The Captive Flame

SIX

29 TARSAKH-GREENGRASS THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

Fires burned in the southwest. Khouryn couldn’t see the flames, but no one could miss the columns of black smoke, even against a gray sky.

He clucked and urged his dappled mare forward. The dragonborn bred big, powerful horses to bear their weight, and though his was the smallest Perra had to offer, she was still an enormous steed for a dwarf. But he’d ridden all sorts of mounts since leaving East Rift, and he managed well enough.

He caught up with Medrash and Balasar, who sat silently contemplating the smoke like everyone else. “What is it?” he asked.

“War,” Medrash said.

Wonderful, Khouryn thought sourly. Because his wife and home were on the far side of that war, and with Vigilant gone he couldn’t just fly over it, now could he?

“Pick up the pace!” Perra called. Evidently the sight of the smoke made it seem even more urgent that she confer with her master as soon as possible.

So they rode or marched faster, and by the end of the morning, Djerad Thymar came into view. For some time afterward, Khouryn kept squinting at it. He was sure some trick of perspective was making the place look bigger than it really was.

But it wasn’t so. The closer they approached, the more obvious it became that the dragonborn had built themselves a veritable mountain of a city. The structure rested on a colossal block of granite. On top of that, hundreds of gigantic pillars supported a kind of pyramid with a flattened apex. In its totality, the edifice towered more than a thousand feet high.

Since sighting the smoke, the ambassador and her retainers had been taciturn. But now Balasar noticed Khouryn staring, and grinned a fierce-looking reptilian grin. “Impressed?”

“I’d have to say yes,” Khouryn replied.

“I hear you dwarves build things just as grand.”

“We do. But we start with caverns and dig and carve. To begin in the open air with nothing more than a piece of ground, quarry all those big, heavy pieces of stone, haul them cross-country, set them one on top of another, layer on layer…” Khouryn shook his head. “Your ancestors must have been out of their minds.”

Medrash looked over his shoulder. “Keep up,” he said.

The paladin’s curt manner reminded Khouryn that grim times had come to Tymanther, not that he needed reminding. There were numerous indications as the company crossed the fields surrounding the city. Though he couldn’t quite make out what sort of beasts they were riding, he spotted several aerial cavalry patrols taking off from the platform at the top of the truncated pyramid. Meanwhile, drums thumped out a somber cadence from the open, colonnaded space underneath the bottom. He inferred the sound was a call to arms, a funerary observance, or both.

A wide ramp led up the outside of the slab. Farmers, soldiers, and other folk drew to the edges to let the ambassador’s party by. At the top, Khouryn and his companions passed into shadow. The pyramid perched above them blocked out much of the sky.

Before them was an agora with rings of shops around it. The travelers proceeded along the edge of the commercial area, between the outermost mercantile establishments and a row of pillars, until they reached a rectangular structure that clearly served as a stable and likely performed other functions as well.

Grooms marked with the jade-ring piercings of Clan Ophinshtalajiir hurried to take charge of the horses and to clamor greetings. Perra responded cordially, but also with a briskness that made it clear she didn’t have time for chitchat.

As everyone dismounted, Khouryn said, “I suppose I can stick here for the time being.”

“Please don’t,” Perra said. “You were in the thick of it, just like Medrash and Balasar. The vanquisher may wish to question you.”

“Whatever you want,” Khouryn said.

She led the three warriors past the stalls into a tack room that smelled of leather and the oil that kept it supple. “Since we’re in a hurry, I’m about to trust the three of you with a secret of my clan. Just a little one, but I expect you to keep it.” Using a claw tip, she traced a right triangle on a bare section of wall.

The world seemed to flash and lurch, and then they were standing in a different room. Khouryn realized magic had shifted them through space. Up into the pyramid, he assumed.

They strode on through what proved to be a handsomely appointed residence, where other dragonborn bearing jade rings hailed Perra with even greater surprise. As before, she didn’t let anyone delay her for more than a moment or two, and when she’d shaken off the last of her well-wishers, she swept through an arch, between a pair of sentries, and into a passage that was plainly a public thoroughfare.

That in turn led to a plaza, an atrium that rose from the pyramid’s floor all the way to its ceiling, where huge bats hung wrapped in their folded wings. Catwalks crisscrossed among them, a clue that the beasts weren’t vermin, but rather the flying mounts Khouryn had seen swooping and fluttering across the sky outside.

Countless balconies jutted from the walls, and-rather to his surprise-beds of flowering plants flourished on the floor, suffusing the air with the scent of verdure. Evidently the magical glow illuminating the space nourished them as well as sunlight would.

“Don’t stop and gawk,” Medrash said. Then, possibly realizing how harsh he’d sounded, he softened his tone. “I understand the urge. I was the same way when I first got to Luthcheq. But Balasar and I will show you around later.”

They marched on into a succession of chambers that-by virtue of their spaciousness and general magnificence, and the number of guards and bustling servants in evidence-Khouryn took to be the residence of the vanquisher. Perra spoke to a functionary who then hurried away, hurried back shortly thereafter, and conducted the newcomers into an audience chamber.

Khouryn’s first impression was that like Shala Karanok’s, the Tymantheran monarch’s hall celebrated war. But here, suits of armor on stands took the place of the sculptures, and the cracked, faded frescos all depicted heroic struggles against dragons. There were wyrm heads mounted on the walls too, and old yellowed claws the size of short swords on display in trophy cases.

Tarhun, the vanquisher himself, was as hulking a dragonborn as Khouryn had yet seen, with a greatsword cradled in his hands to serve as a symbol of office. Square bits of gold studded the green hide under his eyes like teardrops. “Perra!” he boomed, as soon as she and her companions entered. “What does this mean?”

Perra, Medrash, and Balasar all bowed while sinuously sweeping their hands outward. Khouryn copied the salute as best he could.

“The war hero expelled us from Chessenta,” Perra replied. “I take full responsibility.”

Tarhun grunted. “Before we go assigning blame, maybe you should explain exactly how it happened.”

“Yes, Majesty.” Perra gave him the story as clearly and concisely as, Khouryn suspected, such a bewildering mess could be related.

When she finished, Tarhun’s eyes shifted to Khouryn. Who saw curiosity and calculation there, but none of the distrust and distaste he’d so often encountered in Chessentan faces. “And you must be the sellsword officer who helped my emissaries in Luthcheq and again on the road home,” the vanquisher said.

“Yes, Majesty,” Khouryn said.

“For that,” Tarhun said, “Tymanther thanks you. Will you and your spearmen stay on in my service, for a season or a year? I can use your skills, and I’ll pay well.”

“Thank you. But we’re content in the Brotherhood of the Griffon, and the Brotherhood already has a contract.”

Tarhun grimaced. “Which could mean that the next time I see you, it will be at the wrong end of a battlefield.”

“Maybe not, Majesty. Shala Karanok expects to have her hands full with the Great Bone Wyrm.”

“An enemy we dragonborn would gladly help her fight, if…” The monarch shook his head. In that moment, his manifest strength notwithstanding, his manner conveyed an emotion not too far removed from despair.

“Majesty,” Medrash said, “if I may speak-from the smoke in the sky, I gather we have our own war to concern us.”

“Yes,” Tarhun said. “With the ash giants.”

“They’ve been raiding for generations,” Medrash said. “But as far as I know, no one ever gave them the honor of beating the war drums for them before.”

