Whisper of Venom: Brotherhood of the Griffon, Book II

by Richard Lee Byers

  Balasar gaped at him, for once at a loss for words.

  Khouryn laughed, tugged on the reins to turn his bat, and tapped it with his heels. The animal hopped off the edge of the balcony, plunged for an instant, then spread its wings. It fluttered back out into the balmy summer night.

  Her bare body pressed against Aoth’s, Cera looked at her lover’s tattooed face, noted the pensive frown, and sighed.

  Amaunator had answered her prayers by bringing him back from the war alive and well, give or take a few mostly healed burns and scrapes. They’d celebrated by having Jet fly them to one of her favorite places, a cool, clear pond where willows and purple and yellow wildflowers grew on the surrounding slopes. The griffon had then gone hunting while the two humans swam, started their lovemaking in the water, and finished on the soft, thick moss carpeting the shore.

  It should have been a perfect moment. Except that Aoth was plainly brooding. Again.

  Well, she supposed that except for the flawless order manifest in Amaunator, nothing was ever truly, completely perfect. But that was no reason not to chastise him. Glad that he didn’t shave all his hair, she twined her fingers in the most abundant growth he had left and tugged hard.

  “Ouch!” he said. “What was that for?”

  “The same as usual,” she said. “I just shared my womanly treasures with you. You’re supposed to be deliriously happy.”

  He sighed. “I know I am. I mean, I am! Being with you makes me very happy! But I also mean, I know I’m supposed to be.”

  “You’re babbling,” she said.

  He smiled. “I am, aren’t I? I’ll try to speak more clearly. I shouldn’t care that Tchazzar is lying to provide an excuse for an unjust war. The Brotherhood would starve if we only fought for noble causes. I also shouldn’t care that I like Medrash and Balasar. Every sellsword knows that from time to time he’ll look across the battlefield and see friends standing on the other side. All that should matter is that our employer has another campaign in the offing, he stands an excellent chance of winning it, and we’ll earn a lot of gold helping him.”

  “But you do care,” Cera said.

  “As do you,” said Aoth. “Because we still don’t know how the puzzle fits together, do we? Wyrmkeepers disguising abishais as dragonborn. Games and Precepts. What does it all truly mean? By the Black Flame, spying on Tchazzar and Jaxanaedegor just made me feel even more confused than I was before.”

  “Have you thought of any way to sort it out?”

  Aoth grunted. “Maybe. If I’m willing to commit still more treason, and my friends are too. I know Gaedynn would be. He hates Tchazzar. But Jhesrhi’s the really important one. And up to now, she’s done everything I’ve asked of her. But this—”

  “She’ll help you,” Cera said.

  “You sound pretty sure, considering you hardly know her.”

  “A priestess learns to read people and recognize how they connect to one another. You’re Jhesrhi’s father, whether you and she realize it or not. Gaedynn is the man she’d choose if she could ever have one. The Brotherhood is her family and her home. I admit Tchazzar did a fair job of tempting her away with balm for hurts she’s carried since she was a child. But by now she knows him for the cruel, mad thing he truly is.”

  “I hope so. If you’re mistaken, I suppose I’ll find out when I confide in her, she tattles to him, and he orders my arrest.”

  “That won’t happen. Now, since the Keeper actually assigned the task of solving this mystery to me, and then I merely goaded you into helping, you’d better have a task for me as well.”

  He scowled. “Yes. A hard one. And the fact that Tchazzar would view it as treason may not even be the bad part.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Don’t promise till I tell you what it is.”

  Tchazzar pivoted before the full-length mirror, checking the lines of his scarlet, gold-trimmed doublet. He supposed that if any of his fellow gods were watching, they were amused. For how could a deity appear less than magnificent to mortal eyes? And even if he could, it was beneath his dignity to care.

  But Tchazzar had discovered his fate was linked to Jhesrhi Coldcreek’s, and he wanted to tie her to him with bonds of affection and gratitude as well. Yet despite all the favor he’d shown her, she often seemed morose and aloof.

