“Did anyone else see that?” asked Aoth.
“I didn’t,” said Jet, “and I was right up there with you, watching for signs of treachery.”
“I have to admit,” said Mardiz-sul, “I didn’t see it either.”
“Because your imagination doesn’t run away with you in a tense situation,” Gaedynn said.
“Mine doesn’t either!” Son-liin snapped. “I grew up in these mountains! I’m more accustomed to their dangers than any of you!”
“You are one of their dangers,” Gaedynn said.
A moment earlier, Aoth had been more than ready to berate the person responsible for starting the fight. But Gaedynn was doing such a fine job of heaping scorn on her head that his own displeasure seemed superfluous.
“Well, we all came out of the scrape in one piece,” he said. “And it was a nice shot, all the way from the trail up the hill to the top of the wall. You yourself couldn’t have done too much better.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gaedynn said. “Of course I could. Partly because I’m not a panicky child.”
One firestormer muttered to the comrade next to him. Aoth couldn’t catch the words, but from their tone, he surmised that the genasi agreed with Gaedynn’s assessment.
“Son-liin,” said Aoth, “you’ll look more carefully next time. Now let’s move on. We captured this miserable outpost, so we might as well search it. I want maps. Papers. I doubt that any of the orcs was much of a writer, but their chieftain may have been.”
Lightning ripped through the black sky, and rain fell in torrents to hammer the rooftops of Luthcheq. Watching through the casement of her chamber, Jhesrhi thought that it was as if the true gods were rebuking Tchazzar’s pretensions by demonstrating what genuine divine power could do.
But even if that fancy had been true, the mad dragon was incapable of comprehending such a lesson. So it was up to Jhesrhi to address his ambitions in a more practical way.
Despite the danger, she was eager to do so. For a long while, she’d felt torn between Gaedynn, Aoth, and the Brotherhood on one hand, and Tchazzar on the other. Despite the war hero’s vices and lies, a part of her had clung to the notion that he was the savior so many Chessentans believed him to be. That in time he’d recover from his ordeal in the Shadowfell and cast off cruelty and arrogance like a serpent shedding its skin.
But his actions had steadily chipped away at her faith. Maybe it had been the sight of Khouryn bound to the rack, or of the poor, bewildered old man with his tongue torn out, that finally shattered it altogether. Maybe it was the eerie moment when she saw something twist in the dragon’s mind, and he started believing the wretch groveling before them truly was her father, for no other reason than that he wished it to be so.
Whatever it was, it had finally turned her against him for good and all because she believed that even if some miracle healed his reason, he’d remain just as vicious and devious as before. A creature who, even if he imagined himself capable of loving human beings, ultimately regarded them as nothing more than pawns on a lanceboard.
It was time to show what one pawn could do when she moved herself.
Jhesrhi put on an old, gray, hooded cloak Aoth had given her shortly after rescuing her from the elemental mages. It had seen so much hard wear that Gaedynn said it made her look like a beggar. But she’d kept it anyway, and certainly, no one would mistake it for the sort of ornate, elegant garments she’d worn of late.
She took up her staff, and it urged her to set something ablaze. Not tonight, she thought, not in this downpour. That would be far too much work and too suspicious as well.
She opened the casement. The rain battered her. She spoke to the wind, and howling, it picked her up off the little balcony.
She wasn’t worried that anyone would see. She was just a dark speck moving against the black sky.
Despite the weather, it was exhilarating to fly again, although not as exhilarating as it would have been on Scar’s back. She felt a fresh pang of loss for the steed who’d given his life to save hers, and wondered if she’d ever ride a griffon again. Then she scowled as she recognized the thought for what it was: a tacit admission of the fear that she’d never escape her current situation.
The wind carried over the precinct being demolished to clear a space for Tchazzar’s temple, then to the encampment beyond. In some portions, the tents stood in orderly rows, while in others a person would have to weave his way through. Jhesrhi suspected that the lower sorts of sellsword, the undisciplined ruffians who gave them all a bad name, were responsible for the areas of disarray.
She landed in the shadow of one of the outlying houses the camp had grown up around. It was late enough that no light showed through the windows shuttered against the storm. She walked on, her feet sliding in mud and slopping through puddles. Sensing that she still had work for it, the wind that had borne her aloft lingered close to her, gusting in one direction, then another. It made her cape swing back and forth like a bell and kept threatening to shove her cowl back off her head, not out of prankishness or resentment, but simply because it didn’t know any better.
She spotted a sentry huddled under a tree and passed within a stone’s throw of him. He didn’t challenge her. With a flicker of a smile, she decided that she probably would have needed to brandish a severed head and scream “Death to Chessenta!” to draw him out from under the meager shelter of the dripping branches, especially since, in a patchwork army, strangers were constantly wandering around.
In time she stopped under a tree of her own, as anyone who needed a respite from the drenching sting of the rain might. She stared out at the supply tents and wagons a short distance away, shifted her grip on her staff, and spoke to the wind again.
What she said was an incantation of sorts, possessed of a precise cadence and punctuated with words of command. But she didn’t feel like she was giving orders. Prior to the war with Threskel, she’d spent enough time in Luthcheq to get acquainted with the breezes and gales hereabouts, and it was more like asking help from friends.
It was help they proved eager to give. The wind roared and threw the wings of her cloak out in front of her like flapping banners. She had to snatch at the tree to keep from falling. And she wasn’t even the target of the blast. She was simply standing at the fringe of it.
It shoved the tents out of shape and sent ripples streaming through the canvas. A wagon rocked sideways, then settled back on all four wheels.
“More,” Jhesrhi murmured, and the wind wailed louder. The raindrops caught in the surge almost seemed to be hurtling horizontally, not falling from the black clouds on high.
A piece of tent ripped loose from the rope and stake holding it in place and flapped wildly. Other sections did the same until one tent flipped over, exposing its contents to the wind and rain. For a few heartbeats, the lines on the far side of the neatly stacked supplies anchored the canvas like a leash holding back a frantic dog. Then it tore loose and flew away.
One by one, the other tents pursued it into the night. Meanwhile, the piles of foodstuffs and other items essential to an army on campaign blew apart. Kegs tumbled over the ground until they ruptured and spilled the ale inside. Bags split and surrendered their contents to the gale. The flour looked like a band of ghosts put to rout, while the fletchings were too small for human eyes to make out in the rain and the dark. Had Jhesrhi not been attuned to the wind and perceiving partly as it perceived, with a sort of touching at a distance, she wouldn’t have noticed the bits of feather flying away.
With a crash, a first wagon overturned. Others followed. She couldn’t tell how badly they were damaged, but at least their contents came tumbling out of the cargo beds for the elements to scatter, pilfer, and foul.