“It’s different this time. They’re coming in greater numbers and in a more organized fashion. Someone has united the tribes. They certainly seem to be fighting more cleverly, although the details are sketchy. Many of those who engaged them didn’t return to tell the tale.” The vanquisher barked a mirthless laugh. “I know I just said I would have helped Chessenta, but in truth we could use their help just as much. And if Shala actually does attack us, or if she merely permits the genasi to cross her territory and attack, then we’ll have to fight two foes simultaneously.”

“Majesty,” Perra said, “I need to make sure I understand what’s really happening if I’m to be of any use to you. And so, though I don’t wish to give offense, I’ll ask directly-did you send raiders into Akanul and simply not tell me about it?”

Tarhun glowered. “Of course not.”

“Did you send assassins into Luthcheq?”

“Again, of course not. The dishonor aside, what possible reason could there be?”

“Did you lend warriors to High Imaskar to serve aboard her ships?”

“You know better than anyone how fast I’ve danced to stay neutral in the quarrel between Chessenta and the Imaskari. And even if my policy had changed, I need every soldier I have to fight the giants.”

“You know,” Balasar drawled, “the last I heard, the Imaskari have an ambassador in Djerad Thymar. Somebody could ask him what’s going on in their navy, and possibly unravel one little corner of this tangle, anyway.”

“That,” said Tarhun, “is a sensible idea. Certainly more sensible than what usually comes out of your mouth, scapegrace. Fetch Nellis Saradexma.”

They didn’t have to wait long. The Imaskari ambassador probably lived in apartments handy to the royal residence. Tall and thin, he had a high, broad slab of a forehead and a receding hairline that made it seem even more prominent.

Gray lines marbled his skin. Khouryn might have taken them for scars or a souvenir of some illness that marked its victims like the pox, except that the retainers accompanying Nellis had them too. Evidently the marks were a characteristic peculiar to their race, like the patterns etching the bodies of the genasi.

The envoy wore a high-collared coat with three layers of shoulder cape attached. The silvery fabric gleamed and rippled in the light. The shirt, sash, and trousers underneath were black, as were the several rings on his fingers and the wizard’s orb tucked under his arm.

He had to palm the crystal globe in one long-fingered hand to bow as the dragonborn did on entering the presence of their overlord, and he managed it deftly. “Majesty. How may I be of service?”

“You can tell me,” Tarhun said, “about the Imaskari’s naval operations against Chessenta.”

Nellis frowned. “As Your Majesty knows, Chessenta has been raiding High Imaskar for years, with no better justification than a hatred millennia out of date. We’re simply retaliating in kind. I daresay that in our place, Tymanther would do as much and more.”

“Maybe,” Tarhun said. “But the war hero believes there are dragonborn serving aboard your warships. I need to know if it’s true before I end up in the middle of your quarrel.”

Nellis hesitated. “To the best of my knowledge, Majesty, that’s not true.”

“What does that mean?” Tarhun replied. “To the best of your knowledge?”

“I have a guess,” Medrash said, “if you wish to hear it.”

Tarhun gave him a nod.

“High Imaskar has never been much of a naval power,” the paladin continued. “That’s why the Chessentan privateers were able to cause so much harm. And my suspicion is, the Imaskari still don’t have many warships they can truly call their own. Someone else is striking back at Chessenta on their behalf, and that’s why even a high official like Lord Nellis doesn’t know the details.”

The vanquisher turned his gaze back on Nellis. “Is it so?”

The envoy took a breath. “Essentially. As Sir Medrash says, my people have no great seafaring tradition. Nevertheless, we laid plans to defend ourselves from the war hero’s pirates. Then, however, enormous worms and other creatures started attacking from the Plains of Purple Dust. We’ve always had some trouble with them, but in times past the Giant’s Belt and Dragonsword ranges served as natural barriers to hold most of them back. Suddenly that didn’t seem to be true any longer. Which meant we had to counter multiple threats, not just one. It was at that point that emissaries from Murghom came to us with a proposal.”

“Murghom,” Tarhun said. His disgust was plain, and mirrored in the expressions of other dragonborn in the hall.

“Yes,” Nellis said. To his credit, his voice remained steady despite the dragonborn’s sudden hostility. “As you’d expect, not all of it, but several of the principalities allied for a common enterprise. They offered to see to our naval defense in exchange for gold, free access to the Alamber, and certain trading concessions.”

Khouryn had never visited High Imaskar-or Murghom either-but he visualized the map of the East he carried in his head, and then he understood. If they chose, the Imaskari plainly could deny the merchant vessels of Murghom passage down the Rauthenflow to the sea, or charge them a toll to traverse the river.

“I understand your need,” Tarhun said, “but it still sickens me that your empress would strike a bargain with dragons. I thought better of your people.”

“Majesty, I’m sorry if we’ve lost your good opinion. But we needed help, and neither you nor… anyone else who claimed to be our friend would join us in a fight against Chessenta. We took aid where we could get it. And earlier, I alluded to feuds and prejudices that persist even after they stop making any kind of sense. I respectfully suggest you consider the fact that the dragon princes of Murghom aren’t the same wyrms who oppressed your ancestors in the faraway land where you once lived. They’re a different group of dragons altogether.”

“A dragon is a dragon,” Tarhun replied. “Your people will learn that eventually, and I hope you don’t pay too high a price for the lesson. Now, since your people have helped to poison Tymanther’s relationship with Chessenta-”

“Majesty, as I already made clear, that isn’t so. There can’t be dragonborn on those warships, because dragonborn only come from Tymanther. If a significant number of them had traveled to Murghom to take service with the dragon princes, surely you’d know.”

Tarhun faltered, no doubt because Nellis had made a sensible argument. Assuming it was valid, it also explained why unidentified dragonborn shouldn’t be committing outrages in Luthcheq and Akanul either. Even though Khouryn had come face to face with the former and was starting to believe in the existence of the latter.

The vanquisher started again. “Be that as it may, milord, High Imaskar professes friendship for Tymanther. Will you stand with us if Chessenta attacks?”

Nellis shifted his gleaming black orb from the crook of one arm to the other. “Majesty, we’re already fighting Chessenta on the sea, and I’m confident that will continue. I can’t commit land troops to Tymanther’s defense without consulting the empress. I know she’d want to send them, but it might not be possible until we counter the threat from the Purple Dust.”

“Will she also want to send them if Shala Karanok grants passage to a genasi army?”

Now it was Nellis’s turn to hesitate.

“I’ll spare Lord Nellis the awkwardness of answering that question,” Perra said. “Toward the end of my time in Luthcheq, it came to light that Akanul and High Imaskar have sealed an alliance.”

“That’s an… overstatement,” Nellis said. “Naturally, we Imaskari want to trade with as many-”

“Dragons and genasi?” Tarhun snarled. “Get out, milord. I’ll send for you again when I feel sure of my ability to give you the courtesy due an ambassador.”

The Imaskari bowed and withdrew.

Light rippling on his emerald scales, the vanquisher turned to Khouryn, Medrash, and Balasar. “Sirs, I excuse you as well. No doubt you’d like to refresh yourselves after your journey. Perra, my deputies, and I have a long palaver ahead of us.”

Gaedynn woke in absolute darkness. For a moment, he was confused, and then memory flooded back.

The last thing he recalled was flying tied to the blue dragon’s back. His wounds throbbed and made him weak. The ropes cut off his circulation. The high air chilled him. At some point it had all been too much, and he passed out.

And ended up lying on hard stone. Thanks to the wyrmkeeper’s magic, his wounds only hurt a little now. But he was parched and stiff, and when he sat up, he felt the shackles around his wrists and the weight of the rattling chains attached to them.

