Magnol was courageous or maybe just didn’t understand how volatile Tchazzar truly was. Either way, he answered the war hero in a cool, matter-of-fact way that again reminded Jhesrhi of Aoth. “Majesty, my sovereign has placed my troops at your disposal, and you can count on our obedience. But I’ll need you to explain what we must do to achieve the outcome you envision with the resources at our disposal.” He waved his hand at the army drawn up on the field. A tiny ripple of flame ran along the top of his thumb. The pseudo-mind inside Jhesrhi’s staff nudged her to start a fire of their own.
Tchazzar followed the gesture and took another look at his assembled forces. From the sour cast of his expression, perhaps even he was finding himself forced to admit that his host, formidable as it was, was unlikely to reduce Djerad Thymar in a month, a season, or conceivably even a year.
Then, however, he laughed, wheeled his horse, and spurred the animal into a gallop. He raced away from the field as fast as his steed’s legs could carry him. His companions gaped after him in astonishment.
After a heartbeat or two, one of Tchazzar’s bodyguards remembered that he wasn’t supposed to let his master wander around unescorted. Spurring his own mount, he yelled, “Come on!” Whereupon everyone else, warriors and dignitaries alike, pounded after him.
Tchazzar led them all past the ongoing demolition that was clearing the site for the new temple and deeper into Luthcheq’s crazily twisting streets. It occurred to Jhesrhi that Gaedynn would have grinned to see all the overly dignified aristocrats struggling to keep up. He would have particularly enjoyed watching Halonya bouncing along, white-faced and pop-eyed, her miter fallen away and left in the dust.
But Jhesrhi couldn’t relish the prophetess’s discomfiture. She was too worried about where Tchazzar’s latest notion was taking them. And even Gaedynn would have stopped laughing when the living god rode right over an old woman who was too slow getting out of his way and hurtled onward without a second glance. A pear from the woman’s wicker grocery basket rolled into a muddy puddle.
Tchazzar halted in front of a gymnasium and bathhouse. What had led him to that particular establishment, as opposed to one of its many counterparts around the city, Jhesrhi had no idea. The monarch swung himself off his horse and, without bothering to tie the animal or secure it in any way, strode toward the main entrance.
By the time his entourage reined in their steeds, the war hero had disappeared inside the building. Somebody, the doorkeeper, perhaps, gave an involuntary squawk when the lord of all Chessenta unexpectedly barged in.
“What’s happening?” Hasos asked.
Jhesrhi replied with a shrug and a scowl. She liked the baron better than she used to, but at that moment, it felt unfair that she was the one expected to understand.
They all scurried after Tchazzar as soon as they could climb down from their saddles. They found him in a spacious, high-ceilinged room with straw mats on the floor. Apparently the athletes he’d interrupted had been tumbling or wrestling.
Those athletes were boys, none of whom looked older than eight or nine. Dressed in breechclouts, they were kneeling in front of their sovereign. So were their teacher and the various mothers and servants who’d brought them to the lesson.
“Rise!” Tchazzar boomed. He spun around and gave Jhesrhi and her companions a wide, white-toothed grin. “There you are! It’s about time! Here’s our weapon! Here’s the power that will burn Tymanther like a dry leaf in a bonfire!”
“Majesty, I don’t understand,” Jhesrhi said. She figured she had to. Everyone else looked too wary or bewildered.
“I’ve explained,” Tchazzar said, “that I draw power from the faith of my people. You must remember.”
Jhesrhi remembered his claiming he drew power from blood sacrifice. It had been his justification for the slaughter of the prisoners at Soolabax. But she knew better than to point out the discrepancy.
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Well, watch this.” He spun back around, grabbed a child by the forearms, and hoisted him into the air. The little boy gasped. His pulse beat visibly in the side of his neck.
“Who am I?” Tchazzar asked.
The child just goggled at him.
“Who am I?” the dragon repeated, his tone harsher. A wisp of smoke fumed from his mouth. A hint of crimson scales rippled across the last joints of his fingers.
A god, Jhesrhi thought. Tell him he’s a god.
And perhaps one of true gods whispered that answer in the child’s ear. For, stammering almost inaudibly, his voice rising at the end, that was what he said.
“Good!” Tchazzar cried. He dropped the child and gave him a slap on the back that knocked him to his hands and knees. He turned back to Jhesrhi and the assembled lords, clerics, warriors, and envoys. “You see? The pure, perfect faith of an innocent. The greatest power in all the world. Chessenta’s children will march with us and stand in the vanguard. With their god on the field to inspire them, they’ll do deeds to put the paladins of myth to shame. And with them to bolster me, I’ll finally be myself as I was before I went away. Invincible! Beyond the reach of anything that lurks and creeps in the dark!” He stared at Halonya. “Isn’t that right?”
Please, Jhesrhi thought, this one time, don’t feed his madness.
Halonya hesitated. Then she said, “Yes, Majesty, it is. You’ve found the answer.”
Magnol shot Zan-akar Zeraez an inquiring glance. The diplomat responded with a tiny shake of his head, advising the Steward of Fire to say nothing. Maybe it was because the children of the genasi were safe in Akanul.
It occurred to Jhesrhi that conscripting the children might actually aid Aoth’s strategy because it would inevitably slow the march south, thus buying more time for her friends to accomplish their missions. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t allow any possibility that children would end up on a battlefield facing dragonborn warriors, not if she could possibly avert it.
“Majesty,” she said.
Tchazzar turned his grin on her. “What?”
“I don’t pretend to understand the mysteries of faith,” she said, “but if you say the children will give you strength, then I know it must be so. Still, surely it’s their prayers that will do it, not a struggle to spill blood with their own hands. And can’t they pray just as well in Luthcheq? I would think, better.”
Halonya glowered at her. “His Majesty has explained how it’s going to be.”
Jhesrhi lowered her head. “Of course, sister. Forgive me if I spoke foolishly. I already confessed that I don’t understand sacred matters. So let me just say how much I admire your courage, and then I’ll hold my tongue.”
“Yes, that would be-” Halonya blinked. “My courage?”
“Surely,” Jhesrhi answered. “If the point is to channel the power of the children’s belief, then I assume His Majesty will want his high priestess standing right there among them in the front lines.” She turned to Tchazzar. “Am I right?”
The Red Dragon nodded. “Yes. That does make sense.”
Halonya hesitated and her eyes shifted from side to side. If she was looking for help, it was to no avail. Even enthusiastic supporters such as Lord Luthen opted to keep quiet.
So she swayed, staggered, and whirled around, arms outstretched, vestments flapping and jewelry swinging and clanking. Most of the young athletes goggled at her, although one tried to hide a smirk and whispered to his neighbor.
“Spirits have spoken to me!” Halonya declared. “The dragon exarchs who love Your Majesty!”
Jhesrhi had never heard of the “dragon exarchs,” but Tchazzar simply asked, “What did they tell you?”
The priestess hesitated for a heartbeat. Jhesrhi assumed that she was working out exactly how to put what she had to say.