Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [111]
“Or what?” The figure that turned was small and dressed in black. It spoke with a strained, scarred voice. Chetiin. In his hand, he held the Rod of Kings. “I’m your friend, Geth. What are you going to do?”
Chetiin turned around again and leaped through the window that grown in the middle of the forest. “No!” Geth screamed. He sprinted after the goblin.
Voices shouted for him. Daavn commanding him to stop. Tariic demanding the true rod. Haruuc begging his aid. Figures flashed in the periphery of his vision. Ashi reaching out for him. Ekhaas, doing the same thing. Dagii, stern and reserved. Chetiin, his large eyes somber and wise.
Adolan, watching. And maybe a little sad.
Geth tried to stop, to turn back, but it was too late. He plunged through the window, and the stones of the plaza below Khaar Mbar’ost rushed up to meet him—
He jerked and snapped upright, a roar tearing itself from his throat. From somewhere close, there was a yelp, the crash of shattering glass, and a stream of curses. Body trembling, Geth stared around. He sat in a high bed, threadbare sheets twisted around him. A low, raftered ceiling was close overhead. To either side of the bed rose stone walls that stopped well short of the ceiling and the opposite wall. The hot copper smell of his dream filled the air.
A moment later, Tenquis peered around the corner of one of the short walls. The tiefling’s expression, at first cautious, hardened and he stepped around to stand at the foot of the bed, glaring at Geth with his golden eyes. “Horns of Ohr Kaluun, can you do anything quietly?”
Geth squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again and the strange bedchamber made sense. The last moments of his flight from Khaar Mbar’ost came back to him. He was in Tenquis’s home, the one-time barn. The short walls closing in the bed were the sides of stalls. Cows had once slept where the bed stood. Geth lay back, wringing a sickening ache out of his side that echoed the agony of his dream. He raised his head enough to look down at himself. His chest was wrapped in bandages. More bandages swaddled his left arm, and there was something thick and crusty smeared across his face over his cheekbones. He reached up with his right hand and whatever was on his face crumbled into a lumpy powder that left his fingertips dark and glittery. The flesh underneath was tender.
“A healing compound,” Tenquis said. The anger faded from his face, replaced by a certain self-satisfaction. “Faster than a body on its own, slower than true magic. A good artificer needs to know something about anatomy, as well as alchemy and artifacts. You had several broken ribs, a broken arm, a broken cheekbone, and were badly bruised all over. Your left hip had a deep wound that was just barely healed—magic or some shifter gift, I assume. The bruising is gone. Your hip is completely healed. The broken bones are likely mended, although you’ll want to be careful of them. They’ll be like green wood for a few days yet.”
Geth bent his bandaged arm experimentally. More dark, glittering powder ran out between the fabric strips. “I … Twice tak, Tenquis.”
The tiefling wrinkled his nose. “You did pass out on my doorstep. It would have attracted attention if I’d left you to die in the street—and once you were inside, I had to do something or I would have had to get rid of the body.”
It was hard to tell if he was joking. Geth waited for him to laugh or smile, but he didn’t. Finally Geth broke the silence. “There’s been trouble.”
“I suspected it.” Tenquis’s voice was flat. His fleshy tail snaked slowly back and forth through the air. “I really was tempted to leave you in the street, but since I’d guess this has something to do with the false rod, whatever happened to you puts me in danger, too.” He cocked his head