Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [129]
The door of the lhesh’s chambers opened, and Daavn, dripping water onto the rich carpets, strode in. “Geth and Ashi are captured, along with the tiefling artificer,” he said. “We found no sign of Aruget. He may have fled in shame.”
“He doesn’t matter.” Tariic sat in a vast chair, fully dressed in spite of the hour. “Geth and Ashi are the ones I wanted. Especially Geth. Did he have the rod?”
“He wasn’t carrying it. I searched the tiefling’s workshop, but I couldn’t find it. I have guards standing watch over the place, ready for you.” Daavn paused and added. “You don’t have to search yourself, Tariic. You’re the lhesh. There are soldiers I trust, clever goblins—”
“No!” Tariic sat forward and his voice cracked like a whip. “I will search for the Rod of Kings. It’s mine. No one else is to so much as touch it.”
Daavn flinched, then ducked his head. “Mazo, lhesh.”
Tariic sat back in his chair. He glanced at Makka—and Makka glanced down at the prisoner he held by one shoulder.
Midian was pale, with crusted blood on his mouth and one eye swollen, but his voice was bold. “We had a deal.”
Rage burned in Makka’s gut. He squeezed and Midian squirmed. He squeezed harder, and the gnome gasped.
Pradoor, seated again on the spindly carved table she favored as a perch, gave him a poke with her stick. He glared at her, then at Tariic. Pradoor might not have been able to see him, but Tariic could—and the lhesh didn’t even blink. Makka eased his grip. Midian slumped a little but Makka held him upright. “I swore an oath of vengeance,” he growled. “Will you ever let me keep it?”
“My needs come before yours. Let the royal historian go.”
Daavn started at the title and his mouth dropped open. Makka gave Midian another hard squeeze, then lifted his hand. For a moment, the gnome stood like a startled deer, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Then his little pink slip of a tongue darted out and licked his bloodied lips. “Thank you, lhesh. I promise, you won’t regret this.”
“You betrayed me and then your friends, Midian,” Tariic said coolly. “You’re an opportunistic little rodent, but don’t think you can dig your burrow a third time.”
Midian gave a wretched, scraping bow. “Never. Lhesh, when you came to me and said you were looking for a scholar to join your uncle’s search for the Rod of Kings—”
“Strange,” said Tariic, “I seem to recall that you came to me looking for a way to get into Darguun so you could pursue your research.” He rose so that he towered over the gnome. “I’ll be watching you. Remember that you’ve already had your chance to run but that you chose to bargain for a chance to stay.”
“I’m yours, lhesh!” He scuttled out of the room.
Daavn found his voice. “Tariic, I don’t like this.”
“It’s my decision, Daavn. Midian didn’t let Ashi slip out of Khaar Mbar’ost.” Tariic turned his eyes on Makka. “Or allow her to escape a trap he promised was inescapable. Pradoor, will Ko recover?”
“I have prayed over him.” Her wrinkled face hardened. “The Dark Six speak to me, Tariic. I agree with Daavn and Makka. Don’t trust the gnome.”
“I don’t.” The lhesh seated himself again. “But, like Ko, he’s useful. Both have their price. Ko loves money. Midian loves history—and himself.” His ears flicked and he looked at Makka again. “You have the watching of him. If he turns against us, fulfill your oath.”
“What about Ashi and Geth?”
“If I don’t find the Rod of Kings at the tiefling’s workshop, I’ll ask them. And when they’ve answered me, you can have what’s left.”
Makka’s lips drew back from his teeth. “That’s a bad trade.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
There was a tentative rap at the door of the chamber and one of the guards of Khaar Mbar’ost entered. He bent his head diffidently, not raising his eyes to Tariic. “Lhesh, you asked not to be disturbed, but