Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [60]
The closest thing he’d come to a good fight in weeks was against Chetiin.
The thought of the goblin pulled a groan out of him that produced a look of concern from a passing hobgoblin guard. Geth waved her away. In the chaos of the news of the Valenar raiders and the assembly of warlords, it had been easy to put Chetiin out of his mind, but he couldn’t ignore the problem forever. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the goblin. Part of him was hurt and suspicious and clung to the idea that Chetiin had been the one to murder Haruuc, like a child clinging to an old fear.
But another part wanted to believe his story of being attacked and left for dead, his identity usurped for the assassination. The proof Chetiin had offered might have been nebulous, but it made sense—there was no reason for him to have made such a public killing.
At the same time, though, if he believed Chetiin, it meant there was a different traitor among them, that Midian had conspired in Haruuc’s death. And that was just as hard to take. He needed some proof, something to tell him which of his friends he could trust.
It came to him that he knew exactly where to look for that proof. He turned at the next corridor and moved off into a different part of Khaar Mbar’ost.
He found what he was looking for without too much effort. The door was the same as many on private chambers throughout Khaar Mbar’ost, with two handles—one high for hobgoblins and creatures their size and one low for goblins—and a lock set midway between them. This door, however, had been marked with Haruuc’s sword and crown crest above a short phrase written in Goblin. Geth could have grasped Wrath and ordered the sword to translate the angular runes for him, but he didn’t need magic to have a good idea of what the phrase said. There was something about Keep Out that looked the same in any language.
For a change, though, it didn’t apply to him. He probably could have found someone willing to open the door for Haruuc’s shava but it was easier to keep his visit a secret. Geth checked up and down the corridor, then drew his knife, slipped it between the door and the frame, and slid the blade up until he encountered the bolt. For a long period of his life, he’d lived on the run and he’d learned a number of tricks to survive. One of them was how open a locked door. With a swift motion, he kicked the knife up and gave it a twist to one side.
The blade broke. Geth was left staring at the hilt end of the knife while the tip clattered to the ground on the other side of the door. “Rat,” he muttered. Checking the corridor again, he stepped back and slammed his foot against the door just above the lock. With a sharp crack of wood, the door flew open. Geth waited for a moment to see if the noise brought anyone to investigate, then stepped inside, closed the door, retrieved the broken knife blade, and studied the room that had been Chetiin’s.
He had trouble imagining that those who had searched it after Haruuc’s death could have needed very long. Chetiin must have lived simply. A slashed pack, a few articles of discarded black clothing, a broken vial—these were all of the personal items left in the room. Maybe the searchers had taken anything else but Geth thought it was equally likely there had been little more to take.
The furniture in the room did show the unmistakable signs of a search, however. The bed had been pulled apart, a chest overturned, the stuffed seats of a pair of narrow chairs slit like throats. Geth walked around the wreckage and over to the fireplace.
If Chetiin’s story was true, there would