Khouryn scrambled to his feet. “Something’s coming.” His mind raced: What did he have time to do? Pull on his mail? Saddle Vigilant? Quite possibly neither.
“We have sentries,” Balasar said.
“Who don’t see what’s sneaking up on us,” Khouryn said. Mace and boot, now that he was belatedly paying attention, he realized that except for the other campfires, reduced to mere smudges of glow, he could barely even make out the rest of the camp. He raised his voice to a bellow. “Something’s in the fog!”
In response, voices cursed. He could picture his fellow wayfarers hastily rising from their ease and grabbing their weapons, even as he was snatching up his urgrosh.
Balasar and Medrash took up their shields and drew their swords. The paladin rattled off an invocation, set his blade aglow with silvery light, and grimaced when he saw that the luminescence only helped a little to reveal what lay within the mist.
Then, closer to the lake, someone screamed. One of the pickets, maybe cut down before he even realized he was in danger. An instant later, Vigilant gave a deafening screech and charged in that direction.
Khouryn ran after her, and Medrash and Balasar pounded after him. Still, the griffon outdistanced them and vanished into the fog. Then wings snapped, bodies thudded together, and hissing cries rasped. She’d found the enemy.
When Khouryn caught up, he nearly faltered in surprise, for Vigilant was fighting creatures unlike any he’d ever seen. At first glance they somewhat resembled lizardfolk, but with limbs and torsos foreshortened from human- to dwarf-length, and flexible, whipping necks stretched more than long enough to make up the lost height. Their scales gleamed orange-yellow in the glow of Medrash’s sword.
Despite their fangs and claws, they were no match for Vigilant in close combat. She’d already shredded two and was gutting another with her talons. But four more, keeping their distance, spat what looked like water at her, and she screamed and jerked.
Khouryn charged the closest one. It spat the same spray at him. He dodged, but some of the jet still caught him.
It felt hot instead of wet. A wave of sickness surged through him. He stumbled, and his foe rushed him. The fanged head on the long neck struck at him like a snake.
Refusing to be weak no matter how wretched he suddenly felt, he swung the urgrosh and lopped it off. Then he pivoted and chopped a second such creature in the chest.
He looked around and saw that Medrash and Balasar had killed a couple too. That seemed to be all of them in the immediate vicinity. And to his relief, he didn’t feel as miserable as he had a moment before. Just parched, like he’d marched under the hot sun all day without a drop of water.
“Where now?” Balasar asked.
It was a good question. Khouryn could tell from the battle cries and shrieks that the whole camp was under attack. But since he couldn’t see the battle, how could he judge where he and his companions were needed most?
He tried to swallow away the dryness clogging his throat. “We go to the ambassador. Protect her.”
Medrash gave a brusque nod, and they headed for the center of the camp and Perra’s fire. With luck, maybe she hadn’t strayed far from that location.
When they blundered into more of the hissing, long-necked creatures, they killed them. Once or twice, Vigilant shot Khouryn what he would have sworn was an annoyed glare. Maybe she considered it beneath her dignity to fight on the ground. But he was afraid he’d see even less if he rode her up into the air.
Finally Perra came into view. Cutting and parrying with one of the greatswords that only the highest-ranking Tymantherans were allowed to wield, the gaunt old diplomat was holding her own. So were the several warriors, some dragonborn and some human members of the Brotherhood, standing with her in a defensive circle. Still, Khouryn judged that he and his friends had been wise to come to her aid. There were dozens of the long-necked creatures attacking the formation.
He started forward, and Medrash said, “Wait.” The paladin spat bright, crackling lightning, and his clan brother, silvery frost. Blasted from behind, several of the orange-yellow creatures collapsed.
“Now,” Balasar said.
The newcomers rushed in. Vigilant leaped into the air and came down on top of two of the attackers. Her aquiline talons pierced them through, and as they crumpled beneath her weight, her beak nipped and beheaded another.
Khouryn hacked a creature’s leg out from under it, then stamped in its ribs. Another foe caught the urgrosh in its fangs and tried to yank it away. He hung on and gave the weapon a twist and jerk that snapped the reptile’s neck.