“Gaedynn?” asked Jhesrhi, somewhere to his left.

He swallowed away some of the dryness in his throat. “Yes.”

“Are you all right?”

“More or less, as best I can judge. You?”

“Yes.”

“Well, now that I’m awake, I recommend you rid us of our chains, strike a light, and lead me to safety. While slaughtering any foes we meet along the way.”

“I can’t. Someone enchanted the shackles to inhibit spellcasting. If I had my staff, I might be able to overcome the effect, but I don’t.”

He sighed. “That’s inconvenient. Do you know where we are?”

“A cave inside Mount Thulbane.”

He winced. The volcano was the lair of Jaxanaedegor, the vampiric green dragon who was the Great Bone Wyrm’s principal lieutenant. “I have to say, I’m a little offended we don’t rate the hospitality of Alasklerbanbastos himself.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“At the moment? Just wait for a chance to present itself. Well, that and divert you with witty and erudite conversation. I referred to Alasklerbanbastos as ‘himself,’ but in your opinion is that accurate? I understand he started out male, but supposedly there’s nothing left of him but a skeleton. Is a fellow still a fellow if his manliest parts have rotted away?”

Jhesrhi didn’t answer.

“I suppose we could pose the same question about Szass Tam,” Gaedynn continued. “The last time Aoth saw him, he was nothing but bone and flame. Although he probably looks more lifelike now. That’s one of the advantages of being a lich and a necromancer, isn’t it? If you need a patch job, you just find or make a fresh corpse and cut-”

“I didn’t freeze,” she said.

He hesitated. “What?”

“Fighting in the street. The enemy didn’t overwhelm us and take you prisoner because I wasn’t doing my part.”

“I know that,” he said. “It happened because we were outnumbered and Lady Luck was busy elsewhere.”

She was quiet for several heartbeats, then said, “I thought you might think it was my fault because of what happened with the kobolds. And the way I’ve been since we arrived in Luthcheq.”

“I have wondered and worried about you. So has Khouryn.”

“What about Aoth?”

“Well, I could tell he’s not puzzled. He knows what’s bothering you, although much to my annoyance he kept your secret. But he was concerned. I think it’s one reason he wished we had somewhere to go besides Chessenta.”

Another silence. Finally she said, “I was born in Luthcheq. I started showing signs of having a talent for wizardry from an early age.”

“Were your parents mages?”

“No. They were respectable merchants who shared the general prejudice against wizards. They were afraid I was going to draw demons into their home or grow up to commit horrible crimes. Most of all they worried that other people would find out I was an abomination, and that would damage their own reputations. So they forbade me to use my gift and prayed to Chauntea to take it away.”

Chauntea, Gaedynn reflected, being the goddess who oversaw natural, healthy growth. “Obviously, that didn’t work.”

“No. I tried to be good and obey, but I couldn’t keep from experimenting with my talent any more than you could have refrained from picking up a bow after you saw your elf friends practicing archery. And so my mother and father grew ever more afraid and loved me less and less.

“And then,” she continued, her voice still oddly cool and matter-of-fact, “they led a caravan north. This was during one of those times when Chessenta and Threskel were supposedly at peace. But the north country was still full of brigands, human and otherwise, and a band of elemental magi waylaid us.”

Elemental magi were ogres who, somewhat like the genasi, possessed an innate affinity for fire, earth, or air. “When you half saw that big kobold-thing standing in the dark, you took it for an elemental mage, didn’t you? That’s what… rattled you.”

“Yes. But let me finish telling this my own way. The caravan was better prepared than the giants expected, and the guards withstood their first attack. But the magi still posed a threat, and the creatures knew it. They demanded tribute to let my parents go on their way.”

Gaedynn felt sick to his stomach. “You were the tribute, weren’t you? Or a part of it.”

“Yes.” Jhesrhi’s voice, though still soft and calm, grew bitter. “The elemental magi liked the idea of having a human child for a slave, and by that point my parents barely thought of me as their daughter anymore. I was just a problem, and this was a solution.”

She took a breath. “The next several years were bad. The giants brutalized me in all the usual ways. When the shaman perceived my gift, they taught me their own kind of magic, but even that, which should have been joyous, was awful. Partly because they made me use it to help them attack other travelers.”

“Knowing you as I do, I assume they must have taken precautions to keep you from turning the power on them.”

“Yes. I don’t know where they got it, but they had an old leather collar with an enchantment of obedience on it. And they made me wear it. But even if they hadn’t, I don’t know if I would have found the courage to rebel. I was so afraid of them! To some extent, that fear started trickling back as soon as I learned we were bound for Luthcheq, and it grew stronger when Aoth asked us to travel to Threskel.”

“Levistus take him for that, and for dragging you to this wretched kingdom in the first place.”

“He has to do what’s right for the Brotherhood. The whole Brotherhood. And I have to perform the duties that fall to me, or I never should have joined the company in the first place. And I have performed them, except for those few moments with the kobolds.”

“You performed them then too.” He chuckled. “It just took you a little longer than I found comfortable. Still, for Aoth to send you on this particular mission-”

“He needed a mage, and he probably thought it might help that I spent years wandering the wilds of Threskel. Please don’t be angry with him. I’d still be a slave if he hadn’t rescued me.”

“Oh?”

“It was pure chance, Tymora smiling on me or Ilmater taking pity on me at last. The Brotherhood was sailing to start a new commission, and storms damaged the ships. They had to put in to a port south of the Wizards’ Reach for repairs, and while they were stuck there, some minor Jedea cousin wanted to hire a few sellswords to travel inland and do a job. Aoth was bored, so he decided to attend to it personally. When the elemental magi and I attacked, he and the other Brothers killed the ogres, but they let me live. Because those eyes of his could see it was the collar forcing me to fight. He got it off me and offered me a place in the company. Maybe because he realized I had nowhere else to go.”

“Or maybe because he realized such a powerful wizard would be damn useful, especially after he arranged for additional training. Still, you’ve made your point. Perhaps I won’t shoot him when we see him next.”

She was silent again.

“Jhesrhi?” he asked.

Her chains clinked. “Now maybe you understand.”

“I do.”

“Not about the kobolds and all that. About before, and you and me. I thought that if it could be good with anyone, it would be good with you. But when we tried, all I could think about was the ogres. They were so ugly and rough and big, and I was so little. Just the stink of them…” She drew a ragged breath.

Guilt twisted Gaedynn’s insides. Which was completely unfair, since he hadn’t known about the magi and certainly hadn’t intended to put her through an ordeal, but the feeling persisted nonetheless. “I’m sorry.”

“No. I am.”

“Don’t be. At least we stayed friends, and I finally understand I shouldn’t take your revulsion personally. As for the rest, I can get that in any festhall.” He faltered. “I didn’t mean that the way it may have sounded.”

She laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that, and it was strange to hear it sounding from the darkness of their prison, especially considering the torments she’d just revealed. “Now I know why you generally avoid saying how you truly feel. You’re terrible at it.”

A retort sprang to mind. But before he could voice it, a cold hand gripped his shoulder.

The apartments of Clan Daardendrien were high up the south wall of the pyramid, which meant Khouryn and his fellow sellswords had a long climb up stairs and ramps to get there. But the supper of roast pheasant was worth it. So was the tart white wine.

Afterward, pleasantly replete and a little tipsy, with full goblets in hand and a fresh bottle awaiting their pleasure, he, Medrash, and Balasar lounged on the balcony overlooking the atrium. The magical illumination had dimmed to match the night outside. Across the empty space, the lamps in other dragonborn homes glowed like stars. Somewhere, a lutenist plucked out an air in a minor key.

