Don Bassingthwaite - World of traitors

Geth bared his teeth at him. “Yes,” he said, “it was clever, but now you’re not the only one who knows. Now we all do.”

“So does Tariic.”

Tenquis’s words-the first he had spoken-were unsteady, but angry and determined. Geth turned sharply to look at him. They all turned. The tiefling shoved himself away from the wall and stood straight, head held high. “I’m sorry, Geth,” he said. “I couldn’t hold back. Horns of Ohr Kaluun, I tried, but I couldn’t in the end.” He drew a shuddering breath. “I gave Tariic what he wanted.”

The sick feeling returned to Geth’s stomach. “He knows?”

Tenquis nodded.

“Clever,” said Midian.

They walked out through the front gates of Khaar Mbar’ost.

It was simple. It was direct. The great courtyard within the gates and the plaza beyond it were both crowded with Darguuls prepared for celebration of Dagii’s victorious return. No one paid any attention to them as they passed through, moving in small groups to avoid notice. Ekhaas and Ashi went first, Ashi’s face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat that Aruget produced from his sack. Chetiin and Tenquis followed, the tiefling hunched beneath a cloak, both of them tottering like frail elders. Geth knew it wasn’t much of an act on Tenquis’s part at the moment. Every few steps, he staggered a little before catching himself. Geth had tried to help him at first, but Tenquis had shaken him off in a flash of temper.

“I just need to find my balance,” he’d said through his teeth. “I’m used to having a tail behind me.”

There was deep pain behind the angry words.

When the other four were safely out of Khaar Mbar’ost, Aruget and Geth struck out. Geth kept his head down and stayed close to Aruget, trusting to the hobgoblin’s bulk to shield him. A cloak draped over his shoulder concealed both his great gauntlet and, held tight in his hand, Wrath. The sword seemed to echo his own simmering rage-and his fear. He could feel the Rod of Kings through the blade, a distant but distinct presence. The rod wasn’t moving. Tariic didn’t have it. Yet.

His eyes darted to the sack Aruget carried over his shoulder. In spite of having cloaks and hat, gauntlet and sword pulled out of it, the sack was once again full and heavy.

It shifted a little bit.

Aruget bounced it on his shoulder to disguise the movement and hissed, “Stop squirming.”

“I couldn’t feel my leg,” muttered a voice from inside the sack.

“I could make that permanent, Midian,” Geth said under his breath. “Move again, and you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.”

He’d been in favor of killing the gnome right there in the corridor outside the torture chamber, but others-primarily Midian himself, backed up by Ekhaas, Chetiin, and eventually Aruget-had persuaded him otherwise. Whatever Midian might have done, they all shared an interest in keeping the Rod of Kings out of Tariic’s hands. Only the gnome knew exactly where the rod was hidden in Haruuc’s tomb. If they were too slow in reaching the tomb, every moment might be precious. They needed Midian.

But not one of them trusted him. He went into Aruget’s sack. Geth couldn’t say that he cared if the gnome ever came out again.

And there was Aruget. He glanced at the hobgoblin-or rather, at the changeling wearing a hobgoblin’s face. Ashi had pulled him, Ekhaas, and Chetiin aside and whispered the truth to them.

Agents of Zilargo and Breland, shadows of two nations lurking in the twilight of Darguun.

“It’s more common than you know,” Aruget said abruptly. It was vaguely disconcerting to hear him speak without his familiar accent. “Everyone has their fingers in the jam jar.”

Geth blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “You knew what I was thinking?”

Aruget’s ears twitched. “I’m good at reading faces, and you had the look of someone who just got his first peek behind the curtain at a brothel.” He looked down at Geth. “We won’t be the only agents in Darguun. Every nation, every dragonmarked house has its eyes and its hands here. I’m certain Haruuc knew it. I imagine it pleased him. Being a part of the Shadow War is like a rite of passage-children don’t play these games.”

“Children don’t assassinate kings,” Geth said. “When did you know it was Midian and not Chetiin?”

Aruget shrugged, jostling the sack and bringing another soft grunt from Midian. “I suspected Midian was up to something when he made arrangements to leave Rhukaan Draal. I didn’t expect such a direct action, though. Assassination is a last resort. Killing the ruler of a nation is unheard of.” His voice was cool, unflinching.

“You couldn’t have warned us about him?” Geth asked.

“My orders were to watch. I work for Breland, not Darguun.”

Geth clenched his teeth. “Why are you helping us now, then?”

“Once I had the final piece, the puzzle turned out to be bigger than I thought.”

The sack chuckled quietly. “We’re cold-hearted bastards, Geth,” said Midian.

Aruget turned slightly so that the sack swung against the side of a wagon. Midian let out a muffled curse that Aruget covered with a well-timed cough-a cough that turned into a soft curse of his own. He twisted, giving Geth a little more cover, at the same time moving a hand across his face, as if scratching his nose. When he lowered his hand, his features had shifted just enough that he could have been any hobgoblin. “Keep moving but get your head down,” he said. “Tariic’s here!”

Geth heard the hoofbeats of trotting horses over the noise of the milling crowd in the plaza. He dropped his eyes, feigning great interest in his feet. His hand curled tight around Wrath. When Aruget paused, along with everyone around them, to turn and shout praise to the passing lhesh, he paused, too. He couldn’t bring himself to call Tariic’s name, though. The hoofbeats didn’t slow. When they’d passed, he risked a glance up.

Tariic rode on into Rhukaan Draal without even acknowledging the cheers of his subjects. Two hobgoblin guards followed him.

“Now we’re in trouble,” said Aruget. “If he goes to his quarters, he’ll notice that Wrath and your gauntlet are missing.” He quickened his pace.

Geth risked another glance back at Tariic. Haruuc’s nephew didn’t look happy. “He doesn’t have the rod yet.”

“It won’t be for want of trying. If he’s here, he’ll have left someone at the tomb. Daavn, probably. Maybe Makka too.”

Geth allowed himself a grim smile. “Good.”

Two hobgoblin soldiers guarded the great red stone arch, probably intended more to raise an alarm if anyone approached than to provide actual protection. From his hiding place among the shacks that were the fading edge of Rhukaan Draal, Geth didn’t even see Chetiin slip past the guards, but somehow the shaarat’khesh elder was abruptly behind them. One guard went down with a knife in his back. The other turned, only to meet a second knife as Chetiin dropped down from above.

“He’s got them both,” Geth growled. “Move.”

They raced for the cover of the arch. Ekhaas and Ashi took the lead, Geth kept pace with Tenquis, and Aruget stayed close to Midian-now freed from the sack. They all clustered in the shadows of the arch and peered through the open gates to the ridge where Haruuc’s tomb lay.

Half a dozen bugbears wearing the red corded armbands of Khaar Mbar’ost attacked the dagger-thick stone of the tomb door with picks, hammers, and bars. The banging of their efforts was louder than the rush of the cataract, but so far all they’d managed to do was scar the carving of Haruuc. Daavn and three more hobgoblins watched their slow progress along with Makka and, perched on his shoulder, Pradoor. Horses picketed to a low line cropped the grass close to them.