“I didn’t ‘blurt,’ ” Gaedynn replied. “I weighed the options, then told the queen and her deputies we were behaving exactly as people expect knavish sellswords to behave. It was something they could understand. Did you really want to claim that we were here because Amaunator sent us? Reveal that we revived Alasklerbanbastos? Maybe call the gruesome brute into the royal presence to vouch for us?”
“Yes!” Cera said. “Because it’s the truth, and it might have worked. Your way didn’t.”
Gaedynn smiled crookedly. “I admit, you have me there.” He turned to Aoth. “What do you think?”
Aoth shook his head. “It’s possible the genasi just hate the dragonborn too much and that plans for the war have progressed too far for our arguments to have prevailed no matter what we said. It’s even possible that Tradrem-or Lehaya or Myxofin-opposed us because he’s secretly in league with one of the dragons. After all, Nicos Corynian-our own original employer, may the Black Flame help us-took bribes to advance Skuthosin’s schemes.”
Gaedynn took a sip of chilled green tea. “I’m getting tired of feeling like somebody’s always a move ahead of us. Or worse, that we still aren’t really players at all, but merely pawns. It’s injurious to my pride.”
Aoth snorted. “I suspect it will withstand the blow.”
“We can only hope. So what’s the plan now? I don’t suppose it’s simply to give up, fight in Tchazzar’s new war and profit thereby like sensible sellswords, and then clear out of Chessenta as soon as it’s practical?”
“Sorry,” said Aoth.
“Then how about this? I’ll fly back to Threskel and fetch a few dozen of our fellow griffon riders to accompany us on a dragon hunt.”
“No,” said Aoth. “Someone would likely notice the absence of so many and send word to Tchazzar or Halonya. We three are already taking a big risk just by being gone ourselves.”
“Hunting Vairshekellabex and his wyrmkeepers and whatnot all by ourselves strikes me as a fair-sized risk as well.”
“We have Alasklerbanbastos,” Cera said, chicken, mushrooms, and chucks of red pepper impaled on the skewer in her hand. “Our own wyrm to pit against the other.”
“Right up until the instant he sees a chance to turn on us,” Gaedynn said. “Excuse me. I meant, turn on us again. I realize that if we go ahead with this, we probably have no choice but to use him as a weapon, but-”
Aoth leaned sideways. Gaedynn realized it was so he could look past him. “Company,” the warmage said.
Gaedynn turned. Well dressed in a wine red taffeta jacket and cambric shirt, a firesoul was striding across the terrace with its scatter of round tables, mosaic floor, and low parapet. The pattern of golden lines on his face was asymmetrical, with more on the right than the left. Gaedynn wondered if it was the genasi equivalent of a birthmark. Whatever it was, the fellow was handsome enough otherwise, with an aristocratic self-assurance to his expression and a swagger in his walk.
Aoth rose and offered his hand. “I believe we met some comrades of yours on our journey to Airspur. The patrol led by Yarel-karn.”
For a moment, Gaedynn wondered how Aoth knew the genasi belonged to the Firestorm Cabal. Then he noticed the rectangular gold ring on the middle finger, with its dusting of tiny garnets. Some of the riders in the red-coated patrol had worn similar ones, and even at a distance, Aoth’s spellscarred eyes had spotted it.
The firesoul blinked. “Really? How are they faring?”
Gaedynn grinned. “Not so badly, thanks to us.”
“Then you’ll have to tell me the story. But first I’d like to discuss something else.” He glanced at an empty chair. “May I?”
“Certainly.” Aoth sat back down in his own chair. “Maybe you should start with your name.”
“And how you knew to come looking for us,” Gaedynn added, “when we’ve only been in the city half a day.”
“Of course,” said the firesoul. “My name is Mardiz-sul. I’m a Bright Sword in the Cabal.” Gaedynn surmised that was a position of authority. “And I knew you were in Airspur because our fellowship has more friends that most people realize, including some close to the throne.”
In other words, Gaedynn thought, Arathane’s court was as rotten with intrigue as Tchazzar’s.
“Then I assume,” said Aoth, “that you know what was said in our ‘private’ audience with the queen.”
“I do,” said Mardiz-sul.
“And you believe us?” Cera asked.
“Well, sunlady,” the firesoul said, “I’m inclined to. We firestormers flatter ourselves that we know the lands where the attacks occurred better than the army does. And although our scouts and trackers have searched, we haven’t found the hidden trail the dragonborn allegedly used to sneak all the way north from Tymanther and then back home again. But we have heard rumors of a gray dragon. And if it’s really there, I imagine it’s powerful and malicious enough to get up to all sorts of tricks.”
Cera smiled at him. “If you’re leading up to telling us you’ll give us the help we need, then Amaunator bless you today and forevermore.”
Her warmth appeared to make Mardiz-sul uncomfortable. “Ah, thank you, sunlady, truly. But nothing’s decided yet. I believe that Captain Fezim asked for fifty men-at-arms, with the implication being that he would be in command.”
Aoth frowned. “That’s right.”
“I mean no insult, but that’s unacceptable. Firestormers expect to be led by one of their own. I can’t ask them to follow a Thayan with a dubious reputation.”
Gaedynn grinned at Aoth. “Imagine if he had meant to insult you.”
Aoth shot him an irritated glance then turned his luminous blue gaze back on the genasi. “I respect your honesty. I trust you’ll respect mine if I talk to you in the same way.”
Mardiz-sul hesitated. “I suppose.”
“Can I assume Yarel-karn is well regarded within the Cabal? The rest of you don’t think of him as incompetent, a simpleton, or anything like that?”
“No!” said Mardiz-sul. “Of course not.” Flame flowed along one of the golden lines on his hand, stopping just short of the ring.
“Well, as Gaedynn mentioned, we helped him and his men. They needed it because he made a mistake no competent professional soldier would make.”
“Anyone can make an error,” Mardiz-sul replied.
“Anyone who lacks training and experience,” said Aoth. “Does that describe you? I ask because I suspect you mean to command the expedition to kill Vairshekellabex, with the three of us tagging along as guides and advisers.”
“I come from a noble family,” the genasi said, glowering. “My forefathers were warriors remembered to this day. Naturally my education encompassed the martial arts.”
“But I’ve got a hunch you’ve never had to apply what you studied,” said Aoth. “Not until the army abandoned the settlers in the hinterlands, and that so bothered you that you felt called to join the firestormers.”
“And as long as we’re talking about training and experience,” said Gaedynn, “let’s not limit the conversation to you and Yarel-karn. I assume the fellows who would accompany us are the firestormers you can gather quickly, the ones here in Airspur as opposed to those already making themselves useful out in the borderlands. Who are they, new recruits? The rawest of the raw and the greenest of the green?”
“You have no right to jeer at us!” said Mardiz-sul. “The Cabal has saved hundreds of lives since it began!”
“I believe it,” said Aoth, his tone conciliatory. “Yarel-karn and his men fought bravely. I’m sure you and the warriors who follow you do the same. My point is simply that you’re not seasoned professionals, and we’re talking about going after a dragon and its servants. To have a fighting chance, you need to let the two fellows who are professionals apply their skills to best advantage. That means letting me command with Gaedynn as my lieutenant.”