Whisper of Venom: Brotherhood of the Griffon, Book II

by Richard Lee Byers

  “We didn’t want you to get blood on your new clothes,” Gaedynn answered.

  Jhesrhi scowled.

  Making sure they hadn’t missed any kobolds, or anything else requiring their attention, Aoth took a look around. Everything was all right.

  Which was to say, they’d tackled the kind of task that sellswords were supposed to perform, and done it well. Wishing that the rest of life was as simple, he said, “This is as good a place as any for a talk.”

  Gaedynn smiled. “I had a hunch. Why would you take both your lieutenants off on a patrol, unless it was to talk where no one could overhear?”

  Aoth swung himself off Jet’s back, then scratched his head. It made a rustling sound and tinged the air with the smell of feathers. “I told you about Tchazzar and Jaxanaedegor’s palaver. You’ve had some time to mull it over. What do you think?”

  Jhesrhi dismounted and removed a leather bottle from one of Scar’s saddlebags. “Essentially,” she said, “assuming we can trust Jaxanaedegor, it was all good news. He and his minions will betray Alasklerbanbastos, and we’ll all destroy the Great Bone Wyrm together.”

  Gaedynn snorted. “There’s a subtle analysis.”

  “It’s a sound analysis!” Jhesrhi snapped. “And you’re a jackass if you don’t like it. We’re going to win, collect plenty of gold for our trouble, and restore the Brotherhood’s reputation. Which is exactly what we came to Chessenta to do.”

  “So it is,” said Aoth. “And half the time, I feel like a fool for trying to look any deeper. But the other half, I worry that something bad will take us by surprise if we don’t. So, what do you make of the part of the conversation that Tchazzar didn’t share with us? The part that wasn’t just him and the vampire conspiring to bring Alasklerbanbastos down?”

  Jhesrhi frowned as though she felt rebuked, although that hadn’t been Aoth’s intention. Pulling the stopper from her bottle, she said, “Have it your way. If you insist on fretting, I do have one bone for you to gnaw on. Do you know the tales of the final Rage of Dragons?”

  “I recall a bit of them,” Aoth said, “and I lived through a nasty little piece of the Rage myself.”

  “Well, Brimstone was the name—or, to be precise, the nickname—of one of the wyrms who helped destroy the lich Sammaster and put an end to the madness.” Jhesrhi took a drink, hesitated for an instant, then offered the bottle to Aoth.

  He made sure his fingers didn’t brush hers as he took it. It turned out to contain lukewarm water. Too bad. He’d hoped for something stronger.

  Gaedynn shrugged. “The last Rage happened even before the Spellplague. With all respect to our hoary old captain here, I don’t see how it could have anything to do with our current problems.”

  “Neither do I,” Jhesrhi said. “Especially since in Karasendrieth’s song cycle, Brimstone dies at the end. But it’s all I have, so I thought I’d mention it.”

  Aoth wiped his mouth and passed the water to Gaedynn. “This is just a guess, but maybe Brimstone’s a nickname you’d assume if you hoped to command a dragon’s respect or even his obedience. And Jaxanaedegor did speak of this Brimstone like it’s someone who could impose some sort of sanction against him and Tchazzar both.”

  Seeming to sense its dislocation by sheer instinct, Gaedynn smoothed down a stray wisp of his coppery hair. “But really, what sense does that make? Jaxanaedegor’s overlord is Alasklerbanbastos, and his stated goal is to slay the Bone Wyrm and be free. And Tchazzar is even less inclined to acknowledge any sort of authority. How could he, when he believes he’s not just a god, but the greatest of gods?”

  Jhesrhi glared. “He never said that.”

  “Not in so many words,” Gaedynn answered. “Not yet. But it’s coming.”

  “Here’s one thought,” said Aoth, “unlikely though it may seem. More than once, Tchazzar and Jaxanaedegor spoke of playing a game. Some games need an overseer to tally points and enforce the rules.”

  Gaedynn’s eyes narrowed. “Brimstone could be the overseer, and the Precepts could be the rules,” he said.

  “You’re both letting your imaginations run wild,” Jhesrhi said. “Aoth, you have to remember you don’t speak Draconic perfectly. Even if you did, you don’t understand exactly how dragons think or what sort of relationships exist among them. Surely if they referred to a game, it was just a figure of speech.”

