currently has possession of the rod. Two of your allies are off to fight the Valenar and the other two are likely under Tariic’s watchful eye.” The artificer slumped on his stool. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“I killed a dragon once.”
Tenquis’s gold eyes opened very wide.
Geth shrugged. “I thought you might find that reassuring.”
“It disturbs me that you were in a position where you had to fight a dragon.”
“No dragons this time. At least not so far.” Geth lifted his bowl and swallowed the last of the broth. “I want to find out what’s happened to Ashi and Midian. I need to know if Tariic has harmed them.”
“I have a better idea,” said Tenquis. He leaned forward. “Track down the true rod first.”
Geth growled as he set the bowl down. “How are we supposed to do that? Chetiin could have taken it anywhere, and he’s hard enough to keep track of when you’re looking right at him.”
“The same way you found it before, of course. Use Wrath.”
Geth blinked and looked at the tiefling. Tenquis spread his hands. “It stands to reason, doesn’t it? You say the duur’kala opened a connection between them so you could locate the rod in the wilderness of Darguun. Is there any reason the connection shouldn’t still exist?”
“I… hadn’t thought of it.” Geth shook his head. “I haven’t tried it since we brought the Rod of Kings back to Haruuc. I just thought the magic would end when we found it.”
Tenquis snorted. “The sword is still the sword. The rod is still the rod. Try it.”
Geth rose, went to the table where Wrath lay, and drew the sword from its sheath. It felt good to hold the twilight-purple blade in his hand again. The grip, the weight and feel of the sword-even the sense of it at the edge of his awareness-had become familiar to him. Geth moved to the open center of Tenquis’s workshop, held out the sword, and opened himself to it.
He felt the pull immediately, a draw toward the sibling artifact that had been crafted from the same vein of byeshk and by the same as hands as Wrath. The same pull he had felt when they’d first sought the rod. Turning slowly, he found the direction in which the pull was strongest. “That way,” he said. “I can’t tell how far it is, but the rod is that way!” He grinned. “Grandmother Wolf, that’s perfect!”
“Chetiin probably assumed the same thing you did,” said Tenquis. He got up from the table. “I assume you’re ready for a little scouting?”
“Almost.” Geth sheathed Wrath again, then picked up his great gauntlet and slid his arm into it. Tenquis had repaired the dented metal and the joints of the armored sleeve moved freely once more. Geth tightened the straps that held it in place, flexed his arm, and bared his teeth. “Now I’m ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
28 Sypheros
They walked out of Tenquis’s workshop into a day that was cool and bright, though gray clouds were piling up in the east. Geth could smell rain on the wind, faint behind the odor of the kitchen and workshop scraps that Tenquis had used to disguise him. Egg and carefully drawn soot gave him wrinkles while ash streaked his hair. Walking with a hunch and hanging onto Tenquis’s arm completed the appearance of an aged shifter. Not so impenetrable a disguise as the illusion Ekhaas had created, but it would do the job. If Tariic had people watching for Geth, they wouldn’t give him a second glance.
“You should hope they don’t,” Tenquis said when Geth admired his handiwork. “This kind of trick works better at night. Keep your face down so no one gets a good look at you.”
Geth had checked the direction Wrath pointed before they left and they went that way, west and somewhat north. The twisting, crowded streets of Rhukaan Draal forced them make frequent detours and left them guessing that they were going in the correct direction. Fortunately, the winding path didn’t require them to pass close to Khaar Mbar’ost.
The influence of the mighty fortress-or at least of its new master-seemed to have grown, though. Geth could feel a new edginess to the crowds in the streets, a new aggression and confidence among the dar. People of other races stayed out of their way. Weapons, not uncommon before, were even more apparent. Small groups of militia drilled wherever there was open space.
“You can thank Pradoor as well as Tariic,” Tenquis said. “She’s well-known. People put a lot of store in her words. The last few days she’s been preaching in support of war with Valenar and in support of Tariic.” He rubbed the horny spikes that edged his chin. “If she’s joined with Tariic, it would explain a few things.”
“Like?” Geth growled.
Tenquis pointed as they turned a corner and Geth followed his finger-not that what he pointed at would have been hard to miss. They stood on one side of a crossroads where five streets came together. At the center of the intersection stood a flat-sided pillar of white stone surmounted by a sculpture of four metal arms, three vertical and one horizontal, a very large version of the eight-pointed Octogram, symbol of the Sovereign Host. Carved into the pillar below it were the symbols of Dol Arrah, Dol Dorn, and Balinor, the gods Haruuc had chosen to venerate over those of the Dark Six. The monument seemed familiar. It took Geth a moment to remember why. Haruuc’s funeral procession had come this way, pausing briefly before the column. There were words written on the column, Geth remembered now. Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor gives thanks for Darguun’s victory at the Battle of Marguul Pass.
The dedication was obscured by the naked body of a skinny elf that hung from a rope lashed around one of the arms of the Octogram. Dried blood made new symbols on the white stone, those of the Fury, the Mockery, and the Keeper.
“Bear and Boar,” muttered Geth. “Was he a Valenar?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s hard to tell now.”
The people of Rhukaan Draal passed around the desecrated monument without looking up, although Geth noticed they did give it a wide berth. “Why hasn’t he been cut down?”
“I suspect it suits Tariic to leave him up,” Tenquis said tightly. “Maybe you’re right when you say Haruuc picked a fight with Valenar to avoid fighting all of Khorvaire, but what he’s started is going to be very bad.”
Geth stared at the body as it rocked against the stone, pushed back and forth by the breeze-then started forward.
Tenquis grabbed him and held him back. “No. You can’t do anything for him and you’ll only draw attention to yourself.”
Breath hissed in and out of Geth’s mouth, but he turned away. “Tonight,” he said. “It feels like there’s going to be a storm tonight. I’m going to come out and do it then.”
“Fair enough.” Tenquis steered him out of the intersection and into the temporary shelter of a stopped wagon. “Check our direction.”
The sword was disguised just as he was, wrapped up in leathers and carried under his arm as an anonymous bundle. Geth slipped a hand through the leathers, grasped the hilt, and held it out just enough to tell which way it pointed. They’d drifted only a little from their course. They left the shelter of the wagon just as the carter, a fat hobgoblin, appeared, ready to curse them for thieves. Tenquis flicked his tail at him as they strode off.
The farther they went, the more Geth was certain that he’d been this way before, though he didn’t recognize the buildings or the shops that lined the streets. The twists and turns that he and Tenquis followed, though… those seemed somehow familiar, except that the crowds were out of place.
Then he saw why their route was familiar. Empty the streets and put the crowds in front of the shops and on top of the buildings and the scene made sense to him just as the monument had.
“This is the same way Haruuc’s funeral procession came,” he said.
“It’s just a coincidence,” said Tenquis. “We’re staying on the larger streets and the funeral procession couldn’t very well have gone through alleys.” His nose wrinkled and his tail lashed. “You don’t think Chetiin could have taken the Rod of Kings out of the city, do you?”
“Maybe,” Geth said. His mind was only half on the answer. A coincidence? He had to work to make himself believe it. Belief came even harder as the crowd thinned out and the buildings of Rhukaan Draal became shacks and huts along the side of the road, thick at first, then scattered, and finally nonexistent. The roar of the first cataract of the Ghaal filled empty space.
