“We don’t need to go farther.” Moonlight glittered on the golden orbs of Tenquis’s eyes, from the gold flecks in the polished horns that grew back from his brow, and on the short spikes that edged his chin like a goatee. “We can lay a false trail northward for a short distance from this spot and leave our fire smoldering in the morning. The smoke will draw other patrols here-the deaths will enrage them, and they’ll follow the most obvious trail. Vengeance blinds hobgoblins.”
Ekhaas’s grimace became a narrow glance, but Chetiin nodded. “It will work.” Ekhaas turned her glare on him. The old goblin just spread his hands. “He is right. It is how ghuul’dar will react. Tenquis would make a good golin’dar.”
Ghuul’dar and golin’dar-the ancient Goblin words for hobgoblins, the mighty people, and goblins, the quick people. Not just quick for their speed, but also their cunning. Geth was glad that Chetiin was on their side and not, as he’d thought after Haruuc’s death, an enemy. “That sounds like a plan,” he said, “but we should at least make a show of hiding the bodies. It would seem odd if we left them out in the open.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a gully back there. I’ll go find their horses-”
Marrow interrupted with a growl and a whuff. Her reddish eyes flashed in the firelight, and she turned to disappear into the night. “She says she’ll deal with the horses,” translated Chetiin.
Geth looked after the worg, then shrugged and sheathed Wrath. As Chetiin and Ekhaas moved to deal with the other fallen soldiers, he reached down and took hold of the patrol leader’s body by the ankles, ready to drag the decapitated corpse into the undergrowth.
Tenquis stayed close. “He died too easily,” he said. “You should have let me talk to him.”
Geth followed his gaze down to the head and body of the soldier, then glanced back up at the tiefling. His gut clenched, anger and sorrow coming back as if they would never leave him. The feeling almost choked him. “Maybe I should have.”
“Next time.” Tenquis seized the hobgoblin’s head by its lank black hair and held it up so that he could stare into the vacant eyes. Blood dripped from the severed neck, spattering fallen leaves at Tenquis’s feet. The tiefling stood looking at the head for a long moment, then spun around sharply and hurled it off into the darkness. It crashed through dry branches like some great clumsy bird before hitting an unseen tree with a solid thunk. Tenquis bent and hooked his arms under the dead soldier’s arms to help Geth carry the body.
Chetiin wasn’t the only one Geth was glad to have as a friend rather than as an enemy.
“Tenquis,” he said, “why are you doing this? Why are you still with us? You didn’t know Ashi. You met her-what? Three times? The only reason you even came to Tariic’s notice is because you created the false Rod of Kings for us.”
Tenquis, still bent over, hands under the soldier, twisted his neck to look up at Geth. “And because you came to me for help when your plan fell apart around you.”
Heat burned in Geth’s cheeks. “And that. I’m sorry.”
“Remember what Chetiin said about regret being the blade that wounds? Tieflings have a saying too: choices are a sword sharpened on both ends. I chose to help you. Apology accepted, but you’re not the one to blame.”
He heaved the soldier’s torso up off the ground, holding it away to avoid smearing himself with blood. Geth started walking backward, leading the way toward the brush-screened gully that would serve as an open grave. “You’re not a part of this.”
Tenquis showed needle-sharp teeth. “Tariic made me a part of it. Because of him, everything I had, all of my research, is gone except for what I managed to stuff in my pockets.” His breath wheezed from exertion as he spoke, but he managed to tap his chin against one shoulder, indicating the long, labyrinth-patterned vest that he wore. The garment was magical, its pockets unnaturally capacious. Geth had seen Tenquis slide a long iron pry bar into one pocket creating only a slight bulge in the fabric. “Because of him, my-”
His face hardened, and his mouth closed tight, cutting off the words, but Geth knew what he’d been about to say. In addition to sharp teeth, eyes of gold or black or red, and heavy horns, tieflings had another feature that betrayed the bargain that their sorcerous ancestors had struck with infernal powers in ages past-a thick, sinuous tail. Because of Tariic, Tenquis’s tail was only a scarred stump, a reminder of what Haruuc’s nephew had been willing to do to gain the Rod of Kings.
They pushed past bushes and reached the edge of the gully. Neither of them spoke as they swung the patrol leader’s body into the shadows. Geth listened to the snap and crash of branches below. It was like the crackling of fuel in the fire of his anger. Grim determination settled over him as they turned back to the scene of the ambush.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be going to Volaar Draal,” he said. “Maybe it’s time to stop running. If Tariic thinks we’re headed for Breland, we can go anywhere we want. We can go back to Rhukaan Draal. He won’t be expecting an attack.” Geth’s gut tightened. “We can end this.”
Tenquis frowned. “How? Without Ashi, you’re the only one who can stand up to the power of the rod.”
“All the more reason to go back,” said Geth. “I’m going to carve the price of her death out of Tariic’s heart.”
“Geth.” Tenquis grabbed his arm and stopped him. The tiefling faced him eye to eye. “I want to see Tariic pay for what he’s done, but charging back to Rhukaan Draal isn’t the way. Volaar Draal can provide us with more than just sanctuary. Haruuc learned about the Rod of Kings from the stories preserved by the Kech Volaar. We may be able to find a way to stop Tariic in the vaults of Volaar Draal.”
He dropped his voice and added, “We need to rest and plan first, or we’ll fail. Tariic will win, and who will avenge Ashi then? There’s an old Dhakaani proverb that goes ‘Khaartuuv kurar’dar, mi shi morii’dar.’”
Geth’s hand rested on Wrath’s hilt, and the magic of the sword translated the Goblin words. He spoke them back to Tenquis. “To avenge the dead, remain among the living.”
Tenquis nodded. Geth clenched his jaw. “We’re going back, though,” he said. “When we have a solution, we’re going back.”
Tenquis smiled at him, the tips of his teeth showing past his lips. “I wouldn’t be here if we weren’t.”
CHAPTER TWO
7 Aryth
Ashi d’Deneith stood on the dais of the throne room of Khaar Mbar’ost, stared out over the mob of Darguul warlords, and remembered another moment, just a week shy of four months earlier, when she had stood on a similar dais. The occasion had been the arrival of Tariic, ambassador of Darguun and nephew of Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor, in Sentinel Tower, home fortress of House Deneith. Ashi had been waiting to perform for Tariic, her mentor Vounn d’Deneith’s firm hand restraining her eagerness.
But Vounn was dead. Ashi stood at the left hand of Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn in his fortress, restrained by the threat of a sharp knife.
And yet she was still performing.
Drums beat slowly as two guards marched down the central aisle of the throne room. They dragged a gruesome burden behind them-the corpse of a bugbear with every scrap of skin flayed away, from foot to face. The thing had been laid on a mat of coarse burlap to keep it from leaving a trail of blood across the floor, but even so, red smears-and the turning heads of Darguul warlords-marked its progress through the room.
The guards brought the corpse to the foot of the dais and stepped aside so that Tariic could look down on it. He did, then looked to the crowd. “This was Makka,” he said, “who shamed me by murdering a guest and an ally and by nearly doing the same to another.” He spoke formal Goblin but Ashi understood it easily-Ekhaas had taught her the language. Tariic looked to his right. “Pradoor, is this just?”
The elderly goblin priestess whose prayers had dragged Ashi back from sharing Vounn’s fate glanced with disdain at the tortured corpse of her former servant. Or rather seemed to stare with milk-blind eyes that saw more than they had any right to. “It is just, lhesh,” she answered.