Balasar sipped from his cup. “Do you like the view?”

“Yes,” Khouryn said. “Now that the light’s faded, this feels very much like certain portions of East Rift.”

Speaking the name of his home brought a pang of melancholy.

Evidently Medrash sensed it. “There must be some way to get you there,” he said.

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Khouryn said. He emptied his cup and reached for the new bottle. “Your war has closed the Dustroad. Somehow, it’s even stopped boat traffic on the lakes, even though I’m told the giants never bothered it before.”

Balasar shrugged. “If you took control of the narrows where Lanee Lake flows into Ash Lake, it wouldn’t be that hard to do.”

“Apparently not,” Khouryn sighed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try going the long way around?”

“Through the Shaar Desolation? I like to think I could survive the trek, but traveling through a desert would take a lot longer than using the road. And I can’t stay gone from the Brotherhood forever, not with Chessenta and Threskel preparing for war. Truly, the only solution I can imagine would be for the vanquisher to lend me one of those bats. And you say that despite the warm welcome he gave me, he won’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Medrash said. “The bats are the steeds of the Lance Defenders, the core of our army. I’ve never heard of anyone else being entrusted with one under any circumstances. In wartime, it’s all but inconceivable.” He sipped from his cup.

“Unless we stole one,” Balasar said.

Medrash choked and sputtered.

“Easy,” Balasar said, laughter in his voice. “I didn’t say we should, or that I would. I was speaking hypothetically.”

The paladin wiped his mouth with the back of a scaly hand. “That’s good, since such a theft would amount to treason.”

“And I wouldn’t be a party to it anyway,” Khouryn said. “I’ll just have to resign myself to not seeing my lass this time around.”

Out in the darkness, the lutenist finished his song, paused, then started another just as sad.

After a while, Balasar said, “It seems like a cheerless world all of a sudden. Bad things happening everywhere you look.” Khouryn noticed that when dragonborn drank to excess, they started to slur just like dwarves and men.

“I hate sensing the pattern,” Medrash said, “yet not being able to see it. That’s the thing that keeps us helpless.”

“Everything doesn’t have to be connected,” Balasar said. “Not in the way you mean. Maybe the stars are just in a bad configuration or something.”

“No, there’s a better reason than that. If the Loyal Fury would guide me again, maybe I could figure it out. But given my failure in Luthcheq, perhaps he’s decided to look for a more capable agent.”

“Please,” Balasar groaned. “I’m begging you by the tree and the stone, don’t start babbling that nonsense again.”

Khouryn decided to change the subject. “What will the two of you do now that Perra doesn’t need your services anymore?”

Balasar grinned, the gleam of his pointed teeth perceptible even in the dark. “You’re looking at it. Strong drink and a soft chair. Throw in an amorous female or two and I’m set.”

Medrash gave him an irritated glance. “It isn’t only active Lance Defenders fighting the giants. Every clan has sent or will send its own troops. I’m going, and I know that whatever he pretends, this clown wouldn’t think of staying behind.”

“Oh, I’d think about it,” Balasar said.

“How soon will you leave?” Khouryn asked.

Balasar chuckled. “I have a terrible premonition that the prig here won’t even give me time for my hangover to run its course.”

“In that case, I’ll tag along if you’ll have me. Just me. I need to send the other sellswords back to Aoth.”

“Of course we’ll have you,” Medrash said. “But why are you doing this?”

“If Tymora smiles, maybe it won’t take you dragonborn long to win a decisive victory. Then the Dustroad will open up again, and I’ll be in the right place to take advantage of it.”

That really was the main reason. But it was also true that Medrash’s murky talk of a pattern had struck a chord with him.

Could the paladin possibly be right? Was there a common underlying cause for all the tribulations afflicting the realms around the Alamber? If so, then it could only benefit the Brotherhood to understand it. And maybe if Khouryn stuck with Medrash and Balasar and learned more about Tymanther’s problems, he’d gain some insight.

More likely not. But all things considered, it was worth an extra tenday or two just in case.

From their icy touch, and the fact that they had no trouble moving around in the dark, Jhesrhi inferred that the captors gripping her forearms and marching her along were vampires. Once she realized that, she found their touch even more repulsive than that of the living, but all she could do was steel herself and bear it as they marched her along. They’d removed the shackles that suppressed her magic, but it was unlikely her powers could help her while she was blind and two such formidable creatures were holding on to her.

“Are you still all right, buttercup?” asked Gaedynn from somewhere behind her. Despite their predicament, his tone was no longer grave and gentle as it had been before the vampires came for them. Now it was as jaunty as usual.

“I’m well,” she answered.

Light appeared ahead of them, revealing the dimensions of the tunnel they were traversing. She could tell it was magical illumination, silvery and soft, but after her time in the dark it made her squint like the glare of a summer sun.

As her eyes adjusted, her pale, gaunt guards marched her and Gaedynn into a broad, high-ceilinged chamber where glowing white balls floated in the air and slowly drifted from one point to another. Their light gleamed on the treasure below. Gold and silver coins filled open coffers or simply lay in heaps and drifts on the floor. Emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, water stars, and red tears lay scattered among the rounds of precious metal-some loose, some set in necklaces, rings, and brooches.

It could have been a spectacle to make an observer smile at its glittering beauty or drool with greed, except that there was more to it. Corpses-human, halfling, orc, goblin, and others-sprawled amid the wealth. Some were old and withered, and others still fresh enough to nourish the scuttling rats. All were mangled and had had the heads ripped from their shoulders. Their rotten stink made Jhesrhi queasy.

Suddenly a shape surged from the rear of the chamber. It was so huge that she couldn’t understand how she’d missed it before, but it truly seemed to burst out of nowhere. Startled, she tried to recoil, although the cold iron grips of the vampires kept her from succeeding. Gaedynn gasped.

Jaxanaedegor was immense enough to make the blue dragon who’d carried the prisoners there seem puny by comparison. Subtly pattered with scales of lighter and darker green, his clawed feet were the size of oxcarts. The spiny crest that ran from the top of his wedge-shaped head down the length of his body was nearly as tall as a human being all by itself.

Yet the most daunting thing about him was the pale unearthly sheen in his yellow eyes, a surface manifestation of the insatiable hunger and boundless malice of the undead. Jhesrhi recognized it from her time in Thay, but she’d never seen it melded with the profound intelligence and prodigious might of an ancient wyrm before.

As she struggled to contain her fear, Gaedynn’s guards brought him forward to stand beside her. He ran his gaze over the nearest corpses and said, “You might think about tidying up a bit.”

Jaxanaedegor stared at him for a moment that seemed to drag on endlessly, scraping at Jhesrhi’s nerves. Then the lesser vampires let the captives go and backed away. She assumed their master had given them some silent signal to do so.

It didn’t matter. If she had had her staff and Gaedynn his bow, or at least some weapon and armor, they might have had an infinitesimal chance of fighting their way clear of the situation. As it was, they had no hope at all.

“I know you,” the dragon said. “Jhesrhi Coldcreek and Gaedynn Ulraes. Lieutenants to Aoth Fezim.”

Jhesrhi tried to keep her surprise from showing in her face.

“Who?” Gaedynn replied. “My name is Azzedar, and my woman is Ilzza. We-”

Fast as a striking serpent, Jaxanaedegor lunged forward. A flick of his forefoot flung Gaedynn backward to slam down on an old sack. It burst under the impact, and clinking coins splashed out.

