Word of traitors

CHAPTER TEN

22 Sypheros

Aruget stood outside the map room of Khaar Mbar’ost. “Ashi’s here?” Ekhaas asked.

The guard nodded. “Geth and Dagii, too.” He hesitated, then added, “Is it true you ride east with Dagii’s army?”

Ekhaas flicked her ears. “You know?”

“By command of Haruuc and Lady Vounn, I remain close to Lady Ashi. But I keep my secrets.” His ears rose high. “Swift travel and great glory, Ekhaas duur’kala.”

Ekhaas bent her head to him, knocked once on the door, then went in.

Midday light flooded through a window and illuminated a room hung with maps, with cabinets containing more maps lining the walls. In the middle of the room stood a large table. Dagii, Geth, and Ashi looked up from it. Under the sunlight, Dagii’s face was creased and weary, though his eyes brightened at the sight of her.

“Saa, Ekhaas,” he said. “Come look.”

She joined them at the table. A large map had been laid out on it, a fine map depicting the whole of Darguun in good detail. The Seawall Mountains on the west had been drawn in slate blue, Kraken Bay off the southeastern coast and the Thunder Sea off the southern in brighter shades. The great rivers Ghaal and Torlaac divided the land into thirds with shining threads of silver. Roads were red, lightly drawn for lesser roads, heavily for the fine trade roads maintained by House Orien. The names and locations of town and villages showed in crisp black, except for Rhukaan Draal, which had been marked with gold. The border of the Mournland, running more than half of Darguun’s length and pressing against its entire northeastern side was colored in stormy, featureless gray.

All of the text was written in Goblin. This was no human map, drawn over and recolored to suit a conquered territory. It was a fresh new map, made by dar to show a nation of dar. Her heart stirred at the sight of it.

Markers had been placed on the map, short sticks and round counters of polished wood, tracing a route across the Ghaal River then east and slightly south to the black dot that was Zarrthec. Ekhaas looked up at Dagii. The warlord of Mur Talaan twitched his ears.

“The advance regiments of the army have already started marching east,” said Dagii. “We’re using a staggered deployment to reach the area hit by the Valenar raids quickly.” He reached out with a thin wooden wand and traced a line from Zarrthec to the wide scattered dots, close to the gray blotch of the Mournland, that were the eastern clanholds.

“Senen will be angry I’m not riding with the first troops,” Ekhaas said. Dagii’s ears twitched again and stiffened.

“If Senen wants to record the heroic tale of soldiers marching to camp, she’s welcome to ride in their dust herself.” He drew back the wand and tapped Zarrthec. “You and I will leave tomorrow after the games finish-I need to stay for the naming of Haruuc’s heir. We will be able to catch up to the advance regiments before they pass Zarrthec. Your story can begin there.”

Geth bared his teeth and gave a little growl. “Grandfather Rat. It’s bad enough that Tariic pushed you into leading this army. You don’t have to sound like you’re enjoying it.”

“Tariic turned the situation to his advantage, but I would have taken command in any case. Darguun must be defended. The Valenar raids must be answered.” Dagii stood back from the table. He smiled. “We’ll be in more danger than you will be here.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Geth looked at Ekhaas. “What about the false rod? How are we going to get it if you and Dagii are gone? T-” He cut himself off before he said the artificer’s name and his eyes darted to Ashi.

The human woman wrinkled her nose. “I know. You promised not to reveal the artificer’s involvement. Whoever he is, you’re not going to be able to go on the day of the coronation and get it from him, and he’s not likely going to deliver it to Khaar Mbar’ost.”

Ekhaas had already weighed the problem. “He’ll just have to deal with one more person knowing his secret,” she said. “Ashi, you’re going to have to get it from him. His name is Tenquis. I’ll take you to him today to show you how to get to his workshop and to tell him about the change in plans.”

“What about Midian?” Ashi asked. “Should we tell him?”

Beyond Ashi, Dagii tensed and Geth twitched and Ekhaas knew they were thinking of what Chetiin had hinted at. The same thoughts had occurred to her, but she had an answer ready. “No,” she told Ashi smoothly. “We did make a promise to Tenquis. We’ll bend it out of necessity, but we won’t break it. One more person needs to know but not two.”

Ashi grimaced, but nodded. “I suppose. It feels strange to be keeping secrets from Midian, though-especially when we’re being broken up. We’ve already lost Chetiin.”

“We’re always going to have secrets,” Dagii added. “Whatever we do with the Rod of Kings, we’ll have to keep a secret.”