“Toad-sniffer!” Balasar yelled.
Khouryn had never heard the oath before, nor did he know why a dragonborn would consider it obscene. But he recognized the tone—shock and disgust blended together. Balasar sounded like many a warrior who’d just noticed a nasty surprise appearing on the battlefield.
Khouryn whirled in time to see the last bits of an enormous creature waver into visibility. The tops of its batlike wings and its left forefoot painted themselves on the foggy air. Its glowing golden eyes fixed on Perra, and it sucked in air. Since its scales were the same topaz color as those of its servants, Khouryn assumed it was about to spew a similar attack. But dragon breath would be far more hurtful and harder to dodge.
He yelled and charged. No good. It didn’t distract the wyrm. It vomited that strange, debilitating antiwater at Perra and her circle.
Just before the spray reached them, Perra vanished, and Medrash appeared in her place. Apparently the latter had used his particular form of magic to make the switch.
The dragon breath washed over Medrash and the other warriors in the ring. Some of them tried to catch it on their shields, but that didn’t save them. Khouryn winced as they all collapsed.
The topaz dragon’s crested, wedge-shaped head turned, no doubt seeking Perra. Vigilant lashed her wings, rose above the enormous reptile, then plunged, talons poised to pierce the fiery eyes.
But the dragon perceived the threat. It twisted its head and spread its jaws wide. Vigilant’s own momentum threatened to hurl her in.
Fortunately, she managed to veer off. The dragon struck at her, and its huge teeth clashed shut on empty air.
Then Khouryn reached its foreleg. He chopped it like it was a tree. When he pulled the urgrosh free, blood gushed.
He struck again. Then the dragon raised its foot high, nearly jerking his weapon from his grasp. It stamped.
He dodged underneath its belly to avoid being squashed. As the impact jolted the ground, he tried another blow at the expanse of scaly hide above him. The angle was awkward, and the axe blade glanced away without penetrating. He reversed his grip and stabbed with the urgrosh’s spearhead. That punched through. For a moment, his desperation gave way to a fierce satisfaction.
Then pain ripped through his head. It was a psychic attack, like the one So-Kehur, autharch of Anhaurz, had used to paralyze him during the battle beside the River Lapendrar.
He refused to let that happen this time. Though half blind with tears and sheer agony, he kept moving and jabbing.
Until the topaz wyrm pivoted and darted a few strides, distancing itself from him. He started to pursue, and its lashing tail whirled out of nowhere and bashed him broadside.
The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the ground, the throbbing in his skull replaced by a general ache down one side of his body. He tried to lift himself up and was relieved to find that he could. The impact might have cracked a rib or two, but it hadn’t completely shattered any bones.
The topaz dragon was still trying to kill Perra. Khouryn wished she’d retreated. But either she’d never really had the chance, or she was as disinclined to do so as a dwarf noble would have been.
At least she wasn’t battling alone. Sellswords had formed into two squads and were fighting as Khouryn had taught them to fight something huge. One team jabbed with its spears, assailing the dragon while still maintaining a little distance. When it orient
ed on them, they fell back and the other group took advantage of the creature’s distraction to attack.
Standing right in front of the wyrm’s snapping jaws and raking foreclaws, depending on his skill with sword and shield—as well a nimbleness unusual in a dragonborn—to keep him safe, Balasar cut, blocked, and dodged. Other Tymantherans ran out of the fog to assault the dragon with the same reckless daring.
Surely all that skill and courage ought to count for something. But the topaz dragon feinted a strike with one foot, then slashed with the other. Balasar still managed to catch the claws on his targe, but the raw force of the blow hammered him to the ground. Then the wyrm spewed more of its breath weapon. Caught in the spray, half a dozen warriors fell, and afterward there was nothing between the dragon and Perra. It gathered itself to spring.
Vigilant dived at the dragon. The griffon had evidently been circling overhead, waiting for another chance to catch the gigantic reptile by surprise.
