Don Bassingthwaite - World of traitors

He swept the Rod of Kings across the platform and his voice almost trembled with eagerness. “Seize them, Darguuls! Seize the assassins!”

Within the arc that the rod described, every dar head-hobgoblin, bugbear, and goblin-turned to Ashi, Geth, and Chetiin. Those few envoys and ambassadors who hadn’t already retreated looked around in confusion. Vounn, still standing in front of Ashi, opened her mouth as if to speak, but anything she might have said was lost as more than a dozen of the most powerful and important warlords in Darguun surged forward.

“Run!” shouted Geth.

Ashi hesitated for an instant, as if she could seize Vounn and drag her free, then she spun and followed him and Chetiin in a desperate leap from the platform.

Too slow. Arms wrapped around her in a tackle that sent her sword flying from her hand and brought her crashing down.

“Maabet!” cursed Aruget.

Midian froze in the act of climbing down from his shoulder. Ekhaas felt a sudden nausea sweep through her.

The changeling who’d impersonated Geth. The false rod. Tariic had anticipated an attempt to recapture the true rod. He’d prepared for it.

And they’d failed.

“Seize them!” Tariic shouted. “Seize the assassins!”

The command spread from the platform, sweeping over the crowd. Out to the limits of Tariic’s voice, it gripped minds and souls. The crowd that had been scattering in panic turned and rushed back like the turning tide.

The line of Aruget’s jaw tightened, and he shook Midian off his back. “Ideas?” he said.

“One,” said Midian-and Ekhaas heard his crossbow clatter to the stones under their feet. She turned, but the gnome was already sprinting past her and racing into the crowd, darting among a forest of legs. Chaos marked his plunge, but he was fast, using his small size to evade the hands that grabbed for him.

Aruget looked at Ekhaas and his ears flicked. “We tried,” he said.

Then he was diving into the crowd, too. Even as he moved, though, Ekhaas saw his face and body shift and start to change. Adult hobgoblin became youthful bugbear. A few hands grabbed for him, there was a flurry of activity, but then nothing. His disappearance was even more complete than Midian’s-and it left an even greater hole in Ekhaas’s gut. She dragged her sword from its sheath and swung it in a wide circle, forcing the advancing crowd back for a moment, but where the blade passed, the crowd pressed in -until the roar of a tiger brought them and Ekhaas around. Above the heads of the crowd, Dagii appeared, his tiger mount leaping through the mob as if through grass. In his wake, led by Keraal, came the soldiers of the Iron Fox Company. Joy and anger warred in Ekhaas. Anger that Dagii had involved himself, opened himself up to Tariic’s retribution. Joy that he’d come to her rescue. The last ranks of the crowd scattered as the tiger came to a snarling stop before her. Ekhaas looked up at Dagii, her heart racing.

He stared at her with gray eyes as hard as the half-visor of his helmet and as cold as the Rod of Kings. “Ekhaas of Kech Volaar, assassin and traitor,” he said, “by command of Lhesh Tariic, you are my prisoner.”

The hole in Ekhaas’s gut swallowed her.

The day in the dungeon, the day he had spared Ko from the arena, came back to Geth. Tariic’s disapproval of his mercy. His own promise to the dungeon keeper-“I’ll be back to talk to him when I can.” But he’d never made it back and his mercy had returned to damn him.

There was no room in his fury-at Tariic, but especially at himself-even for cursing. He’d thought he was a hero. He was a fool.

His feet hit the stones of the plaza and he sank into a crouch, Wrath ready, his gauntlet up. Chetiin landed beside him. They were in the clear for the moment, but the crowd, summoned back by Tariic’s command, was swarming in fast.

“Geth!”

Ashi. He twisted to face the platform. Ashi lay near the edge of it, struggling desperately but held by half a dozen pairs of hands that tried to drag her back. Two of those pairs belonged to Aguus and Garaad.

The rest of the warlords caught in the rod’s power were jumping and climbing down from the platform.

“Geth…” Chetiin said in low warning.

“Watch the crowd,” Geth growled. “I’m going for Ashi.”

Before the goblin elder could say anything else, he moved, throwing himself against Tariic’s puppets. Confronted by Wrath, the Darguuls drew weapons, though they didn’t strike to kill-Tariic’s command had been to seize. Geth lashed out with the twilight blade, trying to drive them back while using the false rod, still gripped in gauntleted hand, as a club against those who got close. For a moment, it worked-until Munta the Gray thrust himself between the others. The old warlord’s sword caught Geth’s and held it. Dark eyes in a wrinkled face blazed. “Traitor!”

The hatred and ferocity in his voice made Geth bare his teeth. “Munta, it’s the rod! Tariic has-”

Nothing in Munta’s face or posture hinted that he even heard him. “You’re mine,” he snarled. “When I drag you before Tariic, he will know I’m still fit for battle!”

He threw back Wrath and swung his own sword with a strength and speed that Geth wouldn’t have expected in someone of his age. The shifter blocked the blow with his gauntlet, then jabbed at Munta with the false rod.

The old warlord’s sword whirled around and struck the rod at a sharp angle. The edge of the blade bit deep into the byeshk. Geth thought he felt a sting in his hand as the magic Tenquis had woven into the false rod unraveled. Munta must have felt something, too. He hissed and stumbled, dropping hard onto one knee.

“Sorry, Munta,” Geth growled. He swung the damaged rod down onto his gray head. Munta collapsed like an empty sack.

Geth let the false rod tumble onto him as he jumped over the old warlord’s sagging body. More hands grabbed for him. He struck them away with his gauntlet. Ashi saw him, and her struggles intensified. She freed a leg and gave Aguus a hard kick in the chest. She freed a fist, but Garaad grabbed it again.

“Ashi, I’m coming!” Geth roared, but the crowd was all around him now. Every step was a battle. Chetiin was fighting at his back, stabbing at knees and legs and chests whenever someone fell.

Somewhere a tiger roared. “Dagii!” said Chetiin.

Geth twisted his head around. Across the seething mob that filled the plaza, Dagii had drawn his mount up before Ekhaas-but one glance at the warlord’s face told him that his appearance was no rescue. “Tariic has him. I don’t see Aruget or Midian!”

Up on the platform, Tariic stood back with a look of supreme confidence on his face. To one side of him, Pradoor’s head turned back and forth, ears twitching as the blind goblin listened to the sounds of the fight. To the other, Makka strained like a dog on a lead, eager to join the battle but held back by his master. Geth grimaced. Tariic didn’t need Makka’s strength to defeat them-the sheer numbers of the crowd would drag them down. Soon.

Then somewhere behind Geth, hooves beat on stone and a voice rose in a rasping shout-“For the blood and line of Castalla!” Geth turned again, the other way this time.

Tenquis, mounted and riding at a full gallop, plunged through the crowd, splitting it apart. In one hand, he held a rope gathering together the reins of the other horses; they followed him in a bucking, whinnying wedge of muscle and hooves. The tiefling rode with his head low over his horse’s neck, gaze fixed on the platform.

Hands dragged at Geth as he turned his head between lhesh and artificer. Tariic raised the Rod of Kings and drew breath. One shouted command would halt the wild charge.

“Tenquis, watch out!” Geth roared.