Geth took a long breath of relief. Dagii relaxed a little, too. Ekhaas’s face remained impassive, however. “An exact copy of the rod, enchanted to enhance the presence of the one who holds it-”
Tenquis snorted. “Easy enough.”
“-and ready in three days.”
The snort turned into a twitch. “Three days? That’s not possible. This isn’t like forging a horseshoe. Six, maybe. Byeshk is hard to work with and I’d need to find some first-”
“We can have the byeshk here in the morning,” said Ekhaas.
“I’ll need more than byeshk. Other materials. They won’t be cheap.”
Dagii stepped past Geth and tossed a fat, clinking pouch to Tenquis. “That should cover the price of anything else you need.”
Geth wondered where he had come up with the money. The Mur Talaan clan was highly respected, but it wasn’t wealthy. Tenquis rolled the pouch between his fingers, looking both startled and pleased. “I’ll need to study the rod,” he said. “Make sketches, take measurements.”
“You have tonight,” Ekhaas said. “No touching it. Geth can hold it for you.”
The tiefling flicked his fingers dismissively. “Gloves,” he said. “Has anyone tried holding the rod while wearing gloves?”
Geth looked at Ekhaas and Dagii, and felt a flush of embarrassment warm his face. They’d been too worried about the danger of the rod to consider it, but the priest at Haruuc’s funeral had held the rod on a tray and felt nothing.
Tenquis raised an eyebrow at their silence. “I didn’t think so. I’ll want to study the sword, too.”
“Another time,” said Ekhaas. “Can you do better than six days?”
Tenquis pursed his lips and glanced at Geth and the rod. “I may be able to make it in five.” He held up a finger. “I have conditions. Nobody outside of this room can know about my involvement. Not any allies, not your mothers. I’m not losing my head for you.”
“That’s fair,” said Ekhaas.
Tenquis held up a second finger. “There will be a… fee.”
Dagii’s ears pressed back. “The pouch has more than you’ll need for materials. The rest is yours.”
“More than money.” Tenquis looked at Ekhaas again. “I want to know what the Kech Volaar know about the daashor. Histories, stories, legends-anything.”
“I’ll tell you everything I know,” Ekhaas promised. “After the rod is copied. Five days, no more. If the Rod of Kings passes into the hands of an heir, we’ve run out of time. Do we have an agreement?”
Tenquis smiled. “We have an agreement.” He held out his hand. Ekhaas drew a knife. The tiefling’s smile faltered for a moment, then returned. “By your people’s custom, then.” He pulled an ornate dagger from his belt and touched the blade to Ekhaas’s, sealing the deal in dar fashion. Then he dropped the dagger onto a nearby table and pointed at Geth. “Bring the rod, here. If I only have tonight to examine it, I need to get started.”
Tenquis worked quickly, clearing a large table and directing Geth to set the rod on it. Multiple everbright lanterns with arrangements of mirrors and lenses directed bright light onto the rod, lighting it up as if the sun were shining into the converted barn. The artificer produced paper, pens, and ink, a measuring stick, calipers, and more lenses. He began with a careful examination of the byeshk shaft-with Geth turning it as he instructed-then took calipers and began transferring the dimensions of the rod onto paper. As quickly as he worked, though, the copying took time. Ekhaas found a chair among the shelves and books, stretched out, and dozed off. Dagii simply lay down on a carpet that covered a section of the stone floor.
Geth didn’t have that luxury. He could move about, stretch, occasionally sit down, but it was never long before Tenquis called on him to turn the rod-the tiefling had tried handling the rod with thick gloves, but while they protected him, they were also clumsy. Geth’s hands were more dexterous. At Tenquis’s request, he laid Wrath alongside the rod, so the artificer could compare the runes scribed on the two artifacts. Half the night seemed to pass and Geth watched him fill page after page with careful sketches of the rod in the most minute detail. Tenquis was a talented artist-the drawings he made were vivid and fine. His dark hands, calloused and nicked in ways that set them apart from a fighter’s hands, moved with swift certainty from pen to calipers and back again, adjusting a lens on a lantern, grabbing for a fresh piece of paper, or flipping back to consult a previous sketch.
After a time, he realized that Tenquis was glancing up at him as well. He twitched his gaze away. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Tenquis set his pen down and stretched his hands. The joints popped. He leaned back on the stool he occupied and looked at him. “The rod and the sword aren’t the only artifacts you carry.”
Geth touched the collar of black stones, each one roughly polished and marked with a symbol, that he wore around his neck. “You mean this.”
“Yes. Those are orc runes.” He rose and leaned across the table, reaching out to lift one of the stones and rub his thumb across it. His fingers were warm and dry. “Druidic tradition. Very old. Powerful too.”
“The collar is a Gatekeeper artifact,” said Geth. “It protects my mind from the forces of Xoriat, the plane of madness. It belonged to a… close friend.”
“Who died?”
It was difficult to read the tiefling’s featureless eyes, but up close Geth could see the tiny creases in the skin around them, the slight movement of the brow below the heavy horns. He half-expected to see himself reflected in the golden orbs, but they gave back no reflection at all. “He was killed,” he said.
“And the person who killed him?” Tenquis let the stone fall back against Geth’s neck and stood straight.
“Dead.”
Tenquis smiled, showing sharp teeth again. “My grandmother has a saying: the way through the maze is clear for the wise and the lucky, but the rest of us have to fight.” He sat down and stared at the rod for a moment before looking up at Geth again. “The symbols on the rod and the sword-you don’t understand them, do you?”
“They’re not Goblin.”
“No. They’re not any kind of language you could read, really.” He picked up the pen and tapped it against the rod. “They bind magic, shaping it. The methods used by the Dhakaani daashor are different from what modern artificers use, but there are similarities if you know what to look for.” The pen touched one carved rune, then another. “These are strong runes. Taruuzh bound incredible power into the rod.” Tenquis lifted his eyes. “There’s more to the rod’s power than just the memories of emperors and enhancing the presence of the holder, isn’t there?”
The hair on Geth’s arms and neck rose. He didn’t say anything. For a moment, neither did Tenquis. Then the tiefling nodded slowly and set the pen down. “I might be able to figure it out myself, but I’m not sure I want to,” he said. He paused before asking, “When I’ve made the copy, what are you planning to do with the true rod?”
“Who says we’re planning to do anything with it?” said Geth.
“The voice of experience. When people want something copied, they usually have plans for the original. They want to sell it if it belongs to them or they want to steal it if it doesn’t.”
Geth’s throat felt dry. “We’re going to destroy it,” he said.
Tenquis’s lips curled. “Really?” he said.
Quick as a thought, he reached down and caught up a heavy smith’s hammer. Before Geth could stop him, he had raised the hammer and brought it down on Wrath’s blade with a crash that jolted both Ekhaas and Dagii from their sleep.
“Grandfather Rat!” shouted Geth. “What do you think you’re-”
He stopped, staring at Wrath. By rights the blade, heavy as it was, should have been smashed or at least bent, but there wasn’t a mark on the purple metal. Tenquis dropped the hammer. “It’s not so easy to destroy powerful artifacts like these,” he said. “You might want to come up with another plan.”
“Maabet!” cursed Dagii. “What was that about?” He had his sword out, ready for a fight.