Meanwhile, the same forefoot grabbed Jhesrhi around the middle and shoved her to the floor. Jaxanaedegor’s scaly hide was as cold as his servants’ skin, and his weight squashed the breath out of her.

She wheezed a word of power. The wyrm glared down at her. The force of his will stabbed into her head and made it throb, but failed to paralyze her. She forced out the next word of her incantation, and he shifted his stance to make her take a fraction more of his weight.

“All I have to do is bear down,” he said, “to crush you into jelly.”

She left the rest of the spell unspoken. The stillborn magic dispersed with a crackling sound.

Gaedynn jumped up and started toward Jaxanaedegor. The dragon’s head whipped in his direction. Wisps of yellow-green vapor fumed from the creature’s nostrils and between his fangs. Jhesrhi caught a whiff of it. It seared her nose and throat and made her cough.

Gaedynn stopped.

“That’s better,” Jaxanaedegor said.

“Let her up,” the archer said.

“Are you done lying?”

“Yes.”

“You’d better be.” The wyrm picked up his foot.

Jhesrhi sucked in a breath, then rose and scurried to stand with Gaedynn. She realized that putting a few paces between the dragon and herself meant absolutely nothing in terms of making her safer. But it felt better than lingering within arm’s reach.

“If I may ask,” Gaedynn said, “how is it that you know us?”

“For obvious reasons,” Jaxanaedegor said, “we in the north take an interest in the soldiers the war hero sends against us.” His breath weapon had stopped leaking into the air, though the little that had escaped was enough to fill the cave with an eye-watering haze. “I have an observer in Soolabax, and when he lost track of you, I told my people throughout Threskel to keep an eye out. Because you had to be going somewhere.”

To Jhesrhi it seemed, if not a false explanation, certainly an incomplete one. She could understand a lord of Threskel monitoring the Brotherhood of the Griffon as a whole, or its captain for that matter. But it still surprised her that the wyrm had taken such a close interest that he knew two lesser officers by name.

“Well,” Gaedynn said, “we’re honored to have snagged the attention of the terror of Mount Thulbane.”

“It could work out to your advantage,” Jaxanaedegor said. “You could attain eternal life.”

“As an eternal menial eternally creeping around in a hole in the ground, like these?” Gaedynn waved a hand to indicate the undead standing at the mouth of the tunnel.

“Servants with minor talents,” the dragon said, “must content themselves with minor roles. But you’re a skilled warrior, and your companion is versed in elemental sorcery. I might consider giving you the true Dark Gift of the Undying. To make you master vampires and knights of the realm.”

Jhesrhi took a breath. “We had an undead comrade named Bareris Anskuld. We saw what his condition made of him. We’re not interested.”

“You assume you have a choice.”

“I don’t assume I could hurt you or fend you off for any length of time. But I do think I could raise enough fire to burn Gaedynn and me to ash.”

Actually, probably not-not without her staff. But it was possible that despite his cunning, Jaxanaedegor couldn’t tell that.

The dragon grunted. “Well, don’t set yourself ablaze quite yet. I’m still deciding what to do with you. Tell the truth, and I might show more mercy than a spy deserves. What were you looking for in Mourktar?”

Gaedynn cocked his head. “Didn’t your own spy tell you?”

“He reported you were asking about rumors of a dragon somewhere in the Sky Riders. I want to know why.”

“The stories suggest the wyrm in question is inconvenienced in some way. We hoped that would make it possible for us to pilfer from its horde.”

“And how would that help Chessenta?”

“It wouldn’t. Jhesrhi and I have parted company with the Brotherhood of the Griffon. Deserted, if you want to put it unkindly. We just want to get our hands on enough coin to keep us in comfort for the rest of our days.”

“I find that difficult to believe. By all accounts, both you and the wizard have been loyal members of Aoth Fezim’s company for several years.”

Gaedynn grinned. “I don’t know what accounts you’ve heard, but I’ve never been loyal to much of anything but my own self-interest. Now, Jhesrhi-I admit-is somewhat more prone to that particular weakness. But not to the point of stupidity. Captain Fezim led us to near ruin in Thay and again in Impiltur. Now he’s dragged us to a kingdom where mages like her are pariahs. She doesn’t trust him anymore, and wants out just like me.”

Jaxanaedegor pounced as he had before. Only this time, it was Jhesrhi he flicked through the air and Gaedynn he pressed beneath his forefoot.

As Jhesrhi clambered to her feet, the dragon glared at her. “Your friend is nearly as glib as a dragon,” he said. “Unfortunately for him, I am a dragon, and my instincts tell me he’s still lying. Perhaps you’d care to speak the truth.”

“Gaedynn already did,” she replied.

“I don’t think I want him as any sort of servant,” Jaxanaedegor said. “I suspect that even bound to my will, he’d find a way of getting into mischief. But that’s the point of taking the heads off-so they don’t rise.” He opened his mouth, and two of the upper fangs lengthened.

“Don’t!” Jhesrhi cried. “I’ll tell you. Nicos Corynian, the Brotherhood’s employer, believes the dragon in the hills is Tchazzar.”

“Tchazzar!” Jaxanaedegor said. “Why in the Dark Lady’s name would he think that?”

“I’m not sure we know, entirely. Lord Nicos may have held something back. But the last anyone in Chessenta saw of Tchazzar, he was headed into Threskel. And the wyrm in the hills is supposedly a fire-breather.”

“And if it is Tchazzar, you’re supposed to bring him back to fight for Chessenta in her time of need.”

“Gaedynn and I are just supposed to investigate and report. But if it did turn out to be Tchazzar, I suppose someone would try to retrieve him. Now, please, I’ve given you what you wanted. Let Gaedynn up.”

“I suppose I might as well,” the dragon answered. “I’ve already drunk well tonight. It makes sense to save the two of you until I’m thirsty again.”

The lesser vampires started toward Jhesrhi. She cried to the stone surrounding her, raised one hand high, closed her fingers like she was clutching something, and whipped her arm down. Chunks of granite rained from the high domed ceiling.

But only enough to smash down on top of one of the undead. The others broke into a run that brought them into striking distance an instant later. One lashed her across the face with the back of his hand, and the blow knocked all the strength and much of the sense out of her. The world suddenly seemed a distant and meaningless place, and that kept her from resisting any further as the dragon’s minions hauled her and Gaedynn back into the dark.

Cera Eurthos waved her hand, and sunlight pushed back the night to reveal shrubs and blueleaf trees putting forth new growth, pebbled paths, a marble bench, and what Aoth supposed was the inevitable sundial.

“Do you like it?” Cera asked.

“Yes,” he said, and he didn’t bother to mention that his fire-touched eyes had seen the temple garden clearly even before her magic illuminated it.

The golden glow faded and night returned. “I’m afraid I don’t tend my personal patch of it very diligently. Just when the mood takes me.”

They sat down on the bench. He noticed she didn’t leave much space between them, and set his spear on the dewy grass. He wasn’t sure how the rest of the evening would unfold, but it wouldn’t hurt to put the weapon where it was out of the way.

“How did you think the banquet went?” he asked.

“You were the very model of a courtly gentleman soldier,” she said.

He smiled a crooked smile. “If so, it didn’t keep them from making signs to ward off evil when they thought I wasn’t looking.”

“Not all of them.”

“Well, I hope not.”

“Trust me. You won some of them over.”

“But probably not the one who sent an assassin to kill me at the gate.”

She frowned. “Do you really believe one of the town elders was responsible?”