  But perhaps the ice was starting to melt, because, for a change, he hadn’t been the one to suggest they spend time together. She’d diffidently proposed it, and he intended to be as charming a supper companion as any lady could desire.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Yes,” Tchazzar said.

  “Lady Jhesrhi is here,” the servant answered.

  So she was, waiting in a portion of the royal apartments that afforded a panoramic view of the rooftops of Luthcheq and the crimson sunset beyond. She looked endearingly uncomfortable wearing a trailing formal gown the color of honey, with her blonde hair arranged in elaborate braids.

  They exchanged greetings, and then he did her the honor of pouring her a goblet of tart white wine. Careful not to let their fingers touch, he placed in her hand. She sipped, and smiled a wan little smile.

  “Come say good night to my little brother Amaunator.” He waved her to one of the two leather chairs positioned before the row of open casements. “And as we see him off for the evening, you can tell me about your day.”

  Jhesrhi hesitated. “It was pleasant.”

  Tchazzar gave her a look of mock severity. “It’s foolish to lie to a god.”

  “It was, truly. It’s just that I keep thinking of Scar.”

  “He was a brave and faithful creature. He gave his life to keep Alasklerbanbastos away from you.”

  “I know.”

  “But fine as he was, I’ll find you a flying steed that’s even better.”

  “That’s … generous, Majesty. But you needn’t bother. Much as Scar’s death saddened me, I’ve also been thinking that it was a … passage. A sign that my time with the Brotherhood is over, and I truly am meant to stay and serve you when they move on.”

  Tchazzar smiled. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

  The wizard stared straight ahead. Tchazzar had the feeling that it wasn’t just to drink in the spectacle of the sunset. She was hesitant to meet his gaze. After a time she said, “I’ve also been thinking that I could find a … particular relief by staying here.”

  “My lady, you’re welcome to whatever I can give you.”

  “You’ve given me so much already. You probably see how unhappy I am and think me a terrible ingrate. But … by the stars, I hate talking about this! … but you know how I hate to be touched. But do you know I hate myself for hating it? That I’d give anything not to be so freakish? To share in the same simple comforts and pleasures that everyone else enjoys?”

  “Yes,” said Tchazzar, “I do.” Since he had the insight of a deity, he must have realized it, mustn’t he?

  “Well, it occurred to me … I mean, you’re different. You’re a god, not a man. And I have no trouble touching you when you’re in dragon form. So I thought …”

  “That I could help you overcome your aversion?”

  She still wouldn’t look at him. “Maybe. Or that even if I never learn to bear the touch of ordinary people, from time to time perhaps you would condescend …”

  He had to hold in a grin that might otherwise have spooked her. For that was the way to bind her to him, as he’d captured the hearts of so many women in the past. And now that he understood it was possible, her severe, tawny beauty leaped out at him and made his mouth grow warm.

  He just had to proceed gently and patiently. And, for the time being, not acknowledge in any way the consumation toward which they would travel together.

  “My lady,” he said, “condescend is the wrong word. It will give me joy to help you.” He extended his hand. “Shall we begin?”

  Jhesrhi flinched. “Right now?”

  “Why not? The first course won’t arrive for a
while. Just rest your hand on mine, as lightly as you like. I won’t even close my fingers around yours.”

  She took a deep breath, then slowly did as he’d bidden her. Her fingertips were rough and calloused.

  After a moment, her hand started to shake.

  “You can stop whenever you like,” he said.

  “No,” she said, her voice tight. “But talk to me. Give me something else to occupy my mind.”

  “Of course, my lady. What shall we talk about?”

  “Anything! Tell me why we had to fight in the north. Tell me about Alasklerbanbastos.”

  By the time Jhesrhi reached her apartments, her guts were churning. But she couldn’t let it show quite yet. Life at court was still strange to her, but she had learned that everyone lived for gossip, and servants were prime conveyors of that commodity.

  So she snarled for her maids to get out. And, knowing how their fussing, chatter, and mere presence often irritated her, they scurried away without questioning her command.