Once again the wyrm somehow perceived the threat. It jerked its head aside and so saved its eyes. But Vigilant compensated and at least managed to slam down on the dragon’s neck just behind the skull. Her talons stabbed deep into the leathery orange-yellow hide. Her gnashing beak tore away chunks of flesh.
The dragon gave an earsplitting scream. It whipped its neck back and forth but failed to dislodge Vigilant. It clawed with a forefoot. Still clinging to her perch, the griffon shifted sideways and dodged the stroke.
It looked to Khouryn like the dragon was finally in real trouble, and he wanted to help Vigilant make the kill. Gritting his teeth against a fresh stab of pain, he scrambled to his feet and charged.
But before he could close the distance, the dragon flopped over onto its side. Its fall shook the earth, and he staggered. Then it rolled around, grinding Vigilant beneath its bulk. When it drew itself back to its feet, the griffon wasn’t holding on to it anymore. Crumpled in the dirt, her wings folded in the wrong places, she wasn’t doing anything at all. Not even breathing, no matter how intently Khouryn peered at her and willed her chest to rise and fall.
The topaz wyrm twisted toward Perra. Khouryn sprinted past a hind leg and cut at its flank. “Moradin!” he bellowed.
Maybe the god heard and saw fit to help, because the axe head all but vanished into the dragon’s dense flesh. And when Khouryn heaved it free again, the blood sprayed out and spattered him from head to toe.
The dragon ran, unfurled its wings, leaped, and soared up into the air. It disappeared into the fog almost immediately.
Khouryn stood panting, peering, and listening, waiting to see if the creature had simply decided to continue the fight from the air. Apparently not. Coming on top of its other wounds, especially the terrible ones Vigilant had inflicted, his final stroke must have convinced it to run away.
It was only when he was sure it was gone that he remembered its minions. The greater threat had driven the lesser right out of his head. But they must have all died or run away as well. He didn’t hear any fighting anymore.
He hobbled to Vigilant and looked down at the broken, flattened husk that was all that was left of her. Grief welled up in him, and he clenched himself to hold it in.
Next he checked on his men, and there the news was better. The sellswords hadn’t sustained too many casualties, and even a couple of those scorched by the dragon’s breath looked like they might recover.
Then he turned to his new friends. Plainly the wyrm hadn’t seriously injured Balasar, because he sat holding a leather waterskin to the supine Medrash’s mouth. The paladin guzzled, and his friend took the container away.
“Just a little at a time,” Balasar said.
“Once I get a little strength back,” Medrash croaked, “I can heal myself. Then I can heal others.”
“Well, you won’t get it back by making yourself puke.” Balasar looked up at Khouryn. “I’m sorry about your steed and the men you’ve lost.”
“As I’m sorry for your losses,” Khouryn said.
“By the first egg!” Balasar exploded. “I would have understood if the stupid Chessentans had ambushed us. Or if the accursed genasi had come after us. But what in the name of Arambar’s arse was that?”
Khouryn shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
“Just a random attack?” Balasar persisted.
“No,” Khouryn said. “The dragon wanted to kill Perra specifically. When it decided it needed to take an active part in the fighting, it went straight for her.”
* * * * *
Soolabax was no city, but it was a fair-sized market town. Nor was it an impregnable fortress, but it did have walls. The combination made it the linchpin of Shala Karanok’s border defenses and obliged Aoth to deal with Hasos Thora, baron of the place and its environs.
Tall and muscular with a long-nosed, imperious face, swaggering around his own keep in half armor even though nothing in particular was going on, Hasos appeared yet another embodiment of the Chessentan martial ideal. Aoth might have expected such a paragon to rejoice at the arrival of reinforcements. Yet that didn’t appear to be the case.
“No one told me you were coming,” Hasos said.
“That’s unfortunate,” Aoth said. “But the war hero didn’t decide until a few days ago, and then no one could bring word faster than we griffon riders travel ourselves.”
“How much meat do those beasts eat?” the baron replied.
“Lots.”
“And is it true they need to be stabled away from horses?”
“That depends on how fond you are of the horses.”