  “Maybe,” Aoth admitted.

  “Even if they do think of the war as being, in some sense, a game,” Jhesrhi said, “what does it matter? Won’t we fight it and profit by it the same as ever?”

  “I hope so,” said Aoth.

  “It may not matter to us sellswords,” said Gaedynn, “who wanted to fight somebody someplace. But if it’s all just an amusement, that’s hard luck for the Chessentans and Threskelans, with no choice but to struggle and die for their masters’ entertainment.”

  “It clearly isn’t just an amusement,” Jhesrhi said. “Tchazzar and Alasklerbanbastos have been trying to destroy one each other for centuries. There aren’t two more committed enemies in all the length and breadth of Faerûn. In addition to which, Tchazzar wants to control all the lands that are rightfully his, just like any other king. And since when do you care about the Chessentans, the Threskelans, or anybody else outside the Brotherhood?”

  Gaedynn smiled a crooked smile. “Fair enough. You have me there. Which doesn’t change the fact that Tchazzar is keeping secrets from us—and is crazy besides. He’s no more trustworthy than Nevron or Samas Kul.”

  “He’s sick from his ordeal. You’ve never suffered anything similar, so you can’t understand.”

  “You have no idea what I’ve suffered.”

  “Actually, I do. You told me. And no matter how much you secretly pity yourself because of it, you got off lightly.”

  Gaedynn hesitated, then said, “If we compared scars, I might concede that yours run deeper than mine. But we’re talking about Tchazzar.”

  “Fine. Let’s talk about him. Let’s give him credit for getting better.”

  “Absolutely. He seemed much better, freezing in terror when we needed him. And afterward, when he abused Meralaine and Shala for the heinous offense of helping to keep us all from being overrun.”

  Aoth frowned. Gaedynn’s antipathy for their employer was unprofessional and quite possibly dangerous. Which didn’t change the fact that he agreed with the archer’s opinion.

  “He was a great ruler,” Jhesrhi said. “That’s why, a hundred years later, people prayed for his return. And he’ll do great things again. He’s already started.”

  Gaedynn sighed. “I understand that he’s rubbed balm on the galls that have pained you your whole life through. But that doesn’t make up for everything else he’s done. Or everything he’s going to do.”

  Jhesrhi sneered. “You’re not a prophet. You don’t know what he’s going to do.”

  “That’s true,” said Aoth. “None of us does. And, through no fault of either of you, this talk hasn’t shed much light on that or any other part of our situation. The only thing I’m sure of is what I already knew going in: We need to abide by our contract, fight the Threskelans, and beat them. If we don’t, the Brotherhood is finished.”

  Gaedynn smiled. “But while we’re fighting?”

  “We keep our eyes open,” said Aoth. “Figure out as much as we can.”

  “Spy,” Jhesrhi said.

  “Watch and think,” Aoth replied. “Does that bother you?”

  “I’ll do it,” she said. She climbed back onto Scar’s back and brushed a fingertip down his neck. The griffon leaped and lashed his wings.

  Gaedynn gave Aoth a sour look. “I don’t like you making her uncomfortable.”

  Aoth sighed. “Why? Because it’s your job?”

  As Khouryn bowed, he took stock of Tarhun. Viewed in bright sunlight, patches of the vanquisher’s hide were mottled and a paler green than the rest. That was particularly true around the square gold studs, which the red saurian’s fire had likely heat
ed until they themselves were burning hot. But the eyes above the piercings were intact, and the hulking dragonborn stood straight and tall. He looked ready to lead an army once again.

  “The healers gave me a great deal of attention,” Tarhun said. It startled Khouryn, who’d tried to make his appraisal without staring. “Too much, perhaps, considering that other warriors lay maimed and dying.”

  Khouryn shrugged. “You’re the leader.”

  “True. A leader who had difficulty walking abroad until recently. So I need my officers to tell me how the preparations are going.”

  “Well. We’re just about ready to march.”

  “I understand that you want to take the Platinum Cadre along.”