  Just in time. Jhesrhi stumbled on into the lavatory and dropped to her knees in front of the commode. The fine supper Tchazzar had given her came up in a series of racking heaves.

  It left a nasty acidic taste burning in her mouth. She spat some of it away, but for the time being would have to tolerate the rest. Because she had another vile sensation to deal with—or maybe just the memory of one. But whatever it was, it was even more repugnant.

  She poured water from the pitcher into the basin, then focused her will on it. It steamed as it grew hot. Then she rubbed soap onto a brush meant for cleaning fingernails and scrubbed her hand till it was raw.

  When it was finally enough, and her feeling of violation subsided, she took a bottle of wine from the cabinet and rattled off a cantrip. Magic popped the cork out of the neck. She used the first mouthful of something red and sweet to rinse her mouth, spat it in the spattered and stinking commode, then flopped down in a chair and took a long pull.

  She wanted to drink until her memories of the evening grew dim and meaningless. It had disgusted her to play the weak, helpless, pleading damsel, especially since the lie was built around a core of truth. She was freakish and broken, even if it was beyond Tchazzar’s power to mend her.

  He’d keep trying though, since she’d opened the door. He’d paw her whenever he could, and how was she supposed to bear it?

  She couldn’t imagine. But the ploy had been the only one she could think of to lower the red dragon’s defenses and cozen him into telling her what she needed to hear.

  As she’d promised she would when Aoth had asked her in his apartments the night before. Even though he’d asked in a diffident manner quite unlike the man she knew.

  “I don’t know if it’s right,” he’d said. “I’ve always believed that ‘right’ is honoring your contracts. I don’t know if it’s prudent. I’ve always thought that prudence is not sticking your nose into things that are none of your business. I definitely don’t know if it’s right and prudent for you. You’re on your way to a splendid life in the country of your birth. All I can offer is more of the same mud, blood—”

  Perhaps it was his guilt, and the affection that underlay it, that abruptly made all other loyalties seem inconsequential. At any rate, she’d lifted her hand to silence him. “Stop. Please stop. I’ll do it whatever it is, if only to stop you blathering.”

  And since she had, and since it had worked, she supposed she mustn’t drink herself into a stupor after all. She needed to work on what Tchazzar had given her. She set the bottle on the floor and snapped her fingers. Her staff leaped from the corner into her hand.

  Though Gaedynn had never admitted it, he occasionally found Aoth’s augmented vision annoying. Like now, for example. Gaedynn was supposed to be the master scout, but it was the war-mage—with plump, pretty Cera riding behind him—who sent his griffon swooping toward a particular barren crag. Presumably because he’d spotted the cave mouth they were seeking.

  Eider followed Jet down, and then Gaedynn saw it too, not that there was much to see. Just a crack in the sloping granite. But at least it had a ledge in front of it big enough for griffons to set down on.

  The riders dismounted, and Cera somewhat awkwardly adjusted the round shield on her arm. She was game and sharp, but no trained soldier, and Gaedynn wondered if Aoth had been wise to bring her.

  Maybe not, but then again if any of them were truly wise, no one would have embarked on this secret expedition.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” Gaedynn asked. He squatted to examine the ledge more closely. “I don’t see any claw marks or other signs that a dragon’s been here recently.”

  “No,” Aoth admitted. “But Jhesrhi got Tchazzar talking, and he told her he hid Alasklerbanbastos’s phylactery where no one would ever find it. He also told her stories involving an old secret refuge he had in the Smoking Mountains. Afterward, she skimmed some of the histories archived in the War College and performed a divination, all in an effort to figure out where the place was. And this is the location, give or take.”

  Gaedynn straightened up. “Well, we might as well go in and look around. And if we don’t find anything, we can probably count ourselves lucky.”

  Cera peered at him. “But you won’t feel that way.”

  He smiled. “No, sunlady, I confess I won’t.”

  Aoth looked at Jet. “I don’t think you and Eider can squeeze through that narrow gap.”

  “No,” the black griffon rasped.

  The Thayan turned to Cera. “That makes it even more important that you stick close to me and do anything I tell you to.”

