“You’ve threatened to leave before. You never do.”
“Which is not to say I never will. Last night’s fight upset me as it did you, albeit for a more sensible reason. We were in far more danger than was necessary, because Aoth refused to let us fight to best effect.”
“You know the reason why.”
“Yes. But I consider it insufficient. And why shouldn’t I leave if I see fit? I don’t owe Aoth anything.”
“Well, I…” She took a breath. “Once again, you’re trying to maneuver me into saying what you want me to say.”
“To the contrary. I’m agreeing with you. Telling you that if you desert, I’m inclined to go with you.”
It felt like something twisted in her chest. “We both know that wouldn’t work.”
“But if you go alone, won’t you be alone? It’s always appeared to me that the Brotherhood is your only home, and as you demonstrated last night, you don’t have much of a knack for making new friends.”
She lashed a hand like she was batting away a gnat. “All right! I’ll stay! Just stop prattling at me!”
“Whatever you say. I respect your judgment, of course.”
Her fingers tightened on her staff. “Gaedynn…”
To her surprise, his face became more open, his smile less superior and teasing. “Lady, for what it’s worth, I truly do think the company will climb out of this cesspit it’s in eventually, just as I know Aoth needs you to make that happen.” His smile crooked into a smirk. “Instead of leaving, you should hold his nose in the hive for a bigger share of the spoils.”
Pacing through the tall doorway at Nicos’s side, Aoth didn’t see any dragonborn, genasi, or other nonhumans standing amid the bronze and marble martial sculptures. Still, Shala Karanok’s hall was more crowded than on his previous visit, and none of the occupants looked happy to see him.
When Aoth and Nicos reached the proper spot, they halted and bowed. “My lord,” the war hero said. “Captain.” Her voice was ice.
“Majesty,” replied Aoth and Nicos in unison.
“Seventy-eight of my people are dead,” said the woman on the throne.
“Don’t take that for the final tally,” said Aoth. “A couple more corpses will turn up someplace, and a few more of the wounded will die of their hurts.”
Shala scowled, and Nicos shot him a warning glance. But he intended to be businesslike and unapologetic. He had a hunch it would be a bad idea to accept any blame or show any hint of weakness.
“Are you proud of your score?” demanded a familiar masculine voice. Aoth looked around and saw Daelric in his jeweled yellow robes. The stout high priest of Amaunator stood at the forefront of what appeared to be a group of the city’s ranking clerics, clad for the most part in regalia as costly as his own.
“I’m proud,” said Aoth, “that my men did their job efficiently and with a considerable degree of self-control. I assure you, our ‘score’ could have been much higher.”
“The fact remains,” the sunlord replied, “you slaughtered dozens of good men who only wanted to purge the city of evil.”
Nicos snorted. “That’s a pretty epitaph for a pack of mad dogs.”
Aoth returned his gaze to Shala. “Majesty, you and Lord Nicos both told me my job is to maintain order with a special eye to protecting the residents of the wizards’ precinct. I did it. What’s the problem?”
Shala’s eyes narrowed. Aoth braced himself for an outburst. But in the end, the war hero chose to overlook his bluntness-his insolence, some would say-and simply answer his question.
“In my mind, your task was to prevent a riot from starting in the first place. Perhaps that was unrealistic. But in the aftermath, I find I’m the ruler who set vicious sellswords under the command of an evil war-mage and a witch on her own subjects. And why? To protect other devil-worshiping wizards. To shield the Green Hand murderer himself.”
“Majesty,” Nicos said, “I’m sure most people understand that your agents did only what was necessary. Had they done less, all Luthcheq might have burned.”
“Some people understand that,” Shala said, “but as we speak, there are hundreds of Tchazzar cultists marching in the streets. Now, don’t mistake me. I revere the Red Dragon as much as anyone. But it’s bad to have the common people praying for the return of a long-lost savior because they think their current lords are hopelessly incompetent and corrupt. It’s bad for every one of us assembled in this hall.”
Luthen stepped forth from between a pair of his fellow courtiers. “Indeed it is, Majesty. Fortunately, I believe we can fix the problem.”
“How?” Shala asked.
“For starters, get rid of the sellswords. We’ve already discussed some of the reasons why allowing any noble to maintain such a force in the capital is a poor idea. Now we see that the Thayans’ swaggering, bullying presence enflames the populace like that of an army of occupation.”
Aoth took a deep breath. “My lord, any fair-minded person would agree that some bad luck and unavoidable friction notwithstanding, my troops have acquitted themselves admirably in Luthcheq. But we’d be happy to go to the border or the coast and help Chessenta fight its enemies.”
Luthen gave his head a little shake. “I’m not talking about reassigning you, Captain. I’m talking about discharging you and throwing you out of the realm. That’s the least it will take to satisfy those whose kin your griffons tore apart. And Chessenta doesn’t need mages and ruffians to stand tall against its foes.”
“Indeed,” the sunlord said.
Aoth could joyfully have tossed a thunderbolt or a barrage of ice at both of them. If the Brotherhood had to move on under these circumstances, it would drain their coffers and further blemish their reputation. And without another offer of employment, where could they even go? Nowhere the local authorities wouldn’t view them as a threat-glorified marauders hoping to live by banditry and extortion.
“Majesty-,” he began.
Shala ignored him. “What else do you recommend?” she said to Luthen.
“Arrest, try, and execute the residents of the wizards’ quarter,” the noble said. “If not all, at least some.”
“For what?” Nicos asked.
“Who cares?” Luthen answered. “They’re mages, so we know that each and every one of them has done evil deeds. And it will give the common people what they want. You never know, we might even get lucky and burn the Green Hand killer.”
Nicos looked to Shala. “Majesty, you directed me to bring Captain Fezim to the capital because ‘even wizards deserve justice.’ ”
“And it was a sentiment worthy of a war hero,” Luthen said. “But the situation has worsened since then, and Your Majesty must weigh the interests of a few”-he waved a meaty hand as though trying to pluck the proper term from the air-“deviants against the welfare of the realm as a whole.”
“All right,” Nicos rapped, “let’s do that. Let’s keep our eyes on what’s happening throughout Chessenta, and not just here in the city. The Great Bone Wyrm and the Imaskari are pressing us hard, and contrary to Lord Luthen’s assertion, we need wizards to help stem the tide. The same wizards he wants to condemn and kill!”
Luthen made a spitting sound. “So you’d strengthen our armies by bringing the depraved and degenerate into the ranks.”
“Yes,” Nicos said, “if you insist on putting it that way. Our armies have always used sorcery when necessary. With proper supervision, of course. Just look at our history!”
“Magic gives an army a big edge,” said Aoth. “Too big to ignore if you can get it. You Chessentans pride yourself on being a race of soldiers, but if you don’t even understand that, you don’t know anything about war.”
“We have magic,” the sunlord said. “The untainted blessings of the gods.”
“And that’s something,” said Aoth. “I fought alongside the Burning Braziers and saw what they can do. But show me the priest versatile enough to conjure darkness one moment, a cloud of poisonous smoke the next, and rust the enemy’s armor an instant after that.”