Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [39]
“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.
Geth looked at Tenquis for a moment longer, then turned to Dagii. “Tenquis was showing me how tough Wrath and the rod are.”
“You couldn’t have been quieter about it?” Ekhaas looked at the sea of papers and sketches that covered the table. “Are you finished?”
“I think so.” Tenquis began to gather up his drawings. “Be sure the byeshk gets here. I’ll send word if there are problems. Otherwise you’ll hear from me when the false rod is completed.”
As soon as Geth returned Wrath to its sheath and wrapped the rod back into the bundle of leather, they took their leave. Tenquis gave Geth one last golden-eyed glance, then his door closed behind them. The night was almost over, the first hints of dawn glowing in the east, though the streets were still dark enough to have left a human blind. Rhukaan Draal was, briefly, at its most silent. Ekhaas didn’t bother trying to renew the illusion that had cloaked Geth—instead she brushed his shaggy hair forward to hide his face. Dagii shed the jacket he wore and draped it over Geth’s shoulder to conceal both his great gauntlet and the bundled rod. A rough disguise, but it would do. The weariness