protected him, they were also clumsy. Geth’s hands were more dexterous. At Tenquis’s request, he laid Wrath alongside the rod, so the artificer could compare the runes scribed on the two artifacts. Half the night seemed to pass and Geth watched him fill page after page with careful sketches of the rod in the most minute detail. Tenquis was a talented artist-the drawings he made were vivid and fine. His dark hands, calloused and nicked in ways that set them apart from a fighter’s hands, moved with swift certainty from pen to calipers and back again, adjusting a lens on a lantern, grabbing for a fresh piece of paper, or flipping back to consult a previous sketch.
After a time, he realized that Tenquis was glancing up at him as well. He twitched his gaze away. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Tenquis set his pen down and stretched his hands. The joints popped. He leaned back on the stool he occupied and looked at him. “The rod and the sword aren’t the only artifacts you carry.”
Geth touched the collar of black stones, each one roughly polished and marked with a symbol, that he wore around his neck. “You mean this.”
“Yes. Those are orc runes.” He rose and leaned across the table, reaching out to lift one of the stones and rub his thumb across it. His fingers were warm and dry. “Druidic tradition. Very old. Powerful too.”
“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 of a night without sleep weighed on Geth. There was something he knew he had to say, though.
“Tenquis figured out that there’s something more to the rod.”
Ekhaas let out a soft curse. “Can we trust him?” asked Dagii.
“I think so,” said Geth. “He also guessed we were planning to do something with the true rod. I told him we were going to destroy it. That banging was him showing me that’s going to be harder than we thought.”
“I was afraid it might be,” said Ekhaas grimly. “In legends, great artifacts are either ridiculously fragile or impossibly durable. The cursed ones are never fragile. We’ll think of something-”
The skittering of a stone in the shadows interrupted her. Instantly, all three of them were on the alert, hands on their swords. “Rat?” breathed Dagii.
“No,” Geth said. There was another sound, this time from the shadows on their other side. They moved back to back. Almost immediately, a third stone rattled on the street, louder than the others. They all looked toward it.
“Whoever is out there,” said Ekhaas, “is either incredibly clumsy or wants us to know we’re not alone.”
“The latter,” said a voice that was thick and strained like a scar. A small shadow detached itself from high on a wall and dropped softly to the street, then moved forward so they could clearly see an old goblin with thin cobweb hair, the parchment-like skin of his face stained dark to match the black clothing of the shaarat’khesh.
“We need to talk,” said Chetiin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
21 Sypheros
The fatigue Geth had felt dropped away, burning into rage. “You!” he snarled. He shrugged off Dagii’s jacket and thrust the bundle containing the rod at Ekhaas. Wrath rang as he drew the twilight blade, then he charged at the goblin.
Chetiin had picked a good spot for a fight, a small open square, little more than a broadening of the street with the shutters on the surrounding buildings closed tight. Four running strides closed the distance between Geth and the goblin. Chetiin sank back into a crouch, hands raised in loose fists. Geth swung Wrath on the last step. The heavy sword arced down-and Chetiin slid out of the way.
Geth spun, letting the momentum of the blow carry him around, and turned Wrath in another blow that forced Chetiin to dodge with a little less grace. Dagii joined him, moving in on Chetiin’s other side with his sword at the ready. Chetiin slipped back into his crouch and rocked gently from one side to the other, his hands weaving along with his body and making it difficult to tell where he was going to go next.
“Geth,” he said, his strained voice low, “listen to me-”
The shifter answered with a fast backhanded swipe of his gauntlet. Magewrought steel swept the air. Chetiin stepped aside-and vanished. Geth and Dagii whirled, searching for him.
He reappeared behind Dagii. Geth caught the flash of a fist as Chetiin punched into the warlord’s leg at mid-