“Truthfully? Who knows? Hasos resents me for taking away part of his authority and showing him up. Others may think I’ll somehow bring disaster just because I’m a war-mage. But there are other possibilities. You can pretty much count on it that Threskel has an agent or two living in town. Even if they don’t, how hard would it be to sneak an assassin in with the honest farmers and travelers whenever the gates are open? Especially one who knows some sorcery.”

“You don’t seem very worried about it.”

He shrugged. “I won’t say I’m used to it exactly, but sometimes assassination attempts are just a part of war.”

“Well, I think you’re brave. To say nothing of observant. I would have fallen through those stairs if you hadn’t been with me.”

He could have pointed out that if she hadn’t been with him, the steps would have been undamaged, but given his hopes, that seemed counterproductive. He stroked her cheek. A bit tentatively, for she was, after all, a high priestess, and a part of him was still the Mulan who’d spent his childhood being reminded over and over that he looked like a lowly, ugly Rashemi.

She smiled and slid closer, and then he was sure they wanted the same thing. He kissed her. Her lips warmed him like sunlight.

Before long, they grew impatient with the hard narrow bench and lay together on the ground. He unhooked the top of her yellow vestment and slipped his hand inside to caress her through her shift.

Then, for just a heartbeat, he caught a whiff of something nasty and stinging through the mingled scents of the vegetation, the wet rich soil, and her lilac perfume.

He started to lift himself up to look around, and she tugged to pull him back down. He almost yielded, but then realized the new odor had smelled exactly like the acid the dragonborn had spat at him in Luthcheq.

He jerked himself out of Cera’s embrace, and she gave a startled little cry of protest. Clad in hooded robes and cloaks, dragonborn were stalking toward him and his companion. A flicker of magic outlined their forms. Most likely it meant they were more or less invisible. Not to him, of course, but with his attention fixed on Cera, they’d managed to sneak up on him just fine.

The two nearest sucked in deep breaths.

Kneeling, he snatched for his spear, aimed it, and snarled a word of command to discharge one of the spells stored inside. A cloud of greenish vapor materialized around the dragonborn. They reeled and retched inside it, unable to spew their breath weapons-for the moment, anyway.

Unfortunately, there were plenty more outside the fog, and Aoth didn’t even have his mail. You didn’t wear armor to a banquet.

He scrambled to his feet. So did Cera. In circumstances like these, he was sometimes uncertain how much people with ordinary eyes could see. Judging from her expression and stance, she perceived some indication of the threat, maybe shadowy figures flickering in and out of view.

“I can call back Amaunator’s light-,” she began.

“I can already see them,” Aoth snapped. “I’m also armed. You aren’t. Get help!”

She turned and ran toward the arched yellow door that led back into the Keeper’s house. Dragonborn darted after her. Aoth lunged to intercept them.

The reptile in the lead swung a sword down at his head. He caught the stroke on the shaft of his spear, spun the weapon, and thrust it into his opponent’s throat. As he yanked it back, he saw another dragonborn spitting vitriol at him.

There was no time left to close the distance or try to deter the reptile with a spell. He could only dodge, and some of the spray splashed his left arm and shoulder anyway. Smoking and sizzling, the liquid burned like Kossuth’s anger.

But he couldn’t let that slow him down, or his assailants would overwhelm him for certain. He invoked the magic of a tattoo to dampen the pain and struck back with a thunderous blast of sound. The magic knocked the dragonborn off his feet, and shattered bones and ruptured organs if Aoth was lucky.

He couldn’t wait and watch to see if he was. He had to pivot and blast another pair of dragonborn with an explosion of crimson flame.

Pain seared his back. Once again he invoked the magic of the numbing tattoo. It worked, but not as well as before. He turned, rattled off words of power, and crumbled the foe who’d just spat on him into a spill of dust.

Individually the dragonborn were no match for him, but there were a lot of them, they weren’t attacking individually, and they weren’t stupid enough to bunch up so he could catch several at once with a spell devised to smite multiple opponents. Gradually, and despite his best efforts, they surrounded him.

More acid caught him in the back. He cried out and lurched forward. Dragonborn lunged to hack and stab while he was off balance.

Then he felt a presence enter his mind and avail itself of his eyes. A shape as black as the night sky overhead plunged out of it to pierce reptiles with its talons and smash them under its hurtling weight. Jet twisted his head and decapitated another dragonborn with a snap of his beak. Startled, the rest recoiled.

Aoth tried the tattoo again and found there was still a little analgesic virtue left in it. “Were you spying on me?” he gasped.

“No,” Jet replied. “I was just taking some exercise and happened to fly overhead. But I probably should have been. Why is it you can never mate without it turning into a situation?”

A dragonborn recovered his nerve and charged. Aoth ducked the swing of his axe and drove his spear into the creature’s guts. Then the rest of the enemy surged forward, and there was no more time or breath to spare for talk. Not until every reptile lay torn, blackened and smoldering, encrusted with frost, or otherwise slain on the ground.

“Curse it,” Aoth growled. “We really could have used a prisoner to question.”

Jet grunted. “And here I thought I was doing well just to save your hide.”

“Believe me, I’m grateful. It’s just that it’s unfortunate.” Aoth studied the bodies.

“I see it too,” the griffon said. “No piercings, just like in Luthcheq.”

“You’re right,” said Aoth, “but this time I’m noticing something more. Dragonborn come in a variety of colors, but every one of these is black. What are the odds?”

“Not bad, if they belong to some sect or cadre that only takes black ones.”

“All right. But they all spat acid at us, just like all black dragons spew acid. Even though the color of a dragonborn’s scales has no relation to the nature of his breath weapon. So what are the chances of that?”

“Maybe not as good. But what does it mean?”

Aoth sighed. “I have no idea.” His burns throbbed, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Then the yellow door flew open, and Cera rushed out with a mace and targe that were either made of gold or, more likely, simply looked like it. The priests and guards scrambling behind her were similarly equipped. They all stopped short at the sight of the carnage.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” said Jet.

Cera gave Aoth an apologetic look. “It’s only been a few moments. I brought the others as fast as I could.”

“I know,” said Aoth, “and you’re not too late to help us. We’re both burned. It hurts quite a lot, actually.”

She dropped her weapon and shield and came to inspect his wounds. She murmured a prayer and gently touched her hands to the burned spots, and a soothing warmth began to ease the pain.

“Did you know there were this many dragonborn in Soolabax?” asked Aoth.

Cera shook her head. “That’s what I can’t understand. There aren’t any.”

“Well,” said Jet as her fellow sunlords-moving gingerly in proximity to such a formidable beast with such a gory beak and bloody claws-began to tend his burns, “maybe not anymore.”

Gaedynn banged his shackles on the floor. It jolted his wrists and soon made them sore, but he kept at it anyway. He’d already tried and failed to squeeze his fingers together and slip a hand free, or to grip a chain and pull it free of its moorings in the wall. He didn’t know what else to do.

On his left, Jhesrhi recited one incantation after another. Sometimes it sounded like she was giving commands, sometimes like she was coaxing, and sometimes growling threats. But however she tried it, she never produced more than a puff of displaced air or a momentary bitter taste on his tongue.

Finally he stopped pounding to catch his breath. That inspired her to pause as well. The darkness felt even darker without their noise to fill it.

He examined his shackles by touch. If his efforts were damaging the lock or knocking loose the hinges, he certainly couldn’t tell it. He cursed.

“I’m not getting anywhere either,” Jhesrhi said.

