“Good,” said Aoth. He looked around the circle. “Any other thoughts?”
Gaedynn snorted. “Just that it’s still hard to see how we come out of all this scheming and double-dealing any better off than when we started.”
TWO
3-6 E LEASIS, THE Y EAR OF THE A GELESS ONE
Khouryn couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted to be a warrior, or when his elders hadn’t unanimously agreed that that was his proper path. Thus, his education had centered on the battle-axe and the warhammer, on the shield wall and the charge.
Still, he was a dwarf, and so, at least to some degree, stone-craft and metalworking were in his blood, which made it all the more frustrating that he couldn’t remove the heavy, ironbound door from its hinges or take it apart until there was a Khouryn-sized hole to squeeze through.
The darkness in the bare, little cell was no hindrance to a member of the race the Soul Forger had created to thrive underground. Nor had hunger yet stolen all his strength. But he needed tools, as his raw fingertips attested.
They gave him a twinge at the mere thought of picking at the bolts and screws again. He stood up from the cold, hard, concrete floor and moved to the door anyway then started humming a song he’d once heard a master smith sing, as best he could recall the tune. There might be magic in it to bend iron and steel to the singer’s will, although if so, he certainly hadn’t seen any evidence of it so far.
At least it pushed back the silence. But then something else did too. Something clanked on the other side of the door. Someone was coming.
Probably to push another cup of water and maybe even a crust of moldy bread through the narrow slot at the bottom of the door. Up until that point, the guard entrusted with the chore had been careful to keep his hand beyond Khouryn’s reach. But maybe he wouldn’t be the next time. Then Khouryn could grab it, jerk the human’s arm through the hole, and twist and bend it viciously, threaten to cripple him for life unless he surrendered the key to the cell.
Even if it didn’t get him out of there-and Khouryn was realist enough to recognize it probably wouldn’t-a little taste of revenge would do him good.
He kneeled beside the slot and poised his hands to grab. Then, to his surprise, the lock clicked.
He stood back up, and the door creaked open. There were four guards clad in mail and crimson jupons outside, not just one, and three of them had their short swords leveled. Without a weapon of his own, Khouryn had no hope of taking them on.
The fourth carried a pair of manacles. “Turn around, dwarf,” he said, “and put your hands behind your back.”
Khouryn obeyed. Heavy rings snapped shut on one wrist, then the other. The chain between them clinked.
“Now come on,” said the fourth guard, retrieving a lantern from a niche in the corridor wall. Its glow stretched all of their shadows out behind them as they climbed from the dungeons back into the palace above.
“Who are you taking me to see?” Khouryn asked. If it was someone besides the crazy woman who’d ordered him imprisoned, then maybe he could convince that person of his innocence.
“Shut up,” answered one of the guards, who then gave him a shove.
That suggested the sad likelihood that it was the madwoman who’d ordered Khouryn hauled forth. So he was pleasantly surprised when his escort ushered him into a hall decorated with tapestries and marble statues depicting the legendary Tchazzar’s martial exploits. The crazy woman actually was there, looking as outlandish as before in layers of garish vestments. But so were Jhesrhi, Shala, Zan-akar Zeraez, and-
Khouryn faltered in astonishment when it registered that it wasn’t Shala sitting on the war hero’s raised, golden throne. It was a man, whose pointed ears and long face subtly suggested the shape of a dragon’s head without detracting from a flawless masculine beauty, a man who very much resembled the woven and sculpted portraits of Tchazzar on every side.
Recovering his wits, Khouryn started to bow. Then the madwoman shrilled, “Kneel before the living god!” And before he could even consider doing so, one of the guards grabbed him from behind and threw him down on his belly.
Khouryn floundered to his knees as best he could with his hands still shackled behind him. Meanwhile, her golden eyes ablaze with anger, Jhesrhi said, “There was no need for that! Nor any need to arrest him in the first place!”
“He’s a friend to the dragonborn,” the madwoman said, “and so an enemy to Chessenta and Your Majesty. Why else did he go slinking off to Tymanther with Ambassador Perra and her household?”
