“And you couldn’t convince Tchazzar to let him go. The madwoman won that round.”
Jhesrhi scowled and a line of flame oozed up the staff. “The point is that if Tchazzar won’t free him, I have to. And I need help.”
“You’d risk everything the dragon’s given you-and your own freedom and your own life-to accomplish this?”
“I only have a handful of friends, High Lady. Khouryn’s one of them.”
“He’s also a dwarf, and Chessentans don’t like them any better than sorcerers. So why should I risk everything that I have left to help him?”
“Because you know he’s being punished just for following your orders. Because it will do you good to give Halonya a poke in the eye. And because you know that, even leaving the question of justification aside, it’s rash and stupid for Chessenta to invade Tymanther right after fighting a war in the north.”
“And freeing your friend will keep that from happening?”
“It might help,” Jhesrhi said, then explained how.
Shala grunted. “It sounds like a feeble hope to me.”
“It may be. But also consider that you won’t be running all that much of a risk. I’ll be the one taking the big chances.”
“I’m not a coward!” Shala snapped.
“I know that, High Lady. But you are the one who keeps asking why she should help me. I’m giving all the reasons I can think of.”
“What exactly do you want from me?”
“Halonya dangled Khouryn in front of me as bait,” Jhesrhi said. “She wants me to go after him so she can kill or capture me and then convince Tchazzar I’m a traitor.”
Shala fingered the scar on her square jaw. “That sounds about right.”
“Still, I have to rescue Khouryn and do it without using my most potent magic because if I invoked the wizardry of the four elements to do the job, it would be like signing my name.”
“I suppose so.”
“If I’m going to manage anyway, I need to know about the dungeons under the War College. Where exactly is Halonya keeping Khouryn? Are there mechanical or magical snares along the way, and if so, how do I bypass them? Where are guards generally posted, and where are the wyrmkeepers likely to wait in ambush? I know you can tell me. You’re the type who makes it a point to learn everything about everything over which you hold authority.”
Like Khouryn himself.
Shala sat and thought for a moment then stood up abruptly. “If you’re lying to me, then I swear by the Foehammer that I’ll see my blade in your heart before Tchazzar takes me into custody. Now come look at a book. It has diagrams of the tunnel system in it.”
As he sipped the bitter beer the villagers had given him, Gaedynn reflected that it was odd to feel welcome and at ease among genasi. During his time in Luthcheq, he’d come to regard the Daardendriens and Perra as friends, and the Akanulans at court, who despised the dragonborn, as hostile to himself and all the Brotherhood as well.
But there was none of that here. These genasi were effusive in their gratitude. Even Aoth’s appearance didn’t faze them, although, once Gaedynn thought about it, perhaps that made sense. The tattoos that decorated Aoth’s body, face included, somewhat resembled the patterns of lines that crisscrossed the Akanulans’ skins, and with his shaved scalp, exposed after he’d removed his helmet, he was as bald as the earth- and watersouls.
Cera slumped beside him with her hand resting on his. She looked as if she could barely keep her eyes open. Gaedynn gathered that turning the waterfall to holy water-a trick he wished he’d witnessed-had taxed her mystical strength considerably. Then she’d expended what magic remained to cast healing charms on Jet and the more sorely wounded genasi warriors.
“I wish I knew how to repay you,” said Yarel-karn. The leader of the war band was a surprisingly young firesoul with an earnest, studious cast to his ruddy features. Flame rippled along one of the golden lines on the top of his head. It reminded Gaedynn of the way fire would sometimes spring, seemingly of its own volition, from Jhesrhi’s new staff. For a moment, he wished she were there, then, annoyed with himself, pushed her out of his thoughts and refocused on what was happening around him.
Aoth smiled at Yarel-karn. “Well, now that you mention it, there actually might be a way.”
“Anything!” the genasi said.
“We’re on our way to Airspur to seek an audience with the queen,” said Aoth. “If an officer in Her Majesty’s forces passed the word along that we helped him out, it might help us get in.”
“And lend weight to our words when we do,” Gaedynn added.
To his surprise, the firesoul looked chagrinned. “It might. Except that, unfortunately, you’ve mistaken me-us-for something we’re not.”
Aoth frowned. “How so?”
“We’re not part of the army. We belong to the Firestorm Cabal.”
After a moment Aoth said, “Which is?”
Yarel-karn looked surprised and perhaps slightly crestfallen that they didn’t know. “Volunteers. You see, as ordered by the queen and the stewards, the army concentrates on protecting the capital and the lands closest to it. But the settlers on the northern and eastern borders need protection too. In fact, they need it more! This region is full of dangers.”
“So your cabal patrols it,” said Aoth.
Gaedynn grinned. “And no doubt the authorities are grateful to you for taking up the slack.”
Yarel-karn’s eyes narrowed. Then he relaxed as he decided Gaedynn’s sarcasm wasn’t directed at him. “No. They tolerate us. But they also resent our existence for what it is: an implicit judgment that they’re letting the people down.”
Gaedynn looked at Aoth and said, “In other words, a testimonial from our friends here would be worse than useless.”
Aoth rubbed a hunk of brown bread around inside his bowl, soaking up the last of the vegetable stew. “Well, at least the food is good.”
Jhesrhi disliked the cool, oily feel of illusion on her skin. It wasn’t unpleasant per se, but it was a reminder that she was relying on magic with which she was less than an expert.
She glanced around, making sure no one was watching, then started down the narrow, stone stairs. Dread welled up in her mind, a feeling that something awful would happen if she continued her descent. She whispered the password Shala had given her, and the enchantment released her from its grip.
At the bottom of the steps stood a more mundane barrier: a sturdy, ironbound door. She kneeled and whispered coaxing words into the keyhole as if it were a stubborn child’s ear. The pins clicked as they released, just as if a key were lifting them, and she pulled the door ajar.
Everything had been easy enough so far, but that was what she’d expected. The wyrmkeepers would let her get close to Khouryn before they sprang their trap. That way, there could be no doubt as to her intentions.
She crept past a guard station. Something-either the enchantment of stealth she’d cast or a smile from Lady Luck-kept the two men inside from looking up from their game of cards.
On the other side, a block of cells stretched away into the dark. Her mouth stretched tightly with disgust at the stench. Voices murmured. A child wept and a woman begged her to be quiet so the “bad men” wouldn’t come back.
Jhesrhi shook her head. She’d had some awareness that alleged traitors and scoffers at Tchazzar’s divinity were being rounded up, occasionally on flimsy pretexts. Still, she hadn’t realized just how many were caged there underground.
Surely, she thought, Tchazzar doesn’t realize either. It’s Halonya-
But that was a lie, and she rejected it with a twinge of self-contempt. Tchazzar, whose damaged mind saw threats and treachery everywhere, was to blame. Halonya’s desire to avenge slights past and present, real and imagined, and to enrich her church with confiscated coin and property, simply fed the fire.
But whoever was responsible for the Chessentan prisoners’ plight, Jhesrhi hadn’t come to do anything about it. She cast about and found another set of stairs, leading down to the part of the dungeons the wyrmkeepers had claimed for their own.