this matter is a secret. No one outside of this room is to know that Geth is being hunted. Daavn, find another explanation for the death of the guard he murdered on the stairs. The guards who were with you when he jumped-where are they?”
“Out in the streets. Searching for him.”
“Deal with them.”
There was a hard finality in his words. “Mazo,” said Daavn. “But people will start to wonder what’s become of Geth.”
Tariic sat back. “I have a solution ready,” he said, ears twitching. “One that Geth himself made possible and inspired.” He raised his voice. “You can come in now.”
A door opened and Geth stepped into the room.
Makka held back his rage, just as he had when he had faced the shifter before the coronation. To be so close to one of those he had sworn to kill and yet be forced to cooperate with him…
Yet something was different. Geth looked nervous, but not startled or ready to attack as he had before. He looked at them all in turn before his eyes finally settled on Tariic and he gave a little bow. Pradoor slapped Makka’s thigh.
“What’s this?” she demanded. “Who’s there?”
“Geth,” Makka growled. “But not Geth.”
Tariic frowned. “Perceptive.” He looked at Geth. “Well?”
“I only met him once,” Geth muttered. “I don’t have much to go on. It would be best if I stayed away from people who know him well. You think this is easy?”
“It’s easier than dying in a corner of my dungeon,” Tariic said. “Show them.”
Geth wrinkled his nose-then his face flowed and changed, becoming dusky-skinned and softly formed with wide eyes milkier than Pradoor’s. Makka’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “Wax baby,” he spat and Pradoor cackled.
The changeling looked more uncomfortable now than he had as Geth. He didn’t look any more uncomfortable, however, than Daavn. The hobgoblin’s ears flicked furiously, almost pulling back flat. He stepped in close to Tariic and tried to whisper in his ear. Makka caught some of his words. “You can’t trust a changeling, Tariic. They’re treacherous-”
Tariic pushed him back. “Daavn,” he said coldly, “this is Ko. Have you ever met before?”
Daavn drew a breath, then spread his hands. “If we have, I didn’t know it. You know what they say about changelings: they all look the same or else completely different-”
The lhesh cut him off. “Ko, have you ever met Daavn of Marhaan before?”
“Not as such,” Ko said without hesitation. “But I met a masked hobgoblin named Wuud once who sounded a lot like him. He hired me to do a job. That job landed me in your dungeon.”
Daavn’s ears flattened. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“I do,” said Tariic. “You tried to undermine my uncle by having Vounn d’Deneith kidnapped, Daavn. Somehow Vounn guessed it. She told Geth. Geth tried to warn me about you.”
The warlord of the Marhaan was still and silent for a long moment. Finally, he bowed his head. “I schemed against Haruuc, lhesh. But remember that I also guided you to power.”
“You guided me as a boatman without oars or rudder guides his boat down the Ghaal-I brought you with me.” Even without crown or rod, it seemed to Makka that Tariic radiated command. “The relationship between us is changed, Daavn. Remember that.” He turned his head. “Have you learned from this, Pradoor?”
Pradoor sat for the space of five heartbeats, as if listening to some distant voice only she heard, then ducked her head as well. “I have, lhesh.”
“I am pleased.” He gestured to Ko. Makka watched, his skin creeping, as the changeling’s features once again shifted into those of Geth. Tariic spread his arms on the arms of the chair, sitting as if it were the blocky throne of Darguul. “Now,” he said, “the real Geth could possibly be hiding anywhere in Rhukaan Draal. Our chances of finding him are slim. However, I’m certain that there must be someone who knows where he is.”
He rose and strode to the false rod, plucking it from its velvet resting place and turning it in his hands. “There could be several reasons Geth might want the rod. Perhaps to sell to another nation. Perhaps as some remembrance of Haruuc. In any case, the scheme isn’t something he could have created on his own.” His smile exposed his teeth. “He’s brave and stubborn, a good fighter, but not a schemer. He must have had help.”
“Ashi d’Deneith,” Daavn said.
“Ekhaas of Kech Volaar. Dagii of Mur Talaan. Munta the Gray. Any of those close to him.” Tariic seated himself again, holding the rod at an angle against one outstretched knee. “However, Ekhaas and Dagii are beyond our reach-for now. Munta, if he is involved, is nothing. An old man with fading power. Ashi… Ashi is of interest.” He flicked his ears. “And protected by House Deneith.”
“You’ve declared that the gods are not above you, Tariic,” said Pradoor. “Why should the dragonmarked houses be?”
Tariic smiled and contemplated the false rod again. “They’ll fall in time,” he said, “but not yet. We need another way to reach Ashi.”
“Or we forget her,” Daavn suggested. “What about Midian Mit Davandi? He’s only here because you hired him. You’re his only protector.”
Blood seemed to thunder in Makka’s skull, driven by the recitation of the hated names-and an abrupt understanding of what Pradoor meant when she talked about the turning of ages. Fate seemed to focus on him at that moment, as if it was the will of the Fury that he should be here, in this room, at this moment. He stepped forward, feeling like he walked through water. “I can reach Ashi,” he said. “I can reach any of them. I hunt them already-the Fury knows my oath.”
Ko and Daavn flinched back. Pradoor smiled, her ears twitching. Tariic’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you hunt them?” he asked. “Who are you?”
“They destroyed my tribe’s camp and turned my tribe against me. I have taken an oath of vengeance. The Fury guides me. She blesses this hunt.” He crossed his arms over the bat-winged serpent on his chest. “I am Makka.”
The lhesh’s ears pricked up. “Makka?” His eyes went to the sword at Makka’s side and the bugbear knew he recognized it now. A thoughtful expression passed over Tariic’s face, then he smiled. “I have heard of you, Makka, though the stories I’ve heard are from another point of view.”
Daavn moved closer to him. “Tariic, you can’t let him-”
Tariic waved him to silence, gaze still on Makka. “Priests of the Fury aren’t known for their subtlety,” he said.
“I’m no priest,” said Makka, showing his teeth. “I am the Fury’s warrior. When I fight, I fight. When I stalk, I stalk. I can reach Ashi of Deneith for you-and her house will know nothing of it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
25 Sypheros
The healing song took only moments to work through Marrow’s flesh, but they were moments in which Ekhaas could hear commands, screams, and curses from beyond the trees. The instant the deep puncture closed, leaving a hairless patch the size of her thumb among Marrow’s dense fur, Ekhaas rose and crept cautiously up the game trail that led out of the grove. Chetiin and Marrow came after her-or at least she thought they did. Goblin and worg vanished in the shadows. Ekhaas had a sense that they were still close, but she couldn’t see or hear them.
At the edge of the trees, she paused, sword ready, and looked out.
The tall grass of the hillside had been trampled by a fight. The sentry who had been so confused by Dagii’s curt nod lay dead a little way up the slope. Blood from a slashed throat soaked the ground, but his bell-covered wrist remained outstretched.
Lithe forms in red garb and veils flowed over the hill like cats racing across a field. At the edge of the camp, hobgoblins and bugbears formed up into a perimeter two ranks deep. Shields and spear points flashed in the