Although Tchazzar-if that was really who he was-hadn’t given him permission to rise, Khouryn decided he’d be damned if he’d stay down like a prisoner already judged guilty of some heinous offense. He clambered to his feet, and to his relief, nobody moved to shove him down again.
“Majesty,” he said, “you and I haven’t met. But if you know Jhesrhi, and Aoth Fezim, you know what you need to know about me. I’m loyal to the Brotherhood of the Griffon and to whoever’s paying us to fight. I escorted Perra and her people home because Shala Karanok wanted them to have an escort.”
Shala’s mouth tightened as though she didn’t especially appreciate being involved in his defense. But she spoke up without hesitation. “That’s true, Your Majesty.”
The scrawny woman rounded on her in a swirl of red. The voluminous folds of her garments kept swinging and flapping for another moment after her bony body had stopped moving. “And why was it true? Why would you let them escape Chessenta when it had just been proved that dragonborn were behind the Green Hand murders?”
Shala scowled. “Because, Lady Halonya, it hadn’t been proved that all dragonborn, up to and including Tarhun’s own emissaries, were guilty. I hoped not, and wanted to preserve the alliance if, in fact, it was genuine.”
“Even though I warned you what sort of treacherous, murdering scum the dragonborn are,” said Zan-akar Zeraez. The Akanulan ambassador was a stormsoul genasi. He had silvery spikes in place of hair, and a complex pattern of argent lines etching skin the same deep purple as a grape. Sparks often crawled and crackled along them, especially when he was agitated, but that wasn’t the case at the moment. Apparently he was satisfied with the way events were unfolding.
“It was unquestionably a blunder,” Tchazzar said. “But then, we already knew Shala wasn’t up to the task of ruling Chessenta. That’s why I had to return from the realm of the gods.”
“Majesty,” Jhesrhi, “the point isn’t whether or not Lady Shala made a good decision. It’s whether Khouryn should be blamed for obeying an order from the person who was, at that time, the supreme authority in the land.”
“That’s not the whole point,” Halonya said. “The sellswords who marched south with the dwarf came back as soon as their errand was done. But he stayed in Tymanther for months afterward. Why was that?”
“I had Captain Fezim’s permission to take a leave of absence,” Khouryn said. “I wanted to head on down to East Rift to see my wife and kin.”
“And did you go?” Tchazzar asked.
“No,” Khouryn said. “The ash giants were on the attack and had closed the Dustroad. And my griffon had died on the way from here to Djerad Thymar, so I couldn’t just fly over them. I stuck around, hoping the dragonborn would beat the giants back and get the road open again, as they finally did. But by then, it was time for me to rejoin the Brotherhood.”
“Riding on a bat,” Zan-akar said. “The steed of the dragonborn’s Lance Defenders.”
“It was a gift,” Khouryn said. “I helped defeat the giants.”
Halonya whipped back around to address Tchazzar. “He admits to giving aid to your enemies!”
“I didn’t know they were enemies,” Khouryn said. “I still don’t understand why it needs to be that way. I mean, I realize that a handful of dragonborn committed crimes here in Luthcheq. I helped catch them. But I’ve spent quite a bit of time talking to Tarhun and Perra, and I’m sure they want Chessenta and Tymanther to be
friends.”
Tchazzar sneered. “Sadly, I know otherwise.”
“Majesty,” Jhesrhi said, “I say again that, while Tymanther may be the enemy, Khouryn hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“He gave aid to Tymanther,” Halonya said. “So much aid, apparently, that they honored him with one of their special treasures. And he’s still speaking well of them, right to Your Majesty’s face. Don’t let him go around saying the same sort of things to others. Don’t let him weaken your warriors’ resolve!”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Khouryn said.
“Would you tell us everything you’ve learned about Tymanther’s defenses?” Zan-akar asked.
Khouryn took a breath. “Yes. If Captain Fezim or His Majesty ordered me to.”
“I don’t believe you,” the genasi said.
“Neither do I,” Halonya said. “Not unless we force him to give up what he knows.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Jhesrhi said. For a moment, yellow flame rippled up from her hand to the head of her staff.