He tried to speak with his customary self-assurance. “Ah well, the chains are just a temporary inconvenience. Our escorts will remove them to take us back to Jaxanaedegor. Then your powers will return and you’ll set one of the wretches on fire. The light will enable me to strike down the others.”

She hesitated, then said, “Yes, I’m sure that’s just how it will go. But just in case it doesn’t…”

“Yes?”

Another hesitation. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t think like that anyway. We have to believe there will be something we can do.” Footsteps padded in the blackness.

Jhesrhi sucked in a startled breath. Gaedynn felt his muscles tighten, and exhaled to blow the tension out.

He only heard one person approaching. And he’d never heard the vampires at all until they laid hands on him. Was it possible that he and Jhesrhi really did have a chance?

The footsteps halted in front of him. Then something clicked against the floor.

“Food and water,” rasped a voice with a barbarous accent. “Dragon want you strong.” The guard sniggered. “Want your blood strong.”

The hope bled out of Gaedynn as fast as it had come. Because this wasn’t the escort who would unlock the shackles after all.

Still, he needed to quench his thirst and fill his belly. Crawling, he groped his way forward as far as his chains would let him go. There he found what felt like a ceramic bowl with a chipped rim. Inside it were water and a hunk of bread. The bread was soggy where the water had soaked into it and hard as rock elsewhere.

He forced himself to drink slowly. The water was lukewarm and tasted of sulfur. His parched body shivered with relief as it went down.

Meanwhile, Jaxanaedegor’s servant padded onward. A second clack announced that he’d down set Jhesrhi’s bowl.

Then there was nothing. No sound indicative of further motion. Evidently the guard was still standing in front of Jhesrhi.

Intelligent as she was, she no doubt realized it, and it likely made her as uneasy as it did Gaedynn. But she needed water as much as he had. Her chains clinked as she came forward.

Leather creaked. The guard was moving. The chains rattled as Jhesrhi scrambled backward.

“You pretty,” said the guard. He paced after her. It was horribly easy to imagine him pressing her up against the wall.

Arms outstretched, Gaedynn moved left to the limits of his chains. There was nothing within reach.

From beyond his straining hands came the sounds of grunting, clinking chains, slaps smacking a face, and blows thumping solid flesh. Then the guard yelped. Something big and heavy slammed into Gaedynn’s hands.

He’d thought himself poised to act if he got the chance, but in the dark the sudden impact caught him by surprise. It felt like the guard was bouncing back out of his reach before he could catch hold. He grabbed frantically. Gripped what felt like a brigandine and the body inside it.

He still didn’t know what sort of creature he was fighting. But the would-be rapist could obviously see in the dark, which meant he’d make short work of his opponent if Gaedynn gave him a chance. He heaved the guard off balance, threw him down on the floor, and dropped on top of him.

There he hung on with one hand and bashed with the other, looping a length of chain to use like a flail. As he made one such attack, something sliced the skin atop his knuckles. Apparently his swinging fist had grazed a fang or tusk.

Meanwhile the guard pummeled him in turn, while also trying to break his hold and squirm out from underneath him. Until the punching stopped.

Probably because the guard had decided to reach for a knife. Something about the way his body shifted told Gaedynn which hand was doing the reaching. He twisted. The guard’s arm brushed across his chest as the first stab missed.

The next one likely wouldn’t. Bellowing, Gaedynn put all his strength and weight behind another blow to the face. Bone crunched, and the guard went limp.

But Gaedynn could still hear breath whistling in and out of his foe’s nose. He groped, found the guard’s neck with both hands, and squeezed.

“Are you all right?” Jhesrhi asked.

“Fine,” he panted. “Just finishing up. How about you?”

“Just scraped and bruised, I imagine. I thought my only hope was to shove him to where you could reach them, but then I couldn’t reach him anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it. You gave me all the help I needed.” He loosened his grip. The whistling didn’t resume. “Let’s find out what sort of presents your admirer brought us.”

He patted his way down the guard’s body. He found the knife, the scimitar his adversary hadn’t been able to use fighting at such close quarters, and then the metal ring clipped to his belt. When he felt what was attached to it, he caught his breath.

“What is it?”

He slipped the key into the shackle on his left wrist and twisted it. The lock clicked and the heavy metal ring hitched open. “Proof that Lady Luck might actually love me almost as much as I deserve.” He rid himself of the other shackle. “Talk, so I can find you without bumping into you.”

“My name is Jhesrhi Coldcreek. I’m a wizard and an officer in the Brotherhood of the Griffon. The name of my own griffon is-”

“Good enough.” He reached and found that she had her arms outstretched. The key fit her shackles too.

She murmured a word of command and conjured a glowing amber ball into the palm of her upturned hand. At first it dazzled him and made him squint, but when his eyes adjusted, he could see for himself that she was disheveled but unharmed. He felt the urge to hug her but caught himself in time.

The light revealed that the guard had been an orc. By rights one such creature shouldn’t pose much of a problem for a soldier who’d stood against wraiths, nightwalkers, and the steel scorpion of Anhaurz, and Gaedynn grinned at the thought that this foe had given him one of the most desperate fights he’d ever fought.

“What are you smirking at?” Jhesrhi asked.

“I’ll tell you later. Look, somehow we managed to dance with the guard without overturning either of our bowls. So drink and eat. We’re going to need it.”

After he finished his own meal, he appropriated the orc’s weapons and-his mouth twisted in distaste-the brigandine. The reinforced leather stank of the brutish warrior’s sweat, but armor was armor.

As he buckled it on and found he couldn’t tighten the straps enough to make it snug on his lean frame, he asked, “Can you disguise us?”

“To a degree,” Jhesrhi said. “But we’ll never find a way out without light.”

“I know. But since Jaxanaedegor’s more or less a grandee of the realm, maybe he has servants or occasional visitors who need light as much as we do. If so, then using it won’t necessarily unmask us.”

“We can hope.” She set the orb of light afloat in midair as if she were setting it on a shelf. Then she murmured a rhyming incantation and stroked her fingertips from the midline of her face outward like she was streaking it with paint. When she did the same to Gaedynn, his cheeks and forehead tingled.

“There,” she said.

He looked at his hands. They appeared clean, pale, and devoid of hair. Tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves of what now appeared to be a finely made mail shirt with hammered brass runes and sigils riveted to the links.

Jhesrhi was tattooed and hairless too, even her eyebrows and lashes shed to leave her bald as an egg. Her golden eyes had changed to a less distinctive gray, and the patched, ragged garb of Ilzza the vagabond had become a crimson robe.

“We’re Thayans,” he said.

“Supposedly Szass Tam sometimes sends envoys to the lords of Threskel. If so, then Jaxanaedegor’s lesser servants have learned to bow and scrape to them. They also wouldn’t expect them to know their way around. Both those things could work to our advantage. So I’m a Red Wizard and you’re my knight.”

He smiled. “Almost like real life.”

Thanks to the golden glow, it was now plain that Jaxanaedegor’s servants had imprisoned them in a hollow where a dozen sets of shackles dangled from the walls. A single passage ran away into the dark. Jhesrhi sent the light drifting in that direction, and she and Gaedynn followed.

As they paced along, he kept hoping for a branching passage. Because there was a guard station, barracks, or something similar up ahead. He hadn’t been able to see it in the dark, but he’d heard the murmur of voices as the vampires marched Jhesrhi and him back and forth.

