vaniish Kai. Iizan of Ghaal Sehn. Pater d’Orien. Senen Dhakaan. Munta. Vounn.

In fact, he knew all of the faces. Not so long ago, he would have been standing on the platform, too.

“I don’t see Makka or Pradoor,” said Ashi. “Or Tariic.”

“There,” Chetiin said.

The people on the platform parted to reveal the lhesh climbing up stairs at the back of the platform. Makka, looking around with the wariness of a hunter on edge, and Pradoor followed close behind him. The excited murmurs of the crowd turned into a roar of approval. Tariic stepped up to the front of the platform and raised the Rod of Kings. The roar of the crowd rose even higher.

“He has it,” said Chetiin.

Geth looked to Midian. The gnome’s lips pressed tight and he raised his eyes to scan the rooftops-also crowded with people-around them. He shook his head. “The plaza is too wide. Even with a more powerful crossbow I’d have trouble hitting him. With my little hand bow it’s impossible.”

“Don’t worry,” said Geth, “we’re going closer.”

“We’ll be recognized!”

“I’m counting on it.” A plan, desperate and dangerous but possibly their only hope, had formed in his mind. He slid from his horse and gestured for the others to do the same.

The hats and cloaks Aruget had used to smuggle them out of Khaar Mbar’ost had been abandoned by Haruuc’s tomb, but silver quickly procured more. Ashi kept her face down and her cowl-stinking of the hobgoblin beggar who been wearing it only moments before-well up as she fought her way through the crowd beside Ekhaas. A few paces away, Geth wore a similarly ragged and foul cloak. Ekhaas, along with Aruget, his features shifted to anonymity, blended into the crowd of other dar faces. Chetiin and Midian-arms unbound but now tethered to and closely watched by Aruget-simply moved unseen among the legs of larger figures. Ashi wasn’t sure if she envied Tenquis his role or not. Standing back with the horses, he didn’t need to wear a disguise, but it would be his job to get them out again once they’d done what they had to do.

Her palms were wet. She wiped them on the legs of her trousers.

“If we’d taken the rod and run after Haruuc died,” she murmured to Ekhaas in human language as bodies jostled them on all sides, “none of this would be happening.”

The duur’kala glanced at her. “If we’d taken the rod and run,” she answered, lips barely moving, “the succession would have been even more chaotic and Darguun likely would still have been at war with Valenar.”

“We’re going to force a new succession and we’re going to steal the rod.”

Ekhaas’s ears flicked and drooped. “But now we have war. Dar may not understand peace, but we understand war very well. There will be a new lhesh in days, and he won’t need the rod as a symbol to unify the clans. He’ll continue the war with Valenar and that will be enough. Darguun will follow him. And without the rod’s dreams of empire, Darguun will remain only Darguun.”