  “I don’t want it. Medrash does. And Balasar too, I think, though he doesn’t say it outright. But they can’t turn them into cavalry. We don’t have enough war-horses for warriors in disgrace to rate mounts. So I get stuck using them as spearmen.”

  Tarhun peered at him. “Are you implying you don’t trust them?”

  “I trust them to be free of Tiamat’s influence. Because Medrash says he purged them, and I trust him. Do I trust them to stand their ground and follow orders when things get ugly? I don’t know. But then you never really know about that, do you?”

  The vanquisher smiled. “No, you don’t. Not when the swords slide out of their scabbards and the arrows start flying. You’re all right, Khouryn Skulldark, and Tymanther owes you a debt. There’s a permanent place for you here, if you care to claim it.”

  Khouryn smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer for the honor that it is. But the Brotherhood of the Griffon is my home.” At least until the day came, if it ever did, when he could return to East Rift to stay.

  “Majesty!” a voice called. “If you’re ready for us, we’re ready for you.”

  Khouryn and Tarhun turned toward the pit, a raw wound in the earth amid the grass and splashes of red and purple wildflowers. Staves, wands, or orbs in hand, an assortment of wizards stood around the edges. To Khouryn’s knowledgeable eye, the majority didn’t look like battle mages. They were too diffident, too vague and abstracted, or just too old and rickety, stooped and gaunt with folds of loose hide hanging. But dragonborn didn’t produce an abundance of arcanists, and the vanquisher had mobilized all there were to deal with the current crisis.

  “All right, Kriv. Tell me what’s going to happen,” Tarhun said.

  The mage who’d spoken before stepped forth from his fellows. He had bronze hide with black freckles, yellow eyes, a single onyx ring in his left nostril, and a hexagonal brass medallion engraved with a triangle affixed to the center of his forehead. He carried one of Nala’s green globes in his upturned hand.

  “At one point,” Kriv said, “some of my more … imaginative colleagues hypothesized that the talismans actually create the reptilian creatures from the raw stuff of primordial chaos. Even though the sheer force required would be prohibitive. And now that we’ve had the opportunity to conduct a proper examination of some functional orbs, it’s clear that they merely transport beasts that already exist in our world from one point in space to another.”

  Tarhun nodded. “Go on.”

  “The difference,” said Kriv, “is of practical significance. Because it’s possible for countermagic to prevent such an effect.”

  “You mean, to stop the orbs from working,” the vanquisher said.

  “Yes.”

  “I like it,” Khouryn said. “It doesn’t necessarily mean we won’t have to fight any of the brutes. If they’re already alive in the world someplace, the place is probably Black Ash Plain. But if the giants don’t know that they need to march them to the battlefield, we may not have to contend with many. And in any case, the shamans won’t be able to make them pop out of nowhere and surprise us.”

  Kriv smiled. “That was our thought. So, with Your Majesty’s permission, we intend to conduct an experiment in two parts. First, to make sure we truly do understand the operation of the talisman, I’ll summon a saurian. Then I’ll attempt to summon another, and my fellow arcanists will thwart me.”

  “Do it,” Tarhun said.

  Kriv walked to the edge of the pit, peered down at the bottom, raised the orb so its green curves caught the sunlight, and chanted words of power. The other wizards, Tarhun, and Khouryn moved up to look into the hole as well.

  A feeling of pressure built up in the air. It made Khouryn’s skin itch and the pulp in his teeth throb in time with the beating of his heart. In one place and another, individual blades of grass grew long, forked, and writhed in a way that reminded him of Nala.

  The chant ended on a rising note, and the sense of pressure vanished abruptly. But nothing appeared at the bottom of the pit.

  Tarhun whirled. Khouryn didn’t know what had alarmed the monarch, but he figured he’d better spin around too, and snatch for the urgrosh on his back.

  Three green kobolds crouched before them. No—not kobolds, for though they at first glance resembled them, they were inhaling in the characteristic manner of creatures readying breath weapons.

  Somehow, Tarhun spat his first. The crackling, twisting spear of lightning stabbed one creature in the chest.

  Khouryn charged another. It spewed, and he twisted aside. The fumes from the sizzling glob stung his eyes as it passed, but did no actual harm.

  He sprang, struck, and his axe crunched into the saurian warrior’s skull. He sensed a threat on his flank, wrenched his weapon free, and pivoted. But he needn’t have bothered.