“That’s not the same as keeping secrets from each other.”

The irony of Ashi’s words put a slightly sick feeling into Ekhaas’s gut-they were already keeping the secret of their suspicion of Midian from her-but then Ashi pressed her lips together for a moment and added, “There’s something I’ve been holding back. Vounn and Pater didn’t want me to say anything, but Sindra d’Lyrandar wasn’t in the gallery yesterday, and there are no Lyrandar ships at the docks-the Valenar may have used House Lyrandar to get their raiders into Darguun.”

Ekhaas raised her ears at the news but Dagii only nodded. “Some of the warlords already guessed that.”

Ashi’s face turned red.

Dagii shook his head. “No, thank you for telling me, Ashi. I appreciate it.” His ears flattened. “Lyrandar knows we’ll need to welcome them into Darguun again eventually. This war is only business for them-as it is for all the dragonmarked houses. Vounn and Pater have come to me. Orien wagons will follow our army and form our supply lines. House Deneith has contracted a regiment of our own mercenaries back to us.”

“Bastards!” said Geth. “I served House Deneith as a mercenary during the Last War. They’ll do anything for a profit. Sorry, Ashi.”

Ashi shook her head. “No, I know Vounn and Deneith. You’re right. Darguun has always provided Deneith with mercenaries, but they’ve never needed anything but gold in return. Vounn came to Darguun to try and reverse that.”

“She’s found her opportunity,” said Dagii. “The mercenaries were waiting at the Deneith enclave at the Standing Stone for a chance to work outside Darguun. Deneith was able to offer them to us more quickly than we could raise another regiment of our own. Vounn has even offered us mercenaries from other nations if we want them.”

The idea pinched Ekhaas like a dissonant note. “Will you take them?” she asked.

Dagii’s smile was thin. “Right now I couldn’t if I wanted to. Tariic has made sure this will be a war of dar against elves. Even people in the streets are saying the war is muut, our duty.”

Geth looked at the young warlord of Mur Talaan. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a war.” Dagii’s smile vanished entirely. “Dar or mercenaries, it has to be fought, and it has to be won. That is my muut to Darguun.”

The arrival of Munta and other warlords marked the end of their privacy and they separated, leaving Dagii to plan strategy while Ekhaas and Ashi went out to pay a visit to Tenquis.

Geth headed back to his own chamber vaguely envious of Dagii’s role in what was to come-not of the warlord’s command of Darguun’s armies but of his excursion onto the battlefield. Sneaking, conspiring, and playing at politics weren’t for him. The assembly of warlords the day before had been an embarrassment, but there had been no way to escape. He had his muut, Dagii might have said. One heroic act had bound him more closely than being thrown into a dungeon.

At his side, Wrath seemed to stir with reassurances that he had done the right thing. “Easy for you to say,” he muttered back at it.

But it would all be over soon. As soon as the false rod was in the new lhesh’s hand-and, for all of his ambition and posturing, Geth hoped it would be Tariic-he would be free to leave Darguun and spirit the true Rod of Kings away with him. What they would do with it after that was another matter-one he didn’t want to consider just yet.

First he had to put in another appearance at the games. He hadn’t lied to Tariic when he’d said he would have enjoyed the contests in the arena more if he’d been sitting in the stands rather than the warlords’ box, but he wasn’t sure even that would be enough anymore. Watching other people fight only made him want to draw Wrath and leap into the fray himself. Fighting was fast and real. No lies, no waiting. Your enemies were right there in front of you and all it took to deal with them was a sharp sword.

The closest thing he’d come to a good fight in weeks was against Chetiin.

The thought of the goblin pulled a groan out of him that produced a look of concern from a passing hobgoblin guard. Geth waved her away. In the chaos of the news of the Valenar raiders and the assembly of warlords, it had been easy to put Chetiin out of his mind, but he couldn’t ignore the problem forever. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the goblin. Part of him was hurt and suspicious and clung to the idea that Chetiin had been the one to murder Haruuc, like a child clinging to an old fear.

But another part wanted to believe his story of being attacked and left for dead, his identity usurped for the assassination. The proof Chetiin had offered might have been nebulous, but it made sense-there was no reason for him to have made such a public killing.

At the same time, though, if he believed Chetiin, it meant there was a different traitor among them, that Midian had conspired in Haruuc’s death. And that was just as hard to take. He needed some proof, something to tell him which of his friends he could trust.

It came to him that he knew exactly where to look for that proof. He turned at the next corridor and moved off into a different part of Khaar Mbar’ost.

