“Get your sword,” Gaedynn snapped, “then help kill this one.” He showed which one he meant by shooting the smaller dragonspawn in the flank. The wound made it falter, and Jet slashed it across the snout with his beak.
Mardiz-sul scurried to retrieve his blade. “The other one’s bigger!” he called.
“Trust me!” Gaedynn loosed another shaft then, with a pang of reluctance, set down his bow, reached across his body with both arms, and drew his short swords because it would be too dangerous to keep shooting at the dragonspawn with Jet, Cera, Mardiz-sul, and Eider all scurrying or flying around it. He was too likely to hit one of them instead.
He and Mardiz-sul charged the dragonspawn together while Eider swooped in overhead. Then Gaedynn fought as Khouryn taught squads of warriors to tackle a big opponent, attacking the reptile whenever its attention was elsewhere and defending whenever it oriented on him. That took focus, but he tried to keep an eye on the firesoul too.
Mardiz-sul had sense enough to evade when he realized the reptile was about to attack him. But he had trouble keeping track of all its natural weapons. At one point Gaedynn had to bellow, “Left!” The firestormer looked in that direction, saw the tail whipping at him, and dropped low just in time to avoid a broken neck or skull.
Cera’s flying mace blinked out of existence. Chanting, she swept the similar but fully corporeal weapon in her hand over her head in an arc, then, on the final word of her prayer, thrust it at the dragonspawn. Even though Gaedynn wasn’t the target of the spell, he felt a fleeting twinge of fear. The reptile recoiled in sudden panic.
That meant it dropped its guard relative to its other foes, who seized the chance that afforded them. Gaedynn thrust with one sword, then the other. Eider plunged down on top of the dragonspawn. Her momentum slammed it down on its belly, audibly snapped bones, and left its legs splayed out flat at unnatural angles. Jet pounced and bit away a big piece of its neck.
The reptile was clearly finished, so Gaedynn and Jet both pivoted immediately, orienting on the other fight. At some point, Aoth had evidently managed to cast an actual spell or two because his dragonspawn had burns down the length of its scaly body. It was also thrashing and straining in an effort to break free of the grip of a dozen black tentacles that grew from the mosaic flooring underneath it.
Aoth didn’t give it a chance to get loose. He shouted words of power that made Gaedynn’s ears ache and spun his spear over his head. The twirl looked like the sort of unnecessary flourish that got fools killed in melee, but since Aoth wasn’t a fool-at least where combat was concerned-it was no doubt a part of the spell. He drove the spear in behind the dragonspawn’s shoulder, and magic rotted its body to nothing in a heartbeat. The tentacles melted away along with it.
Aoth immediately lowered his left arm. Gaedynn realized it was the same one the dragonspawn’s breath had caught. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I think it’s out of the socket,” Aoth replied.
“I wish I’d realized. I thought you had things under control.”
“I did. I used a tattoo to mask the pain.” Aoth looked around. “How’s everyone else?”
“How do I look?” Jet rasped. Mardiz-sul jumped. He might have seen griffons up close before, but he’d almost certainly never heard one talk. Jet was unique.
“Scratched,” Aoth replied unsympathetically. “Cera, will you attend to the poor maimed chick? Since there’s no else who needs it worse.”
Gaedynn looked around and saw that it was true. There were no dead or grievously injured bystanders littering the terrace. It was a final bit of proof that the dragonspawn had been targeting Aoth, Cera, and him, not that he’d had any doubt of it before.
“Well,” he said, “now we know that Vairshekellabex has a spy at Arathane’s court too.”
“Apparently,” said Aoth. He turned his gaze on a dragonspawn carcass. “I suppose I’d call those scales gray. But they’re a shiny kind of gray.”
“Whatever they are,” Cera said, “won’t this convince the queen that we’re telling the truth?”
Gaedynn grinned. “Don’t count on it. Remember, we just finished a war where we fought dragons, many of which might well be holding a grudge. If I wanted to discredit us, I’d simply suggest that our recent troubles followed us to Akanul.”
Mardiz-sul shivered. He’d fought courageously once he got going, but since the threat was past, the fear that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before was nibbling at him. “This is what it’s like to fight dragons,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Jet answered anyway, with a screeching laugh. “This is what it’s like to fight dragonspawn. True wyrms are far more dangerous.”
The firestormer swallowed. “Captain, I… suppose we could talk further about how the expedition should be led.”
Tchazzar claimed Jhesrhi’s gift was a surprise, and so he chattered about everything but the gift as he led her through the War College. He rattled on about his plans to sculpt every remaining natural exterior surface of the fortress into a huge bas-relief celebrating his reign, the preparations for the invasion, salacious stories about Sune and other deities, and a dozen other subjects.
Perhaps he meant it to distract her. But she soon realized they were heading for the dungeons, and a chill crawled up her spine. Did he still suspect her of helping Khouryn to escape? Was he taking her back to the scene of the offense in the hope that she’d do something incriminating? Or had he already made up his mind that she was guilty and decided to punish her in the same place where she’d betrayed him?
Her fingers tightened on her staff, and the presence inside it stirred at the prospect of a fight, idiotically so, for the fire in which it delighted would be useless against a red dragon, whose own nature partook of flame. Even if Tchazzar were a wyrm of a different breed, it would be insanely optimistic to think that she could prevail against such a creature by herself.
The war hero spoke the password that Shala had taught her, then led her down the stairs. The door swung open before them, seemingly of its own accord, and the guards in their alcove leaped up and saluted when their sovereign came into view. In his haste, one overturned his chair, and it clattered on the floor.
Instead of conducting Jhesrhi down the next flight of stairs, to the level where she’d found Khouryn and fought the wyrmkeepers, Tchazzar ushered her into the stench and muddled noise of the cells crammed full of prisoners. She felt some of the tension quiver out of her muscles and tried not to let her relief show in her face.
The captives fell silent as they spotted Tchazzar and her. “Do you know who these wretches are?” he asked.
As was often the case when she responded to him, she tried to frame an answer warily but quickly, so he wouldn’t notice any hesitation. “Folk accused of crimes against either the Crown or your Church. Against you either way.”
Tchazzar grinned. “Mostly right but not completely. One is accused of crimes against you.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You’ll see.” He waved her down a branching corridor. The cells along the sides were dark and empty, except for one halfway down on the left.
The wavering yellow light of the torch burning in a wall sconce revealed a pale, flabby, white-haired man lying facedown in dirty straw. Someone had torn away most of his clothing, the better to flog his back to scabby ribbons oozing pus.
“Show your face,” Tchazzar said. “Quickly! Or I’ll order the inquisitors to slice away something else.”