Zan-akar put on a sober, nuanced expression worthy of a diplomat, one that simultaneously sympathized with her distress and rejected her opinion. “With respect, Lady Jhesrhi, not from Akanul’s point of view. We’ve joined Chessenta in a difficult, dangerous undertaking, and we naturally expect our allies to make choices that maximize the chances of success. Here, the choice seems clear. His Majesty can let a fellow of uncertain loyalties go free to foment whatever mischief comes to mind. Or he can detain him and question him rigorously to extract the valuable information he undoubtedly possesses.”
“Majesty,” Jhesrhi said, “I beg you not to abuse an innocent person.”
“And I beg you to protect your children from spies and traitors,” Halonya said.
Frowning, Tchazzar hesitated. Plainly he was looking for a way to placate both women, and just as plainly, even a “living god” wouldn’t be able to find one.
Finally he said, “Lady Jhesrhi, it’s understandable that you feel a… nostalgic attachment to someone from your sellsword days. But you’re a royal counselor of Chessenta now, and like all of us charged with the protection of our people, you must put their welfare first.”
“Yes!” Halonya crowed.
A trace of amusement in his face, Tchazzar turned to look at her.
Halonya colored and made a visible effort to compose herself. “I mean… may I keep on overseeing the prisoner? You have priests in your church who are good at convincing people to talk.”
“She’s talking about the wyrmkeepers who tortured Sunlady Cera!” Jhesrhi said.
“I know that,” Tchazzar said.
“Majesty, I’m the one who found you chai-”
“You’re also the one who acknowledged that debt is paid!” Tchazzar snapped. “The one who promised to speak no more about it! I don’t want to hear any more about this either! The subject is closed!”
“Majesty!” Khouryn shouted. “I know what’s written in the Brotherhood’s contract! I know you’re not supposed to do this!” Even as he spoke the words, he knew they were useless.
And he was right. Tchazzar waved his hand, and the guards grabbed Khouryn to wrestle him around and drag him away. Halonya gave Jhesrhi a spiteful, triumphant smile.
*****
Aoth liked the warm, summer sunlight, the feel of Cera nestled up behind him with her arms around his waist, and the forbidding but breathtaking vista that was eastern Akanul. The landscape below was a jumble of cliffs, rocky outcroppings, and ravines. Off to the north, the so-called Glass Mesa-which was more likely quartz-gleamed like an enormous gem. There were plenty of earthmotes too, floating islands in the sky, some of substantial size and covered in vegetation.
It was fun being off on a journey with no one but his familiar, one other griffon rider, and the woman he supposed he’d come to love for company. It reminded him of his youth, when he’d served, often as a scout and courier, in the Griffon Legion, in the old Thay that Szass Tam and the Spellplague had destroyed. It had mostly been a pleasant, carefree life, and it had never even occurred to him to aspire to anything more.
But of course he wasn’t that young soldier anymore. He’d acquired far heavier responsibilities, and despite the distractions of the day, at odd moments, worry gnawed at him. Especially since, for the first time ever, he’d left the Brotherhood with none of its senior officers to oversee it.
He could have left Gaedynn. He probably should have. But he also needed trustworthy companions to help him accomplish his mission. If-
Enough! said Jet.
Aoth smiled. What?
You already made your decision, the griffon said, so why are you still fretting about it? I don’t know how humans ever accomplish anything, second-guessing yourselves the way you do.
Somebody has to do the thinking, said Aoth.
The thinking, yes, said Jet. The dithering, no.
Aoth was still trying to frame a suitable retort when he spotted the minotaur. The hulking creature with the bull-like head was climbing up a steep trail to the top of a ridge. A line of similar creatures followed it.
Aoth pointed with his spear.
“What is it?” Cera asked.
Evidently she couldn’t make out the minotaurs, even as antlike specks. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Even Jet might not have noticed them as yet, if not for the psychic bond they shared. But it was sometimes difficult to guess what ordinary people-folk without Blue Fire smoldering in their eyes-could see and what they couldn’t.
After he told her what he’d noticed, she asked, “Do we care?”