He found what he was looking for without too much effort. The door was the same as many on private chambers throughout Khaar Mbar’ost, with two handles-one high for hobgoblins and creatures their size and one low for goblins-and a lock set midway between them. This door, however, had been marked with Haruuc’s sword and crown crest above a short phrase written in Goblin. Geth could have grasped Wrath and ordered the sword to translate the angular runes for him, but he didn’t need magic to have a good idea of what the phrase said. There was something about Keep Out that looked the same in any language.

For a change, though, it didn’t apply to him. He probably could have found someone willing to open the door for Haruuc’s shava but it was easier to keep his visit a secret. Geth checked up and down the corridor, then drew his knife, slipped it between the door and the frame, and slid the blade up until he encountered the bolt. For a long period of his life, he’d lived on the run and he’d learned a number of tricks to survive. One of them was how open a locked door. With a swift motion, he kicked the knife up and gave it a twist to one side.

The blade broke. Geth was left staring at the hilt end of the knife while the tip clattered to the ground on the other side of the door. “Rat,” he muttered. Checking the corridor again, he stepped back and slammed his foot against the door just above the lock. With a sharp crack of wood, the door flew open. Geth waited for a moment to see if the noise brought anyone to investigate, then stepped inside, closed the door, retrieved the broken knife blade, and studied the room that had been Chetiin’s.

He had trouble imagining that those who had searched it after Haruuc’s death could have needed very long. Chetiin must have lived simply. A slashed pack, a few articles of discarded black clothing, a broken vial-these were all of the personal items left in the room. Maybe the searchers had taken anything else but Geth thought it was equally likely there had been little more to take.

The furniture in the room did show the unmistakable signs of a search, however. The bed had been pulled apart, a chest overturned, the stuffed seats of a pair of narrow chairs slit like throats. Geth walked around the wreckage and over to the fireplace.

If Chetiin’s story was true, there would be a ledge in the chimney-and presumably some sign of the goblin’s escape from death.

Ashi was a far better tracker than he was, but Geth knew he wasn’t completely useless. He scanned the floor as he went, searching the thin carpet that covered it for signs of ash that might have been scattered when Chetiin emerged from the fireplace. He found nothing. His gut twisted more than he would have expected. No sign-no escape. Chetiin had been lying.

“No,” he whispered to himself. It didn’t mean that he had been lying. Chetiin was as wily as anyone Geth had ever met. He would have taken care to leave no trail behind.

Geth squatted in front of the fireplace and stared at the cold ashes of the last fire to burn there. The charred remains of logs had been tumbled about, the poker that had been used to stir them still protruding from the ashy heap. Someone searching the room might have stirred the dead fire, but it seemed to Geth that the fire had been stirred too well. Ash lay in a soft gray blanket, as evenly turned as the soil in a kitchen garden.

He rose and squeezed into the fireplace, trying not to step right in the ash. Fortunately, flat stones a double handspan wide ran along the sides and back of the firebox, making a space to set pots or kettles or big feet. Geth had to crouch a bit to avoid the sloping upper surface that fed into the chimney, but by straddling the firebox and twisting his neck, he could peer up into the dark shaft.

The shadows were so thick and blended so closely with the soot-covered walls that even shifter eyes had trouble seeing through them. He waited, letting his vision adjust. After a long moment, he saw a stray wisp of gray, like a cloud scudding across a moonless sky. Smoke from a neighboring fireplace. With that wisp as reference, other vague details made sense-the flat planes of shadow that were the walls of the chimney, the smoky darkness that was the rising central flue. There was something not quite right about the junction of shadow and smoke, though. Geth twisted his head around the other way. There was another plane in the dark.

He grimaced and shifted one foot right into the middle of the ireplace, digging down into the ash until there was solid stone beneath his sole, then stretched an arm up into the chimney.

His questing ingers caught the lip of a ledge. The stone was warm and dry, heated by air rising from unseen ires. Geth moved his hand back and forth. He couldn’t reach far enough too feel how deep the ledge was, but it was wide. Wide enough to accommodate the body of a goblin.

The twist in his belly unraveled. “Wolf and Tiger,” he murmured. A ledge in the chimney, just as Chetiin had said.

Then the twist came back. Chetiin had been telling the truth, but that meant Midian Mit Davandi had brought about Haruuc’s death.

