She nearly fumbled the catch. “You’re giving it to me?”
He snorted. “Certainly not. Why in the name of the Black Bow would I give away anything as valuable as that? You’re claiming it as part of your rightful share. Don’t let the box get banged up. That’s valuable too.”
She shook her head. “All right.”
A cloak pin set with a big, black pearl and made of some strange, green metal-likely either a substance native to some other plane or the product of an alchemist’s researches-caught Gaedynn’s eye. He bent over to pick it up. “This one is mine, and I’ll knife the son of a sow who tries to tell me different.”
When he straightened back up, Aoth was standing before him, his blue eyes glowing in the gloom. He’d set aside his shield and carried a wineskin in his off hand. Most likely he’d found it among the wyrmkeepers’ belongings. He proffered it and Gaedynn took a swig of something red, lukewarm, and acidic. Awful, really, but at a moment like this, it would do.
“Thanks,” he said, passing the wine to Son-liin. “It’s about time you got in here. You’ll miss out on all the best swag.”
“It looks like there’s enough to go around,” Aoth replied. “Anyway, Cera and I found what we really need among the wyrmkeepers’ sacred things: notes on how to disguise abishais as dragonborn. They should help us convince Arathane that Tymanther hasn’t been raiding into Akanul.”
Gaedynn chuckled. “Ah, yes. In theory, that was the point, wasn’t it? In the midst of all this gold, I have trouble remembering.”
“Well, maybe it will come back to you on the flight back to Airspur,” Aoth replied. “We leave at first light, so get some rest.”
“ ‘The flight,’ ” Gaedynn repeated. “You make it sound like we’re parting company with the firestormers.”
“We are. We’re in a hurry, and I imagine they can make their way home without us.”
“I agree,” said Gaedynn, glancing around at the genasi. “They turned out to be tougher than I gave them credit for. Or maybe this little excursion toughened them up. But don’t you think Mardiz-sul’s testimony might help us persuade the queen? He is a noble, after all.”
“We’ll sit him down and have him write it out.”
“All right, then. If I need to make myself sleep, then give me some more of the swill.” He turned to recover the wine from Son-liin, then hesitated.
He wasn’t quite as perceptive at reading genasi expressions as human or elf ones. The patterns of glinting lines distracted him a little. But the stormsoul seemed to be working up the nerve to say something.
She swallowed. “You warned me that if I flew on a griffon, I’d want to do it again. Well, I do. I mean, I want to go with you and be a sellsword too.”
“It means leaving everybody and everything you know,” Gaedynn said. “That’s part of the reason to do it.”
Gaedynn smiled. “It is, isn’t it? I remember.” He turned to Aoth. “We need new blood, and she showed she can handle herself tonight.”
To his surprise, Aoth looked back at him with a certain sardonic cast to his expression. Since Gaedynn regarded himself as cleverer than most people, his captain included, it irked him a little that he didn’t understand why.
And Aoth’s next words didn’t enlighten him. The Thayan simply turned to Son-liin and extended his hand. “Welcome to the Brotherhood of the Griffon, archer. But don’t expect a griffon of your own right away. That could be years in the future, if you ever get one at all.”
TEN
28 E LEASIS, THE Y EAR OF THE A GELESS O NE
Jhesrhi surveyed the companies of warriors drawn up for review with a veteran’s knowledgeable eye. Some men-at-arms stood at attention in straight lines with identical gear in their hands and on their backs. Others, including many of the sellswords, slouched, scratched their noses or their rumps, and were far more diverse with regard to their weapons and armor. Peasant levies fresh from the fields carried axes made for chopping wood, or even sickles or hoes as often as not, and gawked at all that was happening with wonder and trepidation.
The disparities in equipment and deportment notwithstanding, in the aggregate, the various units of humans, genasi, and a sprinkling of other folk added up to a formidable army. And despite Jhesrhi’s delaying tactics and the loss of Shala’s organizational abilities, it was an army that looked ready to march. Jhesrhi assumed that Tchazzar was about to give the order until she noticed how his demeanor was changing.
At first, riding back and forth on a white horse with red and gold trappings, the sunlight gleaming on his gilded armor, the war hero had been the expansive, enthusiastic monarch who’d initially charmed the realm. He’d chattered about dozens of topics, some relevant, some not, and joked with both officers and men-at-arms. Gradually, though, his mood darkened, for no particular reason that Jhesrhi could discern. He glowered at one or another of the units arrayed before him, then abruptly jerked the reins to turn his steed and rode on to the next without a word. Exchanging surreptitious looks of concern, his deputies and Queen Arathane’s representatives rode along behind him.
Until eventually they all fetched up in front of the siege engineers and artillerymen, who stood before the long wagons bearing their towers and mangonels broken down for transport. A few men wore badges or amulets in the shape of scrolls to identify them as namers, priests of Oghma, god of knowledge and invention. Wizards newly added to that particular corps sported green tattooing on their hands; the old stigma had become a sign of royal favor. A couple of the arcanists smiled up at Jhesrhi, and she made herself smile back.
At the front of the group was an old, stooped earthsoul named Jarelamar, whose reputation was such that even the Chessentans, with their high opinion of their own martial prowess, had agreed to put him in charge of that particular company. Bowing low, he said, “We’re ready to travel, Your Majesty.”
Tchazzar grunted. “Are you? Then tell me how you’re going to crack open Djerad Thymar.”
The elderly genasi cocked his head. “Your Majesty?”
“Am I speaking Aragrakh? I need to get into the dragonborn’s fortress quickly. Ideally before the end of summer. Tell me how you intend to accomplish it.”
Jarel-amar hesitated. “Majesty, I certainly recommend investing Djerad Thymar and prosecuting a siege as diligently as we can. And who knows what opportunities we’ll discover? But at the same time, we should be realistic. The place is a citadel like no other. It’s more likely to fall to starvation than anything else.”
“I agree,” Magnol said. Akanul’s Steward of the Fire was a burly warrior with skin the color of brick. The lines running through it were duller than average, more copper than gold. Though of the highest quality, his arms and armor had a plain functionalism to them that reminded Jhesrhi of Aoth’s and Khouryn’s gear. “Surround the capital, lay waste to the rest of the kingdom, and eventually the dragonborn will have no choice but to surrender. But it’s likely to take a little time.”
“I don’t want their surrender!” Tchazzar snapped. “I want to exterminate them! Their crimes against our two peoples require nothing less! Or don’t the genasi agree?”
Magnol and Zan-akar Zeraez exchanged glances. Then the ambassador said, “Majesty, that would certainly be the… optimal outcome. But the queen hasn’t instructed us that we must inflict that ultimate degree of retribution. If we simply conquer the dragonborn, force them-”
“Shut up!” Tchazzar snarled. “The dragonborn have to die, now, by my hand, before another play-never mind! I’ll hang the next man who tells me it will take years or can’t be done at all!”