  Like all the preeminent folk in Tymanther, Tarhun mostly fought with a greatsword. It was a symbol of his rank. It was also a weapon that was damnably hard to ready quickly when a warrior wore it sheathed across his back. Yet somehow the vanquisher had managed to draw it, and he cut into the last saurian’s torso with one precise little chop.

  A moment of silence followed.

  Kriv said, “That was … regrettable. But one has to allow for a degree of error when testing new magic.”

  Tarhun grinned. “If one wanted to make sure one wasn’t charged with attempted regicide, one might have allowed for it by digging a bigger pit.” Kriv’s eyes widened. “Please. I’m joking. It’s all right. After my injuries, I needed to test myself, and you gave me the opportunity.”

  Khouryn said, “I take it you can call the saurians, but not control them.”

  “Correct,” the wizard said. “Since we decided the best tactic is to suppress the summoning, analyzing the other aspect of the talisman’s power didn’t seem as crucial.”

  “Fair enough,” Tarhun said. He gave his sword a one-handed shake and flicked gore from the blade. “So let’s see you do it.”

  “Of course, Majesty. I’m, uh, reasonably confident I can center the effect in the pit this time around.”

  He raised the globe and recited as before. But after a moment, one of his fellows started chanting too. Then another joined in, and then another, their voices weaving a complex contrapuntal pattern.

  A whine sounded beneath the measured insistence of the voices. Khouryn felt momentarily dizzy. Two more stunted reptilian warriors flickered in and out of view at the bottom of the hole, present one moment, gone the next.

  Then Kriv cried out, dropped the orb, and reeled backward. Khouryn grabbed him and kept him from falling on his rump.

  “Uh, thank you.” Kriv clumsily tried to get his feet back underneath him. Khouryn held onto him until he succeeded. “I’m all right now.”

  Tarhun peered at him. “Are you certain, my friend? You have a nosebleed.”

  Kriv brushed his hand across his snout, bumping his piercing in the process, then peered at the streak of blood on his index finger. “So I see. I have a pounding headache too.”

  “Then I insist you see my personal healers.”

  Kriv smiled at the implicit honor the vanquisher had shown him. “Thank you, Majesty. I will. But after we’re finished here.”

  Khouryn said, “You’ve already shown us plenty. If your
countermagic will give the giant adepts a kick in the head, it’s even more useful than you promised. We’re going to crush the bastards.”

  “I hope that’s so,” said a female voice. “But you need to understand that our foes have other cards to play.”

  Khouryn looked around. The speaker had snow-white scales, a color Khouryn hadn’t seen before, and several silver skewers pierced into the edges of her face. They ran into and out of little pinches of hide, with most of their gleaming lengths extending out the backs.

  “Please explain,” Tarhun said.

  “I was one of Kriv’s more imaginative colleagues,” she said. Her crimson eyes shot the summoner a sardonic glance. “Perhaps because of that, once we verified that his idea was correct, he wasn’t very interested in my help. And possibly that was for the best, because it gave me time to study the papers Nala left behind.”

  The vanquisher frowned. “I assumed you scholars had already made a thorough examination.”

  “We had,” said Kriv.

  “Within limits,” the albino mage replied. “The fact of the matter is, Nala wrote in what I would describe as an esoteric, liturgical form of Draconic. Whereas we’re arcanists, not clerics. In addition, she was writing for herself and felt no need to explain every aspect of the plan to herself. Thus, certain facts only emerge by implication.”

  “What are they?” Tarhun asked.

  “Last century, when this land was Unther, Skuthosiin was a lord. He wants to be one again. To that end, he united the ash giant tribes.”

  Khouryn fingered his scraggly beard. “You all told me it would take someone powerful to make the barbarians set aside their feuds.”

  “I see how it was meant to work,” Tarhun said. “If Tymanther prevailed, but only through the efforts of dragon-worshipers, that would ultimately provide an entry for a dragon to claim a place of honor among us. And if the giants won, it would make him master of the realm.”

  “Since the first possibility has fallen through,” Khouryn said, “he’ll put everything he has into the second. He’ll finally come out of hiding to lead the giants into battle himself.”