But it appeared fickle Tymora had forgotten him again. Or, to be fair, maybe it was a bit much to ask her to reach back in time, trespass in the business of Kossuth and Grumbar, and alter the way lava carved rifts in the volcano just to smooth his path. In any case, no alternate route presented itself before he heard voices once again and caught the smells of wood smoke and roasting meat. His hunk of stale bread hadn’t been all that big or satisfying, and the latter aroma made his mouth water.

“They’re going to think it odd that two Thayans are coming out of the prison,” Jhesrhi whispered.

“Especially when they didn’t notice two Thayans going in,” Gaedynn answered. “That’s assuming they bother to think about it. Maybe they won’t. But if they do, well, you’re magical and too important and arrogant to take kindly to answering questions from the likes of them.”

“Right.” They walked on.

The way widened, and openings led off the passage to interconnecting chambers on either side. Taken altogether, the honeycomb was large enough for a garrison of dozens, but Gaedynn was glad to see there didn’t appear to be that many warriors currently.

There was at least one, though. Frowning, a one-eyed orc peered out into the passage. Gaedynn gave him a stare, and he retreated into the darkness. But as soon as the supposed Thayans passed by, the guard shouted something in the language of his kind. Gaedynn didn’t speak it, but assumed the echoing call pertained to Jhesrhi and himself.

Other voices replied, and footsteps scurried. Five other orcs emerged from openings up ahead, then gathered together to form a single group.

It didn’t look like they meant to attack. Not yet anyway. But they evidently didn’t intend to let the strangers pass without a word or two of explanation either.

Still, it didn’t seem all that dire a situation until the light floated close enough to show them clearly. Then Gaedynn saw that while four were warriors, one wore a voluminous robe and carried a staff. He was some sort of sorcerer or shaman, and likely more cunning and difficult to bluff than his fellows.

Oh well. Gaedynn would just have to strive for words that flew as true as Keen-Eye’s arrows.

When Jhesrhi and he came close enough to converse without difficulty, he gave a brusque nod. “We’ll return to our accommodations now.”

“Accommodations?” the shaman asked. He spoke Chessentan without an accent, and although his staff was carved of shadow-wood rather than blackwood and the rune-engraved rings that banded it at intervals were made of some exotic red metal instead of gold, it appeared as handsomely crafted and civilized an artifact as the one Jhesrhi had lost in Mourktar.

“The quarters Lord Jaxanaedegor assigned to Lady Azhir,” Gaedynn said.

One of the soldier orcs turned to mutter in the sorcerer’s pointed ear. In the process, he gave Gaedynn a better look at the longbow he carried on his back. It was as superbly made as the staff, and to Gaedynn as enticing as the smell of the roasting meat.

“We understand,” the sorcerer said. “But how did you get into the cell?”

Gaedynn sneered like it was a stupid question. “My lady doesn’t need to move around as common people do.” And let’s not dwell on the fact that no wizard in her right mind would shift herself around blindly in an unfamiliar tunnel system without a compelling reason.

“But why go to the cell at all?” the shaman persisted. “I wouldn’t ask, but the prisoners are my responsibility.”

“We didn’t hurt them,” Gaedynn said. “When Lord Jaxanaedegor mentioned them, my lady thought she detected a resemblance to a pair of sellswords who caused trouble in Thay last year. She was curious to see if these were the same two knaves. It turns out they’re not. Now, orc, have I satisfied your curiosity, or will you keep us here until the dragon starts wondering what busybody is detaining his guests?”

“You’re free to go, of course,” the sorcerer said, “and I’m sorry if I gave offense.” He and the other orcs shifted to the sides of the passage.

As Jhesrhi and Gaedynn strode forward, he glimpsed motion at the periphery of his vision. Trying not to be obvious about it, he glanced in that direction.

An eyeless black rat crawled out of the sorcerer’s collar and perched on his shoulder. Where it sniffed repeatedly like a bloodhound.

Would Jhesrhi’s disguises deceive the nose as they did the eyes? Gaedynn had no idea.

He drew the scimitar, pivoted, and cut. The sorcerer fell backward with blood gushing from his throat. The familiar tumbled from his shoulder.

Gaedynn turned, slashed, and dropped another orc. So much for the easy part. The other three had their weapons ready.

They drove in, and he gave ground before them. Jhesrhi slashed her hand from right to left and raked them with a flare of flame. One caught fire and reeled. Though barely singed, the other two faltered. Taking advantage of their distraction, Gaedynn pounced at them and cut them down.

The burning orc dropped too. Gaedynn turned to give Jhesrhi a smile. Facing back the way they’d come, she rattled off words of power and thrust out her hand. Darts of yellow light shot from her fingertips. They plunged into the torso of the orc who’d called to the others. The one that Gaedynn had to admit, to himself if never to Jhesrhi, he’d forgotten all about.

The orc pitched forward. His finger still pulled the trigger of his crossbow, but the bolt merely hit the floor a pace or two in front of him.

“I thought we were trying to trick our way through,” Jhesrhi said. “It still might have worked.”

“Maybe,” Gaedynn said, “but I didn’t feel like giving up the advantage of surprise to find out. Besides, you need a staff, and I a bow. We both need some of that meat.”

Which turned out to be goat. It was still half raw, but they didn’t have time to linger and turn the spit. They gobbled their fill and moved on.

In time they found their way to a broad shelf where the ceiling rose high enough to permit a huddle of stone buildings and stubby towers. Beyond was a gray sky.

The sight of any sky would have excited Gaedynn, but this one all but elated him. Because it was a daytime sky, and not so shrouded in fumes from the volcano as to mask every trace of the sun. No vampire could pursue fugitives under such a sky, and even living but nocturnal creatures like orcs might find it inconvenient.

“What’s the plan?” Jhesrhi allowed her floating light to blink out of existence. “Try to walk out like we have every right to?”

Gaedynn grinned. “Why not? We’re bound to fool somebody, eventually.”

They headed into the cluster of buildings. Gaedynn tried to look like a haughty Thayan warrior having a casual look at the area and finding it contemptible. As opposed to a twitchy escapee, his nerves frayed to rags by fumbling his way through a dark maze of tunnels.

A stooped, dirty man stepped into the sellswords’ path, noticed them, hesitated as though trying to decide whether they were close enough that he needed to bow or kneel, and then settled for scurrying on his way. A sentry, also human, watched their progress from the battlements atop one of the towers, but not with any show of suspicion or even much curiosity.

Beyond the edge of the shelf, the mountainside fell away in a slope shallow enough to permit cultivation. Slaves bent in freshly plowed fields, planting peas or beans in the furrows and grain on the ridges. Overseers with whips sauntered among them.

Nearby was a barn, and horses standing in a paddock. Gaedynn led Jhesrhi in that direction. “Grooms!” he shouted.

Two thralls scrambled into view. They had the same cringing demeanor as the man back on the shelf, and sets of scabby double puncture wounds on their throats.

“The lady and I are going for a ride,” Gaedynn said. “Saddle two horses.”

The men hesitated. Then one said, “The countryside can be dangerous. I can ask the soldiers in the towers to-”

“Now!” Gaedynn snapped.

The slaves flinched, then hurried to obey. He could see they were hurrying, even if the task seemed to drag on endlessly. But finally he and Jhesrhi were in the saddle and, moments later, trotting down the trail that meandered among the fields.

Jhesrhi shook her head. “Strange.”

“What?” Gaedynn asked.

“I wouldn’t have said it while we were doing it, but now that we’re out, escaping almost seemed too easy.”

He laughed. “By my estimation, we have about half an afternoon to put distance between Mount Thulbane and ourselves. Before you make up your mind how easy it was, let’s see how we fare come nightfall.”