  She grinned. “So you want a repeat of last night.” Aoth scowled. “All right, I understand!”

  Gaedynn laid an arrow on his bow. “Perhaps you could kindle a light to help us on our way. And then, with this sour old codger’s permission, I’ll go first.”

  Cera recited a prayer and swung her gilt mace through an arc that mimicked Amaunator’s daily transit across the sky. Gaedynn couldn’t see the results until they entered the cave. But then it became apparent that she’d cloaked herself in a warm golden glow that pushed back the dark for a stone’s throw in every direction.

  Gradually the way widened until several people could walk abreast. The ceiling lifted away from their heads until Gaedynn would have needed to rise on tiptoe to touch it. He watched for movement at the point where Cera’s light failed, and for sign on the floor. He listened and sniffed the air. And detected nothing but stone and darkness.

  Then Aoth rapped, “Stop!”

  His nerves jangling, Gaedynn froze. “What is it?”

  “If you take another step, the ceiling will fall on you. I can see the cracks running through the granite, along with a flicker of magical force.”

  Gaedynn took a breath. “In its way, that’s helpful. It tells us this really is Tchazzar’s secret hiding place, and at least suggests he’s hiding something here now. Still, it would have been nice if those miraculous eyes of your had noticed the cracks a little sooner.”

  “Sorry. They’re very tiny cracks, and it’s a very faint flicker. If it makes you feel any better, there’s a chance that if the ceiling comes down, it will crush Cera and me too.”

  “That is comforting. But on the whole, I think I prefer that we all remain unsquashed. What should I do, back up?”

  “No. It’s like you’re at the center of a spiderweb that sprang into being around you. You’ll break a strand whichever way you step.”

  “That’s … inconvenient.”

  “I can try to dissolve the enchantment,” Cera said, with only the slightest quaver in her voice.

  “I know,” said Aoth. “But do you think you can channel enough power to outmatch Tchazzar?”

  Cera frowned. “Perhaps not.”

  “Then maybe we should try another way. When he set this trap, Tchazzar wrote runes on the ceiling with a wand or his fingertip. I can see those too, and I think they contain the phrase that allows safe passage
.”

  “You ‘think,’ ” Gaedynn said.

  “Yes,” said Aoth, “and I think I can pronounce them correctly too, even though Aragrakh isn’t my best language.”

  “Then take your shot,” Gaedynn said.

  Aoth raised his spear over his head and held it parallel to the floor. The point glowed red, like it had just come from the forge. He hissed sibilant words that filled the air with a dry reptilian smell, as though a wyrm were lurking just a pace or two away.

  The cracks in the ceiling became visible as they too flared with crimson light. Despite himself, Gaedynn tensed. But then the glow simply faded away.

  “It’s safe now,” said Aoth.

  Gaedynn grinned. “Of course it is. I never doubted you for an instant.”

  They prowled onward. Until Aoth called for another halt.

  “What is it this time?” Gaedynn asked. “Am I about to burst into flame?”

  “No,” said Aoth. “Or at least I don’t think it’s another snare. But there’s something just ahead of you. Tchazzar dug into the floor, then fused the broken stone back together.”

  Cera smiled. “And you can see that too.”

  “I have to admit,” Gaedynn said, “the bastard’s clever. To those of us without truesight, there’s nothing to distinguish this bit of passage from the rest of the cave. No trap or guardian in the immediate vicinity. No widening out into a vault or anything like that. Even if a searcher knew something was in here somewhere, he’d likely walk right on by.”

  “But we won’t.” Aoth stepped past Gaedynn, and then the head of his spear glowed blue as he charged it with force. He gripped the weapon in both hands and plunged it repeatedly into the floor. The resulting cracks and crunches echoed away down the tunnel.

  Something scuttled into the light.

  Big as a man, it looked like a scorpion carved from black rock and possessed of a pair of luminous crimson eyes. But it was charging faster than anything made of stone should have been able to move—and, intent on his digging, Aoth plainly didn’t see it rushing forward to seize him in its serrated pincers.