Everyone was glumly silent for a moment. Then Cera said, “All right, but let’s think this through. The undead’s plan is based on stealth and trickery for good reason. We destroyed much of their strength at the Fortress of the Half-Demon, and Pevkalondra threw away more when she detached the Raumvirans from the rest of the creatures’ army and led them to defeat. Lod sought to bring reinforcements, but Sarshethrian’s ambush killed at least half of those. Maybe we aren’t at as much of a disadvantage as we think.”
Yhelbruna stopped and pondered, meanwhile idly poking holes in the snow at her feet with the lead tip on the butt of her staff.
“That all makes sense on its own terms,” she said eventually, “and now that I understand what’s been weakening my witchcraft, true hathrans can take countermeasures. But the enemy’s witchcraft is gainingstrength, and with the Urlingwood falling into shadow, I guarantee you dark fey are assembling to support their old allies and ensure their ascendancy in the new Rashemen.”
Cera scowled. “I didn’t endure Sarshethrian’s foulness and vampires sucking my blood just to hear our cause is hopeless.”
“Aoth says it isn’t,” said Jet. “He wants to know, how did Yhelbruna come to realize Mario Bez is a liar, and why is the Storm of Vengeancestill in Immilmar?”
Vandar’s jaw muscles clenched.
Even without the aid of a saddle and tack-Jet’s accouterments had burned away when the orb of fire blasted him-Aoth felt good hurtling along on griffon-back once more, with a cold wind in his face, a blue sky and wispy cirrus clouds above, and the tangled branches of a forest below. His pleasure would have been even keener if he hadn’t felt the ache in the griffon’s wings. Jet had pushed himself hard to fly to the Running Rocks, collect his master, and carry him to the Ashenwood, leaving Orgurth to shepherd the Old Ones the rest of the way north.
I’m fine!snarled Jet across their psychic link. Clearly, the bond had enabled him to perceive Aoth’s concern in the same way Aoth had registered his pain. Exercise is what I need to recover the last little bit of my strength. I only wish I was exerting myself for a sensible reason.
Do you want to win or not?Aoth replied.
Jet gave a disgusted rasp. It was a noise he made when he recognized his rider was right but was unwilling to admit it straight out. If you think I’m unhappy, wait until you see Vandar.
Vandar disagrees with one of my ideas? How surprising.
Jet laughed a screeching laugh, and they flew onward.
The trees grew thickly in the Ashenwood, and Aoth assumed those he sought knew something about how to hide. But fortunately, the ashes and aspens had shed their leaves, and he had his fire-kissed eyes and Jet’s sharp senses to foil attempts at concealment. He was confident they’d find their quarry if they simply kept looking, and toward twilight, he spotted a man with black side whiskers and grubby red and yellow clothing trying to dig and chop roots from the frozen earth while a skinny, shivering fellow dressed in the same colors stood watch with a crossbow cradled in his hands.
Unfortunately, the sentry was looking around at ground level, but not higher. Perched in the branches above him and his comrade, three rusty brown ettercaps, their forms an angular mix of human and spider, were drawing glistening white strands from their spinnerets. When they had enough webbing, they’d drop it to snare their prey.
Aoth was still pondering how best to handle the situation when Jet furled his wings and dived. Maybe he wanted to prove he was as capable of maneuvering among and, when necessary, smashing right through branches as he’d ever been.
Thanks to their mystical connection, Aoth knew which ettercap Jet was targeting. He pointed his spear, spoke a word of command, and hurled darts of blue light at the other two.
Then he and Jet were plunging through the canopy, branches cracking beneath them like a drumroll. The ettercap the griffon had chosen looked up in reaction to the noise, then flexed its four hind limbs and tried to spring aside.
With a flick of his wings, Jet compensated and crashed down on the spidery hunter anyway. His talons punched through shell into the flesh beneath, and the branch on which the ettercap had been perching snapped as well.
They all plunged on earthward together. Jet lashed his wings to slow their descent and landed without giving his master much of a jolt. His weight drove his eagle claws even deeper into the ettercap, though, and through their bond, Aoth felt the creature convulse and then stop moving as its body squashed.
Aoth glanced up. His magic hadn’t killed either of the other ettercaps, but they were fleeing, scurrying and leaping from branch to branch and tree to tree.
He then pointed his spear at the foragers, both of whom were frozen with shock, and set the point of the weapon aglow with an intimidating display of power.
“Hello,” he said. “Do you know me? If not, you surely remember my steed. Which of you vermin shot him out of the sky?”
“Not me!” babbled the man who’d been digging the roots. “Not either of us!”
“No matter,” said Jet. “You were all trying. That’s why I couldn’t let the ettercaps have you.” Making a show of it, he pulled his gory talons from the carcass beneath him.
“Please!” said the root digger. “It wasn’t personal. Our captain ordered us to shoot, and we obeyed. You’re sellswords. You know how it is!”
“We do,” said Aoth. “Just like we know it’s bad for a mercenary company’s reputation to let anybody attack it without reprisal. But fortunately for you, the man we really came to see is Mario Bez. If you take us to him, you just might live to see the moon rise.”
Both foragers seemed cowed and eager to cooperate. Still, Aoth made sure the failed sentry pointed his crossbow away from his captors and uncocked it slowly.
Meanwhile, he dismounted. Jet was always happy to carry him through the air, but not when they were on the ground. It was beneath his dignity to perform the function of a common beast of burden.
They ordered their captives to walk in front and watched them for signs of mischief. But the foragers led them straight to their camp and without trying to warn their comrades that enemies were approaching. That, however, didn’t keep the other sellswords from snatching for their weapons when Aoth and Jet came into view.
“Easy!” said Aoth. “If we wanted to kill you, we would have attacked from above in the dead of night. Half of you would have died in your sleep.”
“And if one of you raises a weapon or starts jabbering a spell,” Jet rasped, “these two idiots we caught will die right now. Then Captain Fezim and I will slaughter the rest of you.”
A bit of broken twig caught in the grizzled hair that now hung loose, not gathered in his customary ponytail, Mario Bez smiled. “I don’t take that threat lightly. The two of you wouldn’t be here now if you weren’t every bit as tough as the stories say. But if it isjust the two of you dropping by, I’m fairly certain my crew and I can cope with you.”
“Even if you’re right,” Aoth replied, “you wouldn’t all live through it. And those who did wouldn’t be any better off than they were before.”
Bez raised an eyebrow. “Whereas …?”
“The undead didn’t all perish in the Fortress of the Half-Demon. In fact, the ones that remain are a bigger problem than anybody realized. You’ll hear the details if we come to an agreement, but the nub of it all is that Rashemen still needs you to do the job you promised to do in the first place.”
“In exchange for what? At this point, I assume Yhelbruna wouldn’t stand for Halruaans claiming any of the wild griffons, no matter how much we contributed to the solution of her problem.”