Don Bassingthwaite - World of traitors

Dagii said nothing for a moment, then his ears rose slightly. “I have a story to tell you, Keraal, but it will wait for the journey back to Rhukaan Draal.” He looked at Ekhaas and Chetiin. “If Geth and Ashi are in trouble, we should hurry. It would take three days if we travel at the pace of the slowest survivor. A small company could make it in two. Tariic would think nothing of that-a victorious warlord isn’t slow to share his news.”

“Your arrival can serve as a distraction, then,” said Ekhaas. “Chetiin and I will go ahead. I know magic that can speed our travel.”

“Save your voice.” Chetiin scratched Marrow’s head. “You’re not the only one who knows something of swift travel. The Silent Clans will aid us. I guarantee that no one will know we’ve returned to Rhukaan Draal.” He glanced at her. “If you’re not too tired to leave tonight.”

Ekhaas’s ears stood tall. “I’m ready.”

3 Aryth Geth could smell burned flesh. It was his.

He could smell scorched hair and stale sweat, old blood and hot metal, charcoal and, curiously, the hint of sweet spices.

“Te laloo kaanii.” Daavn’s voice. The warlord of the Marhaan spoke Goblin. Without Wrath, Geth only caught the roughest meaning of his words. Something about healing quickly.

“Chiit so shiftaa,” said Tariic. Geth felt something poke at the skin of his side. With his arms stretched and bound over his head, his body was exposed and vulnerable. “Toma piisho,” Tariic added. “So kaas te vusrii.”

Vusrii. To burn.

The touch of red-hot metal seared his other side and Geth jerked and screamed. His eyes snapped open to the same small, brazier-lit chamber lit chamber he had seen for… who knew how long. He managed to evade the burning metal for a brief instant, but the it was back, pressed firmly against his skin. He howled and thrashed but the iron stayed on him. The gnarled hands of the waxy-fleshed goblin who held it were steady. Dark eyes flashed with greedy pleasure.

Finally the metal pulled away. Geth collapsed back against the inclined table on which he was stretched. Tariic moved close and clamped a hand over his forehead, holding him still. Eyes so brown they were almost red stared into his.

“Where is the Rod of Kings?” he asked.

Geth fought the haze of pain and forced out the same answer he had given again and again. “I don’t have it!”

“Te kuur doovol.” He tells the truth.

This time it was Pradoor’s shrill voice. Geth twisted his head under Tariic’s palm. He could just see the old goblin woman crouched beside a heavy rack of knives, white eyes shining like the sharpened blades. Symbols had been scrawled in a rough arc on the filth-crusted floor in front of her. At the center of the arc, smoke shifted from a metal bowl filled with coals.

Tariic cursed. “You’re certain?”

Pradoor’s fingers twined through a bunch of cords knotted together and strung with small, flashing tokens. “The Six lend me the wisdom to hear lies,” she said in the human tongue, accented but clear. “He tells the truth.” Her wrinkled face split in a smile. “But he doesn’t answer the question, does he? Ask another.”

Tariic’s ears went back and he looked at Geth again. “Who has the Rod of Kings, then?”

“I told you!” Geth groaned. The evasions came easily. “Chetiin stole it!”

“He tells the truth.”

With a growl, Tariic gestured and pointed at Geth’s belly. The goblin torturer nodded and turned to the brazier. Metal grated on metal as he exchanged the cooling iron for a fresh one. He didn’t speak. Tariic had shown Geth that he couldn’t-his tongue had been cut out-and that he couldn’t hear pleas, questions, or answers either. Deaf and mute, he was the perfect tool for extracting secret information.

The chamber was well-used. Had the torturer plied his trade for Haruuc?

Hot metal swiped across Geth’s stomach like a knife. He screamed again and strained against his bonds. Ropes creaked. Tariic slammed him back.

“What did Chetiin do with it?”

“He ran! He climbed down the wall of Khaar Mbar’ost and disappeared into Rhukaan Draal. I haven’t seen him since!” His voice cracked in an involuntary sob. Deep inside him, an inner voice was stronger. Hold out! He must not find it.

“He tells the truth,” said Pradoor again.

Geth looked up into Tariic’s eyes. “Just kill me,” he said. “Get it over with.”

Tariic roared and seized the collar of black stones that still hung around Geth’s neck-the torturer hadn’t been able to break or remove it, a strange property that even Geth hadn’t been aware of-in one hand and wrenched him up by it. “I have your sword,” he snarled into Geth’s face. “I have Aram. It hangs on the wall of my quarters as a trophy. I know you’re hiding something. If you don’t tell me where to find the Rod of Kings, you will die by the Sword of Heroes!”

Geth bared his teeth. “You can’t wield Wrath. The Sword of Heroes won’t bear the touch of a coward.” Up close he could see the red burns on Tariic’s palms. “You’ve found that out already.”

Tariic’s ears went back flat and he shifted his grip on the collar, twisting it around his fist until the stones bit into Geth’s throat. Shadows swam in Geth’s vision. He saw the torturer’s face. The goblin looked disappointed. Geth sank down into warm oblivion-until the pressure on his neck eased. Air came rushing back. He thought he saw Tariic step back, fury on his face, and he thought he heard the lhesh say, “He won’t break easily. I don’t have time for this. Take him away.”

He gestured at the torturer, communicating instructions with signs. The goblin produced a leather bag and pulled it over Geth’s head. Something coated the leather, making his vision whirl again. His last sight as the bag came down was Tariic turning to Daavn. The last thing he heard were the words, “Bring me the tiefling.”

Hobgoblin guards marched Ashi, hands bound behind her back, through a stout door and into a room with high, narrow windows. Sunlight pierced the windows, bright enough to blind her after the darkness of her cell. Fire warmed the room. Carpets cushioned the hard floor and soft chairs waited for her.

Vounn stood across the room, before the fire. Ashi couldn’t hold back a gasp at the sight of her. She pulled away from the guards. “Vounn!”

Her mentor turned, crossed the room in three swift strides-and slapped her hard.

“You fool!” she said, her tone seething. She stormed past her to confront the guards. “Get out!” she said in Goblin. The hobgoblins looked baffled. Vounn flicked a hand at them imperiously. “Get out, I said! Wait outside the door. Where is she going to go?”

The guards glanced at each other, then bent their heads and retreated. They didn’t untie her hands. As the door closed behind them, Vounn whirled on Ashi again and thrust her furious face close.

“We’re being watched,” she whispered. Her voice rose again. “You killed a guard of Khaar Mbar’ost! Explain yourself!”

Ashi blinked. The first words out of her mouth were no act. “I didn’t kill any guard! It was-”

Vounn slapped her again. “You bring shame on Deneith!” she spat, then cried out and pulled Ashi into an embrace like a mother crying over a willful child-and whispered in her ear, “Aruget came to me. He told me what happened. Keep his name out of it.”

Now Ashi understood what she was doing. Dar culture was uncomfortable with touching-especially embracing-in public. Any Darguul watching them would more than likely look away at least briefly from this human affectation. They had a few moments of privacy.