"Ready?" asked Shamur.
Cale nodded and said, "Are you prepared? This Sorcerer sounds even more dangerous than Marance Talendar."
"Wizards fear me," said Shamur. "Just don't get between us."
"If he is there, my lady, perhaps it would be best-"
"Shamur," she corrected him.
"Shamur," he said. "Let me deal with the Sorcerer. If Thamalon is up there, he will need you."
"Yes," she said, "that would be best."
Cale was surprised that she didn't argue the point, but he didn't wish to question this small good fortune.
They mounted the griffon and took to the sky. Shamur urged Ripper to climb, and they followed a rising spiral up to the central tower of Castle Stormweather. They spied three other griffon-riding teams circling above the high tower, and Shamur kept a safe distance from them.
A dozen or more courtiers stood upon the tower surface, their fine clothes damp from the surrounding storm. They held palms over the mouths of their goblets to protect them from the drizzling rain. Servants coursed among them, refilling cups and offering hors d'oeuvres. Despite the weather, they chatted cheerfully as they observed the spectacle above them.
Ugly posts of rusty iron rose from the edge of the tower at the four corners of the world and their children. At each of the eight points swung the metal blades of a gigantic weather vane, each facing the next as the wind swirled around the tower. Beneath each vane stood a red-armored guardsman, a sword at his hip and a long spear in his hand.
Strapped to four of the wheels were corpses, one so long rotting that its body flopped where its arms had pulled away from their sockets. Bound to a fifth was an elf whose brown skin had burned to gray flakes in the wind and sun. Two of the wheels were empty, but lashed to the last of them was Thamalon Uskevren.
He couldn't have been on the rack for more than a few hours, a day at most. His eyes were closed, but his head lolled against the spinning of the wheel. The cold had drained the color from his face, and his clothes were damp with rain and sweat. Except for the blood at his wrists, where his wire bonds chafed his skin, he appeared unwounded but for profound privation and the torture of the elements.
"I changed my mind," shouted Shamur. "Leave the Sorcerer to me!"
"It would be better if we concentrate on-ulp!"
Shamur leaned forward to send Ripper plunging toward the congregation among the torture wheels. The diving griffon sent the courtiers and their servants scattering to the edges of the tower, their fine goblets crashing to the stone floor behind them. The guards raised an alarm before gathering near the center of the tower to form a unified defense.
"Get ready to jump!" Shamur yelled above the cacophony of terrified courtiers and the screaming wind. She pulled Ripper's neck to the side to force a tight turn and dived toward the tower again. "Get him down from that thing!"
"This is not the best way to-" Cale gave up trying to persuade Shamur of a less direct attack. The sight of her tormented husband had driven out any lingering inclination toward subtlety.
He gripped the back of the saddle with one hand while unbuckling the straps with the other. Shamur brought the griffon in close to the vane on which Thamalon slowly spun. Too late, Cale realized how hopeless it was to leap from the flying animal to the wheel. He had no choice but to jump anyway.
He hit the sheet metal blade hard enough to make a Cale-shaped dent in its surface. He grabbed for the rigging with both hands and held fast with one. Fortunately, one was enough to let him swing around and catch hold with the other. He might have climbed the blade as nimbly as a spider were he not hindered by the vermilion armor, yet he took one glance down at the spears of the guards and was glad for the protection.
The shock of impact stirred Thamalon to wakefulness. He craned his neck to see Cale clinging to the vane above him, then beside him, then below him as the wheel turned in the wind.
"We've come to get you out of here," said Cale.
"Oh, good," said Thamalon thickly. He sounded drunk, more like his wastrel son than himself.
Cale felt a sudden thickness in his throat. Like Shamur, he felt a rising fury against the man who had set his master upon this torture device, but even more he felt the sour tang of guilt that he'd failed to protect Thamalon.
"Let's get you off this thing."
"The guards," murmured Thamalon.
"Shamur is keeping them busy."
"Where?" Thamalon asked. He lifted his head, blinking through his grogginess.
Ripper screamed as Shamur brought him in for another pass over the Vermilion Guard. Cale hoped she stayed out of range of their spears and that the flying guards who circled the tower hadn't yet arrived. He put his trust in her and concentrated on freeing Thamalon.
"Hold still," said Cale, "this is going to be tricky."
He cut the wires binding Thamalon's right wrist to the blade. Thamalon's arm fell limply to his side, all sensation long since squeezed out of the limb.
The heavy armor made it difficult to maneuver on the spinning vane, but Cale thrust one foot between the frame and the metal blade. Wedged there, his leg gave him an anchor. He unclasped his weapon belt, looped it through Thamalon's belt before securing it once more, and freed his master's legs.
Awkwardly, Thamalon put his limp arm around Cale's neck. Cale felt a feeble strength in his embrace and hoped it would return more quickly once he got Thamalon down.
"Hold on," he warned Thamalon. "Go limp, and make sure to stay above me."
He cut the remaining bonds, then kicked away to fall to the tower floor. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, but the ill-fitting armor at last proved useful as more than a disguise.
Thamalon rolled off of Cale and lolled on the stone roof. Cale rose to a crouch and drew his long sword. To his surprise, none of the guards approached him.
The courtiers and servants had already fled the roof, and the guards had withdrawn to the far side, near the stairs. They held their spears up at attention and watched the sky above.
Cale looked up to see Shamur and Ripper circling the tower, waiting to land near Cale and Thamalon. She looked down at her husband lying on the ground, struggling to rise to his hands and knees as Cale stood protectively above him.
She didn't see the Sorcerer rising in the sky behind her.
"Shamur!" cried Cale. "Look out!"
She turned just in time to see the man shake his winged scepter at Ripper. A spear of red lightning shot from the scepter's giant ruby to plunge into the griffon's back, straight through the archer's seat in the double saddle. Sparks from the scintillating shaft ignited Shamur's red cloak. As the griffon fell onto the tower floor, she threw herself to the side, rolling to smother the flames. They had spread from the cloak to the long plume on her helm.
Ripper's body rolled until it hit the low wall at the tower's edge. Its impact sent half a ton of stone tumbling from the tower's edge, but the creature came to a halt, its wings splayed horribly as its leonine legs twitched for a few seconds before going limp.
"How many more uninvited guests must I endure?" bellowed the Sorcerer.
To Cale's ear, the voice sounded like Tamlin imitating his father. He couldn't see the man's face within its barred helm, but he feared he already knew whom he would resemble.
Shamur whipped off her flaming helmet and cast it away. She drew her sword and glared up defiantly at the Sorcerer.
"We are the death of you," she said, "if you don't allow us to leave here with my husband."
The Sorcerer laughed and glided slowly down to her.
"What a fierce one you are! Lady Uskevren, is it? However did mild Thamalon win you over with his ledgers and abacus? Let me have a look at you."
Cale saw her frown in puzzlement at the Sorcerer's words. Perhaps she was beginning to recognize his voice as well. Cale hoped that wouldn't cause her to hesitate at the wrong moment.