“No,” he said. “We won’t go any closer than we need to in order to tell what they’re doing.”
“Why do even that?” she replied.
“Because,” he said, “when you’re traveling through wild country, it’s always better to know what the savages and brigands are up to, even when you can whiz by high above their heads.”
Responding to his unspoken desire, Jet raised one wing, dipped the other, and wheeled left. Aoth glanced back to see if Gaedynn and Eider were following. They were. The archer’s elegant rust-and-scarlet clothes and coppery hair shined in the sunlight. So did the griffon’s bronze-colored plumage and tawny fur.
Another stroke of Jet’s wings carried him, Cera, and Aoth far enough to see what lay beyond the ridge. Aoth took in the view, then cursed.
An earthmote hung high above the ground with a waterfall overflowing its edge and hissing downward. Sustained by a link to the realm of Elemental Chaos, the endless spillover had created a small lake at the bottom, with tilled fields and pastureland around it.
Goats and sheep grazed on the grass with a brown-skinned earthsoul boy to tend them. But most of the genasi villagers had forsaken the livestock and crops to take care of or palaver with the red-coated warriors who’d paid them a visit.
The warriors slumped on the ground in the clear space at the center of the huts looking as if they barely had the energy to lift the food and drink the villagers had provided to their mouths. Some had bloody bandages. Presently contained in a pen the settlers had cleared for the purpose, their steeds, gray lizardlike drakes as big as horses, looked just as battered and exhausted.
Cleary the men-at-arms had recently fought a hard battle. Aoth wondered if it had been a battle with another contingent of the same foes who were sneaking up on them.
The warriors should have posted a sentry on the high ground overlooking the village but they hadn’t, and if the settlers were in the habit of keeping watch, the excitement had evidently lured their sentry down from his perch.
“If the minotaurs attack by surprise,” Cera said, “shooting bows from the high ground-”
“Don’t worry,” said Aoth. “We’re going to help.”
Discerning his intent, Jet wheeled, and Gaedynn and Eider followed suit. Despite the impediment of being in the saddle, the archer strung his bow with quick facility.
So, said Jet, Tchazzar’s willing to pay us to figh
t dragonborn, but we don’t want to. Nobody’s paying us to kill minotaurs, but we do want that.
It may help us convince the queen, Aoth replied, if we’ve done some of her subjects a good turn.
I think you’re just showing off for the sunlady. But it’s fine with me. A little skirmish should be fun.
“Should I call Alasklerbanbastos?” Cera asked. The dracolich was in a sense traveling with them, but at a distance and mostly after dark. That way they didn’t have to worry every moment about him suddenly lashing out in another attempt to reclaim the phylactery.
Aoth snorted. “For this? No. I doubt it’ll last more than a moment.”
He lifted his ram’s-horn bugle and blew a blast to attract the attention of the folk on the ground. Then, leaning out of the saddle, he used his spear to point to the top of the ridge.
Meanwhile, the first minotaur climbed onto the crest of the outcropping. Instantly Gaedynn drove an arrow into his chest and he toppled. Eider and Jet let out bloodcurdling screeches.
A second minotaur scrambled to the top of the rise. Aoth rattled off a short incantation and punctuated it with a jab of his spear. A viscid glob flew from the point to splash in the bull-man’s face. He fell down, thrashing and screaming, pawing at the smoking, corrosive paste.
And that, thought Aoth, was likely to be that. The horned barbarians had lost the advantage of surprise. Nor would the high ground do them much good when a hostile warmage and bowman were flying higher still. It would make sense to withdraw.
Instead, a minotaur with red-stained horns clambered onto the ridge. Gaedynn instantly shot at him, and the shaft flew true. But it burst into flame and burned to a puff of ash just short of the creature’s body.
Maybe one of the demonic emblems freshly cut into his arms and chest was responsible. Aoth cursed himself for not noticing them before. But even fire-kissed eyes couldn’t take in everything at once.
The shaman brandished his club and bellowed a word-perhaps the name of his patron demon-in an Abyssal tongue. The sound jabbed a twinge of headache between Aoth’s eyes.
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