The baron scowled. “And then, when the rest of your sellswords arrive, I have to house and feed them as well. Winter’s just ended. Food is in short supply. I—”
Aoth tipped his spear so it leaned over the table between them, casting its shadow on the maps and documents there. He drew a little crackling flare of lightning from the point. Startled, Hasos flinched.
“I don’t need you to remind me of the time of year,” said Aoth, “or that your people have the same needs as mine. Together, you and I will see to it that everyone has a full belly and a roof over his head.”
Hasos made a spitting sound. “It’s easy to give assurances, often hard to follow through.”
Aoth took a deep breath. “Milord, I’m not sure why you’re giving me such a cold welcome. Maybe because I’m a mage, or a Thayan. Maybe just because you’re used to being the only one giving orders inside these walls. But I don’t care why. I don’t need to. You’ve seen I carry credentials from the war hero, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll honor them.”
He wished those documents gave him complete, incontrovertible command of the local defense. They didn’t. They ordered Hasos to provide food and shelter for the Brotherhood, but beyond that merely urged him to cooperate with Aoth.
It was stupid to muddle the chain of command that way, but Aoth had gotten used to it. Monarchs often hesitated to give a coin-grubbing outlander sellsword clear authority over their own chivalrous homegrown nobles, lest the latter take it as an insult. No doubt Chessentan lords would particularly resent deferring to a man with arcane gifts.
Hasos made a sour face. “Of course I’ll honor Shala Karanok’s writ.”
“Glad to hear it. As you’ll be glad to hear that as much as possible, I mean to put the burden of feeding my men and animals on Threskel. The problem is, these”—he waved a hand at the several maps—“are short on detail. I need you to tell me where to raid.”
Hasos shrugged. “How should I know?”
Aoth frowned. “Surely you conduct your own raids, milord. Surely you at least scout.”
“Naturally, my rangers keep watch along the frontier. But I need all the troops I have just to defend my own lands.”
“Well, I assume defense includes chasing marauders back across the border.”
“Certainly.” Hasos hesitated. “But the pursuers know not to go too deep into enemy territory. They can’t risk blundering into a trap or leaving our
own fields unprotected for too long.”
Aoth closed his eyes for a moment. “With all respect, milord, you’ll never gain the upper hand playing such a passive game. When Threskel commits an outrage, you need to punish them. They have to finish worse off than they started.”
Hasos laughed a joyless little laugh. “That sounds sensible. But have you ever been inside Threskel?”
“Once, briefly.”
“Apparently so briefly that you didn’t pick up on what a dangerous place it is.”
“I lived and fought in Thay, milord. I doubt I’ll be impressed.”
“How many dragons did you kill in Thay?”
Aoth smiled. “That’s a fair hit. Not many, I admit—and like any sane man, I have a healthy respect for them. Still, we need to retaliate.”
“It’s possible the raids are just the precursor to an actual invasion.”
“More than possible. The war hero and Lord Nicos think it’s very likely.”
“That means we should conserve our strength for the siege to come.”
“No, it gives us even more reason to strike first. We can gather intelligence. Steal or destroy supplies and kill soldiers before the Great Bone Wyrm has a chance to use them against us.”
“You do what you like,” Hasos said. “But I won’t lend any of my troops to such a mission.”
Aoth swallowed a bitter retort. “I understand. You have to do what you think prudent. Can you at least lend me a couple of horses?”
F
I
V
E
19–28 TARSAKH
THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Gaedynn disliked riding horses. He liked the animals themselves well enough, but he preferred to refrain from an activity unless he did it well. And he’d never learned to sit a horse with exceptional grace or skill. His elf captors hadn’t kept such animals, and after his release he’d generally ridden griffons.
But a griffon would have been far too conspicuous a mount for a spy, especially since griffon riders were about to start raiding Threskel. Gaedynn’s black mare and Jhesrhi’s paint gelding were the next best thing. Even in an impoverished, sparsely settled land, horsemen weren’t rare enough to attract a great deal of curiosity, and the animals would help them complete their fool’s errand and escape back across the border quickly.
The Captive Flame: Brotherhood of the Griffon • Book 1 Page 13