“That may be,” Lehaya said, “but I ask you not to blame me for viewing the matter through the eyes of the law. It’s why I hold the office that I do.”
Aoth smiled. “As I suppose it’s safe to say that Lord Myxofin holds his office because he knows his way around an abacus and a counting house. He’s the kind of fellow who’ll wake up at night screaming if it turns out that Akanul squandered a great sum to march its army south and then simply marched it home again.”
The Steward of the Sea smiled a thin little smile, as though he were half amused and half offended by Aoth’s characterization of him. “I admit, Captain, that I would find such waste regrettable on its own terms.”
“Well, maybe you’ll feel better if you know that Akanul will at least come out even on the deal.” Aoth turned to Gaedynn. “Bring out that cloak pin.”
For once, the archer looked surprised. But he removed the green metal ornament from the pouch on his belt and held it out for everyone to see. The genasi goggled at it, Myxofin most of all.
“I thought,” said Aoth, “that I recognized the pin from stories I’d heard, and I see from everyone’s reaction that I was right. It’s the Brooch of the Tide Masters, isn’t it, lost amid the upheavals of the Spellplague. One of the great treasures of Akanul in general and of Lord Myxofin’s family and office in particular, and just the kind of treasure a man hopes to find in a dragon hoard. Please, Sir Gaedynn, restore it to its rightful owner.”
“With the greatest of pleasure,” the archer said, and only someone who knew him as well as Aoth did would have caught the sarcasm. “This is out-and-out bribery!” Tradrem said.
It took Myxofin a moment to tear his gaze away from the ornament of green metal and black pearl in his palm and answer. “I’m not susceptible to bribery, milord. But I do think Captain Fezim has a point. In a sense, this does go a considerable way toward balancing the books.”
“For you personally!”
The clerkish Lord of Coin drew himself up straight and tall. And despite his more massive frame and truculent demeanor, Tradrem’s eyes widened, and his upper body shifted slightly backward.
“My family has always regarded ownership of the Brooch of the Tide Masters as a sacred trust,” Myxofin said, “and my forefathers always used it for the benefit of all our people. If you claim otherwise, say so plainly, and you and I will proceed from there.”
Tradrem’s mouth tightened. “My lord, you know I meant no such thing. But I do say that the restoration of this treasure is like the destruction of the gray dragon. It’s a good thing in and of itself, but it has no bearing on whether or not we ought to invade Tymanther.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Arathane said. “The Lord of Water himself gave the Brooch of the Tide Masters to our people, or so the legend goes. Perhaps the fact that it came here on this day, borne by those who counsel peace, is significant.”
“And perhaps it isn’t,” Tradrem replied. “Whereas there’s no ambiguity whatsoever about our history with Tymanther.”
“That’s true,” said the queen, “and the day may indeed come when we march on the dragonborn. But not this season. Not while the aboleths pose such a threat, and not because a vicious dragon tried to trick us into it. We’ll recall Lord Magnol and the troops.”
Aoth let out a long breath and took malicious satisfaction in Tradrem’s glower.
As he’d expected, the Steward of the Earth wasn’t the only one who was disgruntled, or at least professing to be. Gaedynn confronted him as soon as they exited the throne room.
“Am I correct in assuming,” the redheaded bowman asked, “that you knew what the cloak pin was the moment you saw it back in Vairshekellabex’s cave?”
“Pretty much,” said Aoth. “It’s crawling with magic, and as you know, I can see things like that.”
“And yet you didn’t warn me that I was claiming something as the greater part of my share that you fully intended to give away.”
“For what it’s worth, I was actually hoping we wouldn’t have to.”
Humor tugged at the corners of Gaedynn’s mouth. “Well, we shouldn’t have, no matter what the need. Who gives away loot? Let’s hope we get back to acting like proper sellswords before we forget how.”
Balasar dozed for a while then woke to throbbing pain from head to foot. He considered trying to fall back asleep. It would surely be beneficial if he could manage it, but he doubted that he could.
And he didn’t feel like simply lying awake on the hard, stone floor, staring up at the cavern ceiling, and aching. If he got up, there might at least be something to distract him from his discomfort. So he pushed away his blankets and dragged himself to his feet, even though that made everything hurt worse.
Most of his comrades were sound asleep. Only a few of the floating orbs of glow remained, just enough to allow the healers and the sentries to do their jobs. Balasar considered applying to the former for relief. But he couldn’t ask them to squander their spells, medicines, and other resources just to ease his pain when other wounded folk were barely clinging to life. He decided to divert himself by chatting with one of the guards and, feeling like a mummy in his tightly wrapped linen bandages and malodorous ointments, hobbled toward the nearest.
He made it a few steps before his back cramped. He let out a grunt through gritted teeth.
Biri threw off her covers, jumped up, and hurried over to him. Her white scales and long, silver piercings were ghostly in the gloom. “What are you doing up?” she whispered.
“I just couldn’t sleep,” he replied, keeping his voice just as low and trying not to voice his distress.
Perhaps he failed at the latter because she put her arm around him and helped him to a spot where a bulge at the bottom of the cavern wall made a sort of bench. She helped him sit, then plopped down beside him.
“Better?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Truly? I can fetch someone-”
“Thank you, but yes, truly. Medrash hauled me back from the brink. As soon as he gets around to giving me another dose of healing magic, I’ll be good as new.” He grinned. “Although apparently that won’t be until after Praxasalandos is fit to travel. I never thought to see the day when a Daardendrien would put a stinking wyrm ahead of his own clan brother. Nor do I understand why a creature capable of splitting into dozens of drops of quicksilver and then putting himself back together needs any help recovering.”
Biri smiled. “That is a mystery. I guess it makes a difference whether he’s changing his own body on purpose or some outside force is doing it.”
“I defer to the wisdom of a magus.”
They sat quietly for a few heartbeats. Then she said, “It will feel strange to divide the company, especially in the middle of this warren.”
“I agree. But there’s no scheme so harebrained that Medrash won’t try it if he imagines Torm whispered it in his ear.”
She chuckled. “Back in Djerad Thymar, everybody says you’re the reckless, feckless one.”
“Only when it comes to sensible pursuits like winning bets and chasing… well, sensible pursuits. Anyway, I suppose the first part of the plan isn’t entirely idiotic because we might actually be running short on time.”
And such being the case, he, Medrash, Khouryn, Nellis, and Prax would exit the caverns to the east, where they let out on the Plains of Purple Dust. It was a shorter hike than backtracking, and then the quicksilver dragon would fly his companions over the mountains. If everything went accordingly to plan, they’d reach Skyclave and ultimately Tymanther quicker than they would have otherwise.
“What about the second part?” Biri asked.
“Oh, that’s completely crazy, of course.”