Where Medrash was concerned, “painful” was surely an understatement. But he also no doubt recognized that a fellow defender of Tymanther, even a member of the Platinum Cadre, both needed and had a right to the information. He told the story of the fall of the bat, and of all that followed, in a calm, clear manner.
“So you see,” he concluded, “the ash giants have learned new tricks. They’re even more dangerous than they were before. And I hope you won’t take it badly if I repay your hospitality by presuming to give you some advice.”
Nala smiled. Even sitting cross-legged in the dirt, the skirt of her robe puddled around her, she still had the trick of swaying almost imperceptibly from side to side. “You don’t need to,” she told Medrash. “We can guess what you’re going to say. If a company of Daardendrien’s finest couldn’t defeat the giants, then plainly we perverse, crazy outcasts have no hope of doing so.”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Medrash replied. “I don’t share your beliefs and never could, but I wouldn’t answer kindness with an insult. What I will say is that most of your troops are nowhere near as well armed as Sir Patrin. Some don’t appear in the best of health. I’ll hazard a guess that those same fellows haven’t spent much time in the training yard in recent years, nor has your company had much opportunity to drill together as a unit. So perhaps you’re not ready to march deep into enemy territory. Maybe you could better serve Tymanther by garrisoning a post along the border.”
Patrin rose. “I regret dragging you to your feet again so soon, but I want to show you something.”
They all tramped over to one of the carts the cadre officer had mentioned. He picked up a sack that smelled of rot. The stink grew stronger when he dumped the contents out.
Those contents were severed ears, too big for a dwarf or human head, and the gray was their natural color. It was the brown and purple spots that betrayed decay.
“I know taking this sort of trophy is a little barbaric,” Patrin said. “But after the war is over, we need to be able to prove what we accomplished.”
“And then the doubters will see the truth and value of our path,” Nala said.
Medrash shook his head. “How did you accomplish this?”
“I just told you,” the wizard said, her upper body weaving a fraction of an inch from side to side. Khouryn wondered if the rhythmic motion was a symptom of some malady or just a nervous tic. “With Bahamut’s aid. By embracing the dragon nature inside us.”
“If you say so,” said Balasar, “but I think my clan brother was asking about tactics.”
Patrin shrugged. “Well, as to that, I doubt they’re different from what anyone else would use. But if you’d like to see us in action, I’m glad, because I have a proposition for you.”
“What’s that?” Medrash asked.
“You came to the Plain to fight and so did we. So join us.”
Medrash hesitated. “None of us wishes to accept your faith.”
Patrin smiled. “Well, I certainly don’t expect you to. I recognize the device on your shield, just as I know that when a paladin pledges himself to a god, the commitment lasts forever.”
Plainly even more perplexed than before, Medrash narrowed his eyes. “How do you know I’m a paladin?”
“Because like speaks to like. You might feel it too if not for your… preconceptions. But here’s the point. We won’t press you or any of these others to embrace our beliefs. If they come to Bahamut, let it be in their own time and for their own reasons. I want you because Clan Daardendrien has a reputation for valor, and so do the dwarves of East Rift. And because you have horses. They’re in sad shape now, but it’s nothing feed, rest, and a little magic won’t cure-and I need outriders.”
“We intended to head east,” said Balasar, “to report our experiences to the Lance Defenders.”
“Perfect,” Nala said. “That’s the way we’re headed. Now that we’ve tested ourselves in a couple of battles, we’re going where the giants are thickest.”
“I’d like to discuss this with my comrades,” Medrash said. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”
A scowl flickered across Nala’s face, but Patrin said, “By all means.”
Medrash led his clan brothers and Khouryn several paces away from the Bahamut worshipers and the cart. “What do you all think?” he asked.
“I’ll do whatever you and Sir Balasar want,” said an umber-scaled Daardendrien warrior. “But can it be honorable to fight alongside dragon-lovers?”
“It might be more honorable than slinking home with nothing but defeat to report,” Balasar said. “Lunatics or not, this war band is winning its battles.”
“And if we ride with them,” Khouryn said, “we’ll share in any future victories. And even if they don’t locate any more of the enemy, it’s safer than traveling this wasteland alone.”
“I’ve always looked down on the Platinum Cadre,” Medrash said, “and now I feel ashamed. These warriors have done us nothing but good. Maybe saved our lives. Perhaps they aren’t mad or depraved but simply misguided.”
Balasar grinned. “So we accept Patrin’s offer.”
“If everyone agrees.”
Khouryn looked around the circle and saw that everyone did.
The day never brightened past a kind of filthy twilight. Even Jhesrhi’s golden hair and eyes couldn’t shine. In fact, for the first time Gaedynn could remember, she didn’t look beautiful.
Or maybe that was just because he was angry.
“Are you sure?” he asked, realizing even as the words left his lips just how stupid they were.
Jhesrhi waved a hand to indicate the wooded slopes around them. “You yourself told me that a lot of the trees and bushes are different, and even the contours of the hills. By all accounts, shadar-kai live in the Shadowfell as well as Netheril. And there’s no sun in the sky. What do you think?”
“That we’re in the Shadowfell.” From what he understood, it was a distorted shadow the mortal world cast to give form to an adjacent universe. Or something like that. “Even though the wizard in our little band never sensed we were going astray until it was far too late.”
She glared. “If your stories aren’t all lies, you and your elf friends used to visit other worlds on a regular basis. Voices of the Abyss, you actually used the trick to shake the Simbarchs’ army off our tail when we were marching through the Yuirwood. So don’t make out that I’m the one who should have noticed the transition!”
Her refusal to take the blame had the paradoxical effect of dissolving his annoyance. Perhaps because it was likely the way he would have responded himself.
“The elves took me to the Feywild.” A reflection of the mortal world as fair as the Shadowfell was foul. “Well, and on one unpleasant occasion, the Sildeyuir. But even then it was hardly the same thing as blundering into the Shadowfell. Still, it’s remotely conceivable you have a point. Perhaps we’re both to blame-or neither. Let’s agree on neither. But tell me this. How did it happen? We didn’t pass through a circle of standing stones or anything else that looked like a portal to me.”
“Or to me. But scholars say it’s possible for two worlds to overlap, often intermittently.”
“So in this case, a bit of the hills becomes a bit of the Shadowfell on the darkest nights. Because that’s when the two places are most alike.”
“I think so.”
He grinned. “I should have been a scholar myself.”