The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [7]
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