Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [112]
“Good guess,” said Geth.
“I wish it wasn’t. Given that you came on the night of his coronation, it seemed obvious, though.”
“Wait.” The tiefling’s words settled into his head like leaves drifting to the ground. “On the night of Tariic’s coronation? How long have I been here?”
“Three nights.”
“Three?” He sat up again, threw his legs over the side of the bed, and stood—almost. Tenquis darted in and grabbed him before his legs folded completely.
“Give yourself a moment,” he advised.
Geth nodded numbly. He wore only his smallclothes. Tenquis dragged a sheet off the bed and draped it around him, then helped him out into his workshop in the main room of the barn.
The bright light of noon shone around the edges of the shuttered windows. “Tiger, Wolf, and Rat,” Geth muttered. He looked at Tenquis. “I need to go.”
“Easy.” Tenquis guided him to a table and pulled out a straight-backed chair so he could sit. Geth grabbed the back of the chair and hung on. Tenquis shrugged and let go. He left him holding onto the chair, fetched a broom, and began to clean up a mess of broken glass and thin, smoking liquid.
Across the workshop, Geth’s clothes lay on another table together with Wrath and his great gauntlet. Geth shook out his legs, took a deep breath, and walked—wobbling only slightly—to the other table. Tenquis paused in his sweeping to watch him. “In a hurry?”
“I’ve been in a bed for three days. I need to get out. I need to find out what’s been happening.” Geth held onto the edge of the other table and let his breath catch up with him.
“As far as I can tell,” Tenquis said, “not much.”
Geth stared at him. “What do you mean ‘as far as you can tell?’ And what do you mean ‘not much?’”
Tenquis ignored him, tipping a bucket on its side, sweeping the glass and smoking liquid into it, then shaking sand from a second bucket over the remaining liquid. When he’d finally finished, he looked up at Geth and flashed sharp white teeth in a sly grin.
“Did you think I was sitting by your bedside? I may make good guesses, but there’s only so much I can glean from someone who’s unconscious. And I’m not the kind of person who waits for trouble to come creeping up on him. While you were sleeping, I went out to see what kind of danger I was in.”
He set the broom aside and moved around the workshop, gathering things—a basin, a brush, hot water from a small iron stove—as he spoke.
“That first night, there were guards from Khaar Mbar’ost looking for a shifter in parts of the city, though not around here and not for long. By dawn, there was no more search. Tariic’s been putting himself on display to the people for the last two days. He’s getting them ready for war with the Valenar—not that dar need much encouragement. I want to see one of his speeches so I could get a look at him, and I noticed two interesting things. The first was that whatever he might know about it, he was still using the false rod. I recognize my own magic.” He stopped in front of Geth, basin held in his arms. “The second thing is you shouldn’t be here because for all appearances, you were there, standing with Tariic.”
Geth’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “How—?”
“A changeling? An illusion disguising someone else?” Tenquis shrugged again. “How it’s been done doesn’t matter so much as that it’s been done at all. Someone, whether it’s Tariic or someone else, is trying to cover up the fact that you’re missing. And given that neither you nor Tariic has the true Rod of Kings right now, I’m going to guess that someone else has it. Am I right?”
Geth blinked, then nodded slowly.
“Boiled down, yes.” He looked at Tenquis for a long moment and the tiefling looked back. Questions raced through Geth’s head. What had happened to Ashi and Midian? Where was Chetiin now? Had Dagii and Ekhaas engaged the Valenar? What was Tariic up to?
The one that made it to his tongue, though, was, “Why are you doing this? You didn’t want anyone to know your name. You