“Those are the Lance Defenders down there,” Medrash said.
“Yes,” Khouryn said. “I figured that out.”
“Well,” Balasar said, “at least nobody’s going to pay much attention to the fact that our band of Daardendriens lost its own little battle.”
Medrash turned his head to glare. “This is really not funny.”
“I agree,” Nala said, swaying ever so slightly from side to side in the saddle. “It’s a sacred moment. The turning of the tide.”
“What do you mean?” Khouryn asked.
“Surely it’s obvious,” the wizard replied. “This proves that only the Platinum Cadre can stand against the ash giants, and that means our people won’t be able to scorn us anymore. To the contrary. Come on. We need to talk to the commander.” She kicked her horse into motion.
Patrin smiled at Medrash. “It’s a great day for you too, brother,” he said. “When Tymanther starts honoring Bahamut, I’m sure it will pay homage to Torm as well.” He rode after Nala.
Khouryn didn’t, and neither did Medrash and Balasar. Plainly they all felt the same impulse to sit on their mounts and confer quietly while the foot soldiers of the cadre passed on either side.
“I’ve always hoped more of our people would take up the worship of Torm,” Medrash said, “but not at such a cost. And I don’t say it just because Bahamut’s a dragon god, despicable as that is. There’s something more wrong with all this. And something sick about what happens to some of these cultists in battle.”
“I agree,” Khouryn said. “And I’ve come to believe what you do-that somehow it’s a part of something bigger, although don’t ask me what.” He chuckled a mirthless chuckle. “From the start I’ve known I don’t have a head for intrigue, and all my bewilderment since has only gone to prove it. But it occurs to me that if I took the vanquisher up on that offer of employment, maybe I could help your troops win without joining in Nala’s prayers. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but dwarves are good at fighting giants.”
“You’d do that?” Medrash asked.
“For a little while. If our hunches are right, it might be the most useful thing I can do for the Brotherhood.”
“Then that’s the plan,” Balasar said. “You two go win battles while I infiltrate the cult.”
“What?” Medrash asked.
Balasar grinned. “They’re not going to believe that a dwarf wants to discover his dragon nature. Or that you want to worship their god when you never stop prattling about the one you’ve already got. Who does that leave except me to do the hard part as usual?”
Cera floated in the midst of warmth, light, and an order sublime in its perfection. All things revolved in relationships that, though complex, were so stately and invariant that only peace was possible.
She understood that everything she was experiencing was Amaunator. He’d received her into his presence, even if he hadn’t chosen to reveal himself in anything approximating human form.
She rejoiced until luminous spirits-bright against brightness but somehow, in this place, visible nonetheless-appeared. They took hold of her and gently urged her toward a dim spot that hadn’t been visible before.
She knew they were doing Amaunator’s bidding, and so resistance was inconceivable. Still, she grieved as they guided her down into coarseness, gloom, and inconstancy.
For a moment, she felt heavy as lead and knew her spirit had fused with her flesh once more. She opened her eyes and, though her vision was blurry, spied Aoth sitting beside her bed.
“You’re crying,” he said. Using a callused fingertip, he brushed the tears away from her eyes.
“I was sad,” she said, “but it’s better now.”
“Does that mean you’re all right? The other sunlords said you strained yourself drawing too much of Amaunator’s power. They prayed over you.”
“And you sat with me.”
He snorted. “I even argued for the privilege. There’s already a story going around that it was the evil Thayan mage who unleashed abishais on the town, and even some of your own people seem to suspect there’s some truth to it.”
She smiled. “Well, they are good judges of character.”
He handed her a cup of water. “Thanks so much! Apparently I’m not a good judge of character, because I had no idea you were going to follow me. Why in the name of the Firelord didn’t you tell me?”
She sat up, felt momentarily dizzy, and decided she wouldn’t try standing up just yet. She sipped from the cup, and the cool water felt wonderful in her dry mouth and throat. “Would you have agreed to it?”
“I doubt it.”
“Then there’s your answer. It all worked out, so don’t complain. Tell me what you discovered.”
He did, although when he finished she felt little wiser than before.
“Was it just a few wyrmkeepers stirring up trouble,” she asked, “or is it the entire Church of Tiamat? And either way, why? Chessentans have a dragon for a hero, so they ought to like us.”
“On the other hand,” said Aoth, “Threskel has dragons, undead and otherwise, for lords.”
“There’s that, I suppose. But didn’t you find any papers or… something?”
He grinned. “Some convenient document revealing everything there is to know about the plot? I’m afraid not. Be satisfied that we learned something and that there probably won’t be any more imitation dragonborn trying to murder me so long as I’m based in Soolabax.”
“There has to be more we can do to solve the puzzle.”
“I don’t see what. We’ve reached the end of the trail here in the barony. And remember, nobody’s paying me to figure it out. My job is to fight Threskel. I’ll send word of what we learned back to Luthcheq. Lord Nicos and the war hero can decide what to do with the information.”
She shook her head. “And curiosity won’t drive you crazy?”
“Somehow I’ll bear up under the strain.”
Maybe he could at that. But he wasn’t a priest of the god who’d granted them a vision of a council of dragons. It was her sacred duty to find out what it meant, and how it related to wyrmkeepers, abishais, and all the trouble that had overtaken her kingdom.
And that was just as well. Because unlike Aoth, she was too curious to stop pondering and prying. So it was good to know Amaunator approved.
His wounds already half healed, his deep voice growing louder with each syllable, Tchazzar chanted the final couplet of the incantation. Although his feet didn’t leave the ground, Gaedynn had a paradoxical sensation of soaring. Then sunlight washed away the murky dusk that was as close as the Shadowfell ever came to day.
The Sky Riders were dangerous in their own right, but in comparison to the dark world they seemed like paradise. Jhesrhi looked around at the flourishing, green-leaved trees and the patches of blue sky visible through their branches with a rare smile on her face.
Gaedynn knew she had reason to smile. They’d succeeded in their mission beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. Now that he’d come home, Tchazzar could well prove to be the key to victory. And on top of that, Jhesrhi had somehow purged herself of the old fears that had afflicted her ever since her return to Chessenta. She hadn’t talked about it, but Gaedynn could see the difference.
So he ought to share her happiness. He was trying. But when he looked at the colossal red dragon looming behind her, gazing at the world he’d lost and regained in a sort of ecstasy, a thought came to him that made elation difficult. He told himself he had no reason to think such a thing, but the question persisted nonetheless.
What exactly have we done?