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Along with Hasos, Halonya, Kassur Jedea, and some other dignitaries, Jhesrhi was standing near the dais in a robe of crimson damask. A ruby-studded tiara helped to hold her blonde tresses in the elaborate arrangement some hairdresser had created. But despite her finery, she looked drawn and tired, perhaps even haggard in a subtle kind of way. Gaedynn could see it in her golden eyes and the set of her mouth, and it made him dislike Tchazzar all the more.

She smiled and started toward him and Aoth, but then the Red Dragon strode through a door at the back of the hall, and everyone had to fall silent and bow or curtsy.

“Rise,” said Tchazzar, flopping down on the throne. “Captain Fezim, Lord Corynian, come forward.”

Gaedynn supposed that meant him too, and even if it didn’t, he had no intention of hanging back. He wanted to be close to his friends if things turned ugly.

When they were all standing before the dais, Aoth said, “Your Majesty, I have good news. It took some doing, but we eliminated the threat in Threskel.”

Frowning, Tchazzar stroked his chin. “And who were the traitors?” he asked.

“Once-human liches and other undead who formerly served Alasklerbanbastos,” Aoth replied, “and who had apparently been geased to avenge him in the event of his destruction.”

Gaedynn thought it was a good lie. When you fought the living, you generally ended up with fresh corpses, prisoners, and friends and kin lamenting the loss of the fallen. But slaughtering the undead didn’t necessarily produce the same sort of evidence that a struggle had in fact taken place. It would be hard for a skeptic to prove that the Brotherhood hadn’t destroyed a pack of phantoms somewhere out in the wilds.

“Are you sure the creatures didn’t serve Jaxanaedegor?” Tchazzar asked. Gaedynn would have asked the same thing, considering that the green was a vampire and, as he and Jhesrhi knew firsthand, numbered other undead among his followers.

“Yes,” said Aoth. “During the battle, some of the undead spoke of the Great Bone Wyrm.”

“Fair enough, then,” the war hero said. “Now tell me why you ignored my order to report to me as fast as possible and let your company catch up with you.”

“As we all know,” Aoth said, “the undead are poisonous, and after we fought them, sickness broke out among the men. Fortunately the chaplains and other healers controlled it. But what kind of war leader would have left his command before he was sure the problem had been contained? Not your kind, Majesty, not if all the stories about you are true.”

“But what about my priests?” Halonya demanded.

“I believe I already explained that in a dispatch,” said Aoth. “They visited us, they left to return to Luthcheq, and that’s the last I know about them.” He returned his gaze to Tchazzar. “Majesty, you’re my employer, and I’ll answer any question you put to me. But still, I wasn’t expecting quite this sort of interrogation. I expected you’d be glad to hear that I eliminated one nest of enemies, and then we’d discuss the next campaign.”

Tchazzar stared back at him for a few moments and, suddenly, he grinned. “Right you are, Captain, especially with regard to the planning! I delayed my departure until you and your company arrived because Lady Jhesrhi tells me you know how to take Djerad Thymar.”

Aoth smiled wryly. “Does she? All right, what do we know about the place?”

During the discussion that followed, Jhesrhi caught Gaedynn’s eye. They obviously couldn’t speak freely in front of Tchazzar. But he could tell she was eager for some indication of whether there was any reason for hope that the invasion could be stopped. He gave her the tiniest of nods.

And a guard by the door announced Zan-akar Zeraez just a few moments later.

The ambassador had a grim, clenched look to him. Gaedynn was glad because it meant the stormsoul intended to act in accordance with the message Son-liin had given him.

As he should, for the badge she wore to identify herself as a royal herald and the parchment bearing Arathane’s seal were legitimate. But Zan-akar wouldn’t have been the first officer serving abroad to ignore orders from home if he found them inconvenient or unpalatable.

Tchazzar beamed at him. “My lord! This is perfect… or would have been if you’d brought Lord Magnol with you! Now that Captain Fezim has finally seen fit to grace us with his presence”-he gave Aoth a wink-“we can make final plans for the campaign and march at dawn tomorrow.”

Zan-akar took a breath. “Majesty, it is with the profoundest regret that I must ask you to excuse Akanul from any such undertaking. Queen Arathane has ordered our soldiers home.”

Tchazzar gaped at him. “Why?”

“Apparently,” the stormsoul said, “evidence has emerged to prove beyond doubt that dragonborn did not commit the atrocities inside Akanul. Arathane suggests you evaluate the possibility that they weren’t responsible for the killings inside Chessenta either.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Tchazzar snapped, and smoke puffed out of his mouth.

As though in response, a spark or two crawled on the silver lines in Zan-akar’s skin. But Gaedynn had to give him credit. That was the only sign he was afraid.

“I can only repeat what my queen wrote to me,” Zan-akar said, “and assure you she isn’t someone who jumps to rash conclusions.”

“We have a pact!” Tchazzar said. “More than that, we have an opportunity. To destroy a hated enemy once and for all.”

“I promise you,” Zan-akar said, “you don’t have to teach me or any genasi to detest the dragonborn. I pray for the day when our two peoples will unite to humble them once and for all. But it appears that day is yet to come. I beg Your Majesty to understand just how grave a threat the aboleths pose to Akanul, and how vulnerable we are with the bulk of our army elsewhere.”

“I should kill you,” Tchazzar said. More smoke swirled from his mouth and nostrils, and a subtle patterning suggestive of scales sketched itself on his neck.

“Clearly,” the genasi said, “you can if you choose. I’m at your mercy. But I ask you to consider how such a breach of custom and diplomacy would reflect on the honor of a great king and the dignity of his court.”

“Are you impugning my honor?” Tchazzar asked.

“No, Majesty, simply asking you to reflect.”

“Go!” the war hero snarled. “I want you out of my kingdom! You, Magnol, and all your craven, unnatural kind!”

“As you command, Your Majesty.” Zan-akar bowed and turned to go.

You lucky bastard, Gaedynn thought. The gods only know what we’re going to need to do to get Jhesrhi-and the whole Brotherhood, for that matter-out of Tchazzar’s clutches, and you, he orders away.