Although now that he thought about it, it was odd. Luthen hadn’t looked unhappy. He’d had a little smile on his round, bearded face.
Nicos grunted. “We did stop them-or rather, you and your people did. It needed doing, and you succeeded brilliantly.” He hesitated.
“But?” Aoth prompted.
“It didn’t work out the way I hoped. I’m afraid the provocations from Threskel and High Imaskar, outrageous and damaging as they are, are merely the precursors to actual invasions. In large measure, that’s why I wanted to catch the Green Hands. To allay the common suspicion of mages enough that the war hero and her commanders would consent to use them in our defense.”
Aoth nodded. “And we did. But now Chessenta won’t have dragonborn allies fighting alongside her soldiers. You’re worried you came out behind on the trade.”
“Exactly.”
“Of course, if Tymanther really is your enemy, you wouldn’t have had their help anyway.”
Nicos waved a dismissive hand, as if to convey that Tymanther’s guilt was an impossibility. Aoth had his own doubts, based more on intuition than the facts, but he wondered how the Chessentan could be so sure.
“In any case,” Nicos said, “our situation remains more complicated than anticipated. Shala’s right-Perra and her household are now in much the same situation as were the wizards two days ago. The people despise them and may well try to harm them, and we can’t trust native Chessentan troops to protect them. Can you provide an escort to see them safely back to Tymanther?”
Aoth sighed. He would have preferred to have all his strength to contend with whatever Threskel sent south. “I can spare a few men.”
“Good. There’s something else as well. But first, I have to ask you, are you truly my agent? Will you follow my orders in preference to any others?”
Aoth stared at him. “By the Nine Dark Princes! Was Luthen right? Did you bring us here to help overthrow the war hero?”
“No! Of course not!”
“Well, that’s a relief, because I don’t think that at our current strength we could pull it off. We might kill or imprison her, but we probably wouldn’t fare well in the dung storm that would follow.”
“I’m not a traitor!”
“Clearly not, milord. I was just speaking hypothetically. To answer your question-yes, I’m your man, as long as you keep paying me.”
“All right. Then how much do you know about Tchazzar?”
Aoth cocked his head. “Very little. I’m old enough that I actually could have seen him, but I never did. I was a little busy up in Thay the last time he was around.”
“I assume you’ve at least heard that he vanished during the upheavals of the Spellplague.”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s a little more to the story. He ventured into Threskel and never returned. It’s possible he was looking for a way to protect Chessenta from the blue fire, although no one truly knows.”
“So, if he was in enemy territory, it’s also possible his greatest enemy managed to kill him at last.”
“Yes, but recently, some rumors have come out of the northeast. Allegedly, certain folk, while wandering somewhere in the mountains, have heard a dragon roaring on the darkest nights. A few even claim to have seen one sprawled on the ground, with flames flickering from its mouth and nostrils.”
“Threskel’s full of wyrms, isn’t it? There’s a dracolich running the place, and a bunch of living wyrms who pay homage to him. I imagine some of them are fire-breathers. So what makes you think this particular dragon is Tchazzar?”
“The reports say the dragon is huge and old, like Tchazzar. They also say he’s emaciated, and looks like he can’t stand up for some reason. If he’s crippled, or imprisoned somehow, that would explain why he never returned to Luthcheq.”
“But it doesn’t explain why, over the course of nearly a century, Alasklerbanbastos never found him and finished him off. Or why, if he’s been lying helpless for all that time, you just heard about it ‘recently.’ ”
Nicos scowled. “I don’t simply assume the dragon in question is Tchazzar. But it could be.”
“And you want to find out for sure.”
“Yes.”
“Without Shala realizing you have someone looking into it. Because she’d take it to mean you lack confidence in her rule.”
“Yes. Although it would be completely unfair to take it that way, considering that Tchazzar was a living god. Obviously, he could provide for his people in a way no mortal sovereign could. And he might not even want to resume the throne. It’s possible he’s beyond such things.”
And possible he’s not, thought Aoth, in the highly unlikely event he’s still alive. “I have to say, I never spotted you for a member of the Church of Tchazzar.”
“I’m not. But you don’t have to be to revere Chessenta’s savior. Or to look into every possible source of aid now that our enemies are pressing us hard. Will you help me?”
Aoth deferred the necessity of answering by taking another sip of liqueur. The cordial suddenly tasted too sweet, and burned in the pit of his stomach.
He had an unpleasant sense of being caught up in matters he didn’t understand. There were too many anomalies. The unanswered questions about the Green Hands and the apparent treacheries of the dragonborn. Nicos’s unexpected mystical skills, and his claim that after almost a hundred years, rumors of Tchazzar’s survival had reached him only now, just when Chessenta was in urgent need of its champion. To say the least, it was a remarkable coincidence.
But did Aoth need to understand? Did he even want to? Or did he want to keep to his… well, definitely not his place. Though he observed the proper forms of respect to the lords of the world, particularly if they were employing him, he’d long since forsaken true subservience to anyone. But his role, the one he’d freely chosen for himself, was to be the sellsword captain who fought for gold and reputation without caring or having to care about the plots and maneuvers that sent realms to war in the first place.
That role was in jeopardy now. If he pushed Nicos for further answers, gave the nobleman reason to suspect his loyalty, it might slip from his grasp forever.
“You realize,” he said, “that even if a spy did find Tchazzar alive, that doesn’t mean a mere man could fix whatever problem is holding a dragon helpless.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to try,” Nicos replied. “He just needs to report his findings, and then I’ll decide what to do next.”
Aoth grunted. “All right. I’ll send someone to run this errand too. If anyone notices, I’ll just say I’m dispatching scouts across the border to gather intelligence on Alasklerbanbastos’s forces.”
Khouryn sat with his feet stretched out toward the campfire and his back against Vigilant’s flank. The griffon’s body heat prevented the chill of the evening fog from sinking into her rider’s bones, and keeping her close discouraged her from taking an inappropriate interest in the horses and mules.
Naturally he wouldn’t have done it if any of his companions minded having such a big, potentially deadly animal lounging close at hand, but none of the dragonborn did. In the main they seemed to be hearty, practical folk like dwarves or sellswords, and he liked them more every day they traveled together.
And that had been long enough that he was starting to feel like he could relax and enjoy their company. They’d journeyed at a good pace. Maybe fast enough to outrun the news that Tymanther had supposedly betrayed Chessenta.
Balasar, who justly took pride in his camp cooking, handed him a grilled trout fillet wrapped in a big leaf from some aquatic plant. The best route from Luthcheq into Tymanther ran along the northern shore of the Methmere. The frequent mists were one of the inconveniences. The fresh fish were one of the advantages.