Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [42]
“Except to separate him from the rod if he’d discovered its true power,” said Geth.
Chetiin scowled and jerked his head at the windows around the square. “This isn’t the place to discuss secrets,” he said. “Come with me. There’s a place we can talk.” His face softened. “Trust me. On Haruuc’s memory and my word, I’m telling you the truth.”
Geth glanced at Ekhaas and Dagii. Ekhaas’s ears flicked and she nodded curtly. He looked back to Chetiin. “No tricks,” he said.
The goblin nodded. “After the last two weeks I don’t think I have any tricks left.”
The place he led them to was a fragment of brick wall standing in the middle of large swath of burned-out ruins. The nearest surviving buildings were some distance away.
“One of the fires that burned on the night of Haruuc’s death destroyed this area,” said Chetiin. “It will be reclaimed, but between the mourning period and the games, no one has had time. We won’t be overheard.” He squatted down in the shelter of the wall and looked up at them. “I’ve been watching you for the last few days, waiting for a chance to speak with you alone,” he said. “I saw you leave Khaar Mbar’ost tonight and I followed you to the tiefling’s house. His shutters fit badly. I know your plans. Who thought of creating a false rod?”
Ekhaas answered. “Midian. When he returned.”
Chetiin nodded. “I heard what you told Tenquis about the rod’s influence on Haruuc. Maabet, I should have seen it. Nothing he did in the last days of his life was like him.”
“You said as much when you argued with him just before his death,” said Geth. “You said, ‘You’re not the Haruuc I’ve known for so many years.’”
“If we knew truth when we spoke it, we’d all be seers.” Chetiin’s mouth tightened. “I didn’t guess that the rod had a hold on him. If anything I would have guessed that he had begun to grasp the rod’s power.”
“That’s what we thought you believed,” Geth said. “You also told Haruuc that he would destroy what he’d built unless he was stopped.”
“And you thought that I had followed through and stopped him.” Chetiin fell silent for a moment before adding, “I would have considered it. We swore to keep the rod’s powers secret by any means necessary.” He glanced at each of them in turn. “But we all swore to that. I wouldn’t have acted on my own. I would have come to you.”
“Then what happened?” asked Dagii.
Chetiin made a face and his ears folded down. “I was careless. When I left Haruuc after our argument—after he ordered me out of Khaar Mbar’ost—I was angry. I forgot the first law of the shaarat’khesh: watch and listen. Someone put a crossbow bolt in my back. Poisoned.”
Breath hissed between Geth’s teeth. “Just like Haruuc. Did you see who did it?”
“No.” Chetiin shook his head. “The bolt was bad. The poison was worse. It worked fast, burning in me. It made me weak and blind. Strandpine sap, I think. A big dose, maybe as much as they used on Haruuc.”
“And you’re smaller than he was. How come you’re not dead?”
“An assassin who works with poisons for many years develops a resistance to them,” the goblin said. “As it was, I was as good as dead. That probably saved me. I think if I had been any more alive, my attacker would have been certain to finish the job.”
“Lucky,” Ekhaas said.
“It wasn’t my only piece of luck. I drifted in and out of consciousness after that while the poison ran its course. When I finally woke up, I realized that I’d been stuffed up onto a ledge in one of the chimneys of Khaar Mbar’ost. If not for the ban on fires during the period of mourning, smoke in the chimney would have suffocated me.” He spread his hands. “The bolt had been pulled out of me, maybe to make it easier to hide my body. That spared me further exposure to the poison. My daggers had been taken, of course. When