Geth brought his arm down and stepped out of the ireplace. A bit of discarded clothing made a rag to brush the ash from his foot and wipe the soot from his hands. He stirred the remains of the ire again, then stuffed the sooty rag among the remains of the bed. With the door broken in, there was no hiding that someone had been in the room, but he could at least disguise what he had done here. He backed out of the room and closed the door behind him, brushing away splinters of wood and securing the ruined latch as best he could. Gut aching with a mixture of relief and anger, he headed back through the corridors of Khaar Mbar’ost to his chamber.

He was nearly there when he turned a corner and found himself facing Midian.

“Geth!” The gnome’s face curved into a smile. “I was looking for you. When you weren’t in your chamber, I thought I might have to go ind you at the arena.”

Geth forced himself to smile back. Not too much of a smile. Not too little. He couldn’t give away what he knew. “I haven’t been yet today. I was looking in on Dagii. I’m just on my way back to my chamber now.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Midian turned and fell into step at his side. “I spoke to Razu.”

“What about?”

Midian lowered his voice as a hobgoblin came along the corridor toward them. “I told her I’d try to ind a way to get Razu to delay the coronation of the lhesh so that your artificer would have the time he needs to finish… what’s he working on. Razu wasn’t aware of the importance that the Dhakaani emperors placed in having an auspicious conjunction of moon phases on the day of their ascension to the throne.”

“Did they really care that much about the phases of the moons?”

Midian looked hurt. “I’m not known as a noted researcher of Dhakaani history for nothing, Geth. Fortunately for Razu and the new lhesh there will be just such a conjunction just two days after the end of the games.”

“Really?”

The gnome’s lips twitched. “Let’s just say it’s not a position I’d try to put forward in a research paper for the Library of Korranberg. But there’s only ever been one coronation of a lhesh, and Razu is desperate for ideas to build the ceremony around. You’ve noticed how dar love tradition?” His blue eyes twinkled. “You can tell me I’m brilliant again.”

They had almost reached the door of his chamber. Geth knew he should end the conversation and get away from the gnome, but Midian’s smugness was like vinegar in his mouth. “What if Razu asks Senen Dhakaan about this?” he said sharply. “Senen will know you’ve made it up.”

“There’s an odd thing.” Midian’s voice turned serious. “Razu did ask Senen-and Senen said I was right. I may be brilliant, but I’m not that brilliant. Senen hates me. She’d contradict hard evidence just to spite me. I wonder if she knows we’re up to something.”

The answer gave Geth a moment of real surprise, and he glanced down at Midian. “Maybe she does.”

“It would be better if she didn’t. Aren’t we trying to make sure the secret of the rod stays a secret?”

Maybe it was his imagination, the shock of having Chetiin’s story confirmed, but Geth thought he heard a chilling ruthlessness in Midian’s words. He tried to hide the shiver that raised the hair in his neck. “You’re being suspicious,” he said.

“That’s what keeps gnomes alive.” Midian stopped beside the guards who stood outside Geth’s door. “Your chamber. I’ll see you at the arena?” His face brightened considerably. “Keraal has developed a popular following. He defeated three Kech Shaarat bladedancers yesterday. There’s a rumor that he’s ighting four Marguul berserkers today.”

“I’ll be there.” Geth stepped up to his door-the guards put fists to chests in a salute-then glanced back at Midian for a moment as the gnome bounced away down the corridor. Maybe it wasn’t so difficult to see him orchestrating Haruuc’s death. He wondered how long they’d be able to keep Chetiin’s survival a secret.

Geth pushed open his door, stepped into his chamber, and closed the door behind him, then looked around the room. Hang something out of your window if you need to talk to me, Chetiin had said. Geth’s eye landed on a bright green blanket across his bed. Dragging it off, he took it over to the open window and wedged one end firmly around the hinge of a shutter. The other he tossed out of the window. The wind caught it and blew it out like a woolen banner.

It was all he could do for now. Hopefully Chetiin would see the signal and come to him. Geth turned away to prepare for his appearance at the games-and stopped as he caught sight of himself in a mirror that hung on his wall.

One cheek was streaked with black. The whole time he’d been talking to Midian he’d had soot on his face. He cursed and looked more closely. The patch of soot was small and narrow, left behind by the careless touch of a inger maybe. Geth turned his face back and forth, then tilted his head back, trying to guess how much a short person like Midian could really have seen. The soot was close to the thick hair of the sideburns that traced his jaw and easy to mistake for a shadow. Maybe the gnome hadn’t even noticed it. And what if he had? It was only a smear of soot. It could have come from anywhere.

You’re worrying over nothing, Geth told himself. He drew a deep breath, blew it out again, and scrubbed the soot away with the heel of his palm.