before him. Tariic turned to face him, triumph and eagerness written on his face. Shifter and hobgoblin nodded to each other, and Geth knelt down and extended the rod. Tariic drew a slow breath, preparing himself for the final ritual of his coronation, then he reached down and closed his fingers around the byeshk shaft.
He froze. His face tightened. He leaned close to Geth and whispered something to him. The shifter stiffened.
Ashi’s heart might have stopped altogether. She felt Vounn’s hand on her arm and heard the lady seneschal ask, “Ashi?”
Words felt thick on her tongue. “Something’s wrong,” she said.
Geth could see the frustration in Razu’s eyes. The old hobgoblin lived for ritual and the coronation, her shining moment, had been spoiled, first by Makka and Pradoor’s unexpected appearance, then by Tariic’s startling crowning of himself. When the crowd drowned out the sound of her staff, he half-expected her to delay the ceremony until the cheers faded.
Don’t, he willed the mistress of rituals. Just keep going. Finish it!
When she turned and gestured for him to go ahead, he almost gasped with relief. If he hadn’t been holding the false rod in his armored hand, it probably would have slid right out of his sweating palm.
Makka’s glares had been redirected to Tariic, but Geth still stepped wide around him and Pradoor, then fixed his eyes on the new lhesh and crossed the dais. His mouth was as dry as his palms were wet. Tariic, eyes bright and ears high, bent his head to him. Geth nodded in return and lowered himself to his knees.
The dais under him was marked with a dark stain. He knelt, he realized, on the spot where Haruuc had died. The circle of succession was complete. Power passed from Haruuc to his shava to a new ruler. He looked up into Tariic’s face again and held out the rod. Tariic’s chest swelled as he breathed in. He reached down and grasped the rod — and his eyes widened, then narrowed. He bent closer and the whisper that came out between his sharp teeth was hot in Geth’s ear.
“This,” snarled Tariic, “is not the Rod of Kings!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
25 Sypheros
Geth twisted his head to stare at Tariic, but the hobgoblin was already straightening and sliding the false rod out of his slack grasp. The moment it was in Tariic’s grip alone, Geth felt the magic Tenquis had crafted into it take hold, enhancing the new lhesh’s presence. The cheers of the crowd died into exclamations of amazement. Tariic seized his free hand and drew him up to stand at his side, raising their joined hands high as if they were two warriors united in victory.
Razu’s staff slammed twice against the floor and her voice rose in ringing, triumphant tones. “Behold, Darguun! Behold Tariic Kurar’taarn, second lhesh of Darguun!”
This time there wasn’t a moment’s hesitation in the wild cheers that erupted. Arms beat against chests in a flurry of applause. Tariic lifted the rod and waved it. His other hand tightened on Geth’s in a crushing grip.
Shock numbed Geth. Tariic knew the rod was false. He’d recognized the truth as soon as he had touched it. How? The false rod was a perfect duplicate except for the spiral Tenquis had added and that end of the rod had been concealed in Geth’s hand. Tariic couldn’t have seen, much less felt, it. It was almost as if he’d known there was more to the true rod, known that he should have felt the glory of the emperors of Dhakaan in his mind as Haruuc had.
But that wasn’t possible. Haruuc couldn’t have told him about it. None of those who knew the rod’s secret would have told him. Tariic couldn’t have known unless he touched the rod before and he had never A memory rose in Geth’s mind of the day that they had brought the Rod of Kings back to Rhukaan Draal and stood in triumph before the dais in the throne room, basking in Haruuc’s gratitude.
The day that Tariic had taken the rod from him and climbed the dais to kneel and present it to Haruuc.
Mere moments of contact. Small enough to forget in the wash of events but long enough. Haruuc had told Geth that the rod had been in his head since the moment he held it, and that once the rod’s power had gripped him, it fed him its memories of Dhakaan’s glories whether it was in his grasp or not.
The Rod of Kings answered to those with the will to rule, the old lhesh had said. And Tariic had the will to rule. He’d always had the will. It was always going to be me, Tariic had said. I was always going to be lhesh.
They’d tried to save Haruuc’s successor from the curse of the rod, but it had already been too late.
But it might not be too late to save Darguun. The true rod was still safe in his chambers. For now.
Geth’s gut tightened, determination slipping past shock and pushing aside the glamour of the false rod. The thin armor under Tariic’s upraised arm made a tempting target. A hard punch there would certainly force the lhesh to ease his grip. If he could escape and retrieve the rod, he could run. Tariic would rule, but he wouldn’t have the true rod.
He curled his free hand, his gauntleted hand, into a fist.
Tariic caught the movement and squeezed tighter. “Attack me,” he said into Geth’s ear, “and I’ll denounce you as a traitor. I may not have the Rod of Kings but I have the warlords on my side now. You’ll die before you can leave this hall. Continue with the ceremony.”
A few stairs led down from the dais to the floor of the throne room and a wide aisle clear to the hall’s great doors. Tariic, pulling him along at his side, descended them. The music of pipes and drums began again. Geth knew what would happen next-or at least what was expected to happen next: Tariic would pass through the crowd of warlords in triumph, then proceed out of Khaar Mbar’ost to greet the people who had gathered before the fortress. The final act of the coronation spectacle. Once it was complete, there would be nothing, no interruption, that could stop Tariic from taking the rod by force.
He had to get away from the new lhesh before then.
He raised his gauntlered arm and waved to the crowd in imitation of Tariic. The hobgoblin glanced at him and growled, “What are you doing?”
“The same thing you are,” Geth said through a false smile. He tried to find Ashi, but it was harder to see through the mass of waving arms from the floor than it had been from the dais.
“Where is the rod?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“You knew, didn’t you?” Tariic kept waving. “So did Chetiin. He did us all a favor by killing my uncle.”
Geth couldn’t find a reply to that but Tariic didn’t give him a chance to answer.
“Haruuc couldn’t master the rod-I felt it trying to reach him and I felt him holding it back. That was his mistake. Embrace the glories of Dhakaan and you become the master of the rod. I’m not going to make the mistake Haruuc did. Give me the true rod, Geth, and I’ll tame it. I’ll unlock its secrets.”
A chill ran through Geth. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Tariic.”
The doors of the throne room were getting closer. An honor guard waited on the other side, ready to escort Tariic-or obey his commands to whisk a treacherous shifter out of sight. Geth glanced back over his shoulder. The others who had participated in the coronation ritual had followed them down from the dais. Munta and Razu, the two he might have counted on for some kind of aid, were last and too far away. Aguus was paying more attention to the crowd than to the others in the procession. Pradoor and Makka-out of the question.
But Daavn darted ahead of the goblin and the bugbear. He walked just behind Tariic and Geth, strutting and waving as if he had taken the crown himself. Geth looked ahead once more, then, as they reached the doors, called back to the warlord of the Marhaan. “Daavn, go before us and announce the lhesh’s approach!”
Those lining the aisle heard. Makka and Pradoor heard. Daavn’s face tightened in suspicion. Tariic turned to look at his ambitious friend-and Geth twisted around, reaching between himself and the new lhesh to grab a fistful of fur and drag the trailing edge of the long tiger skin cloak forward.
It was a ridiculous, desperate trick, but it worked. The heavy cloak tangled between Tariic’s legs. Caught off guard and off balance, he stumbled. His raised arm came down, his grip eased momentarily, and Geth wrenched his hand free. Leaping ahead of the hobgoblin, he turned back and said loudly, “No? I’ll do it myself!”
He whirled again, ducking between the startled guards. The antechamber to the throne room flashed past
