The voice belonged to a Rashemi warrior, half a head taller than many of his comrades, with a square, clenched jaw and glaring brown eyes. He was wearing some sort of multicolored beadwork regalia, every piece of it sporting a griffon motif. Rearing processions of the beasts ran around his headband and armbands, while one big one leaped from the mountain scene on the front of his vest.
Jhesrhi wondered why he looked so angry.
This is Vandar Cherlinka, said Bez. I expect you ll meet any number of hospitable Rashemi during your stay. He s not one of them.
Vandar scowled at the gibe, and Jhesrhi thought she knew why it had hit the mark. As she understood it, the Rashemi held hospitality sacrosanct.
And what is your story? asked Aoth, addressing himself to the newcomer.
Perhaps surprised by the other man s mild, reasonable tone, Vandar blinked. But the Rashemi s voice remained as gruff as before. The griffons are a miracle of the Three, he said. Never in memory have they bred in such numbers. I lead the Griffon Lodge, and I helped bring the beasts down from the mountains. Nothing could be plainer than that the spirits mean for my brothers and me to ride them in Rashemen s defense. They surely don t intend for the Iron Lord to barter them away to outlanders for mere coin. Especially for filthy Bane-worshipping Thayans to turn against us!
Aoth snorted. You think I m Szass Tam s emissary? he asked. How would that work, exactly, at a court where any such agent could only expect to be killed on sight? It s true, I was born in Thay, but I renounced that allegiance a long time ago, and the lich would have me tortured and killed if I ever fell into his hands. Now, if the spirits are supposed to decide who gets the griffons, how s that going to happen?
What it really means, said Bez, is that the hathrans will decide whose offer to accept. The Iron Lord is just their intermediary in the matter. Rumor has it that they re waiting for a sign.
I assume, said Aoth to Vandar, that the Wychlaran have their own seat of power somewhere in town.
The Rashemi s eyes narrowed. Yes. The Witches Hall, he replied.
Then I don t know why all of you are loitering here when you could be making pests of yourselves there instead, said Aoth. Cera, Jhes, drink up, and we ll pay them a call.
Bez laughed. They won t see you, he said.
They ll only mark you down as impudent and impious.
Aoth grinned. Maybe they wouldn t see you, he retorted, but I had the foresight to bring a female priestess and a wizard to Immilmar along with me. We ll improvise some masks for them if we have to.
This might work, Jhesrhi said. She willed a caul of flame to spring forth from her face.
Vandar recoiled a half step before catching himself with a scowl. Evidently a lodge chieftain wasn t supposed to show fear. Jovial until that moment, Bez narrowed his dark, somewhat bloodshot eyes as though he suddenly believed that Aoth might well succeed in claiming the griffons.
The door in the far wall banged open, and a dozen men, including the guard who d escorted Jhesrhi and her companions to the hall, swept through. The one in the lead was as tall and as muscular as Vandar, but older, with a sprinkling of white in his close-cropped beard. He wore an iron circlet on his head, a fine leather doublet with an intricate design hammered in, and deerskin boots that cross-laced up to his knees.
He was almost certainly Mangan Uruk, the Iron Lord. A smallish Shou in a long green gold-trimmed coat and an Aglarondan officer headed straight for him. Ignoring them and Aoth, Cera, and even Jhesrhi with her mask of fire he strode straight up to Bez, who tried not to look as surprised by it as everyone else was.
Bez bowed. Highness he began.
Your ship, Mangan rapped. How soon can it take flight?
As soon as I give the order, Bez replied. He was plainly exaggerating, but Jhesrhi suspected only by a little. Is something wrong?
Yes, the warlord said. How badly wrong remains to be seen. A sparrow that brought word died while it was still trying to explain. Either it strained its heart struggling to reach us, or something poisoned it.
A sparrow that brought word, Jhesrhi thought, marvelling. According to travelers tales, Rashemen was supposedly as full of talking animals as it was of Nature spirits. Maybe the stories were true.
Well, said Bez, don t you worry. I ll soon have you there to see for yourself. He raised his voice to a shout. Storm of Vengeance! Get up, you lazy bastards! His Highness needs us!
Even the more inebriated sellswords scurried to attend their captain. At a shout from the scar-faced half-elf who had to be their commander, the Aglarondans made haste to bestir themselves as well. Though the Iron Lord hadn t asked them for transport, they plainly meant to accompany him anyway, in the hope of finding a way to ingratiate themselves. Lacking his own means of flying, the Shou in the green and gold coat pleaded with Bez and then the half-elf for a ride. Both ignored him.
Aoth turned to Jhesrhi. Can you make the wind carry all three of us as you did that night in Luthcheq? he asked.
Of course, she replied, frowning.
Good, Aoth said. It seems Bez and the Aglarondans mean to make themselves useful and ingratiate themselves with the Iron Lord and thus, I assume, the witches, too. We need to fly along with them and do our part. People were already streaming out of the chamber. Come on.
Take me, too! Vandar said.
Sorry, said Aoth. It would be stupid of me to help a rival.
All you outlanders are jumping at the chance to serve, Vandar called. But there are a lot of sellswords in Bez s crew, a lot of Aglarondans, and only three of you. How can you expect to accomplish anything the others can t do better, unless you have a companion who knows this land to help you?
Aoth hesitated. There s no way of knowing if that will make a difference, he said.
But it might, Vandar replied. Are you afraid that one Rashemi berserker will outshine all you sophisticated southerners?
Aoth chuckled. When you put it that way, I don t suppose I am, he said. Ever flown before?
No, Vandar answered.
Then I should bring you along, said Aoth.
Afterward, you may not even want the griffons.
TWO
Jet hadn t seen any of his own kind since departing Luthcheq, and the prospect of doing so pleased him. Although to give them their due, humans made for decent company. Indeed, he shared things with them that he never could with his less intelligent kin. But he also possessed nonhuman feelings and perspectives that even Aoth, with their psychic link, could only partly understand.
Spiraling out from Immilmar, Jet found a pride of griffons quickly enough, in a snowy field just north of town. But he also found the soldiers who were tending the beasts; their tents and the banner of Aglarond were planted in the frozen ground. Jet inferred that the simbarchs had dispatched an envoy and his escort to try to buy the wild griffons, and those folk had left their winged mounts just far enough out of town to spare them the constant temptation of horseflesh on the hoof.
As usual, Jet reflected sourly, Aoth had landed them in a situation that was proving to be more complicated than expected. He considered advising the war mage of his discovery, then decided that Aoth had probably already found out this particular bit of bad news for himself.
So Jet simply and mischievously screeched a greeting as he flew overhead. Griffons below cried in response and restlessly shook out their wings. Their keepers scurried about, calming them and making sure they wouldn t try to take flight and join their fellow in the sky.
Jet found the feral but ensorcelled griffons, the ones the Rashemi presumably meant to sell, prowling on the white hillsides farther to the east, or soaring and circling above them. His eyes widened at their numbers. It was astonishing that they d bred or been captured in such profusion, and he had little doubt that wizardry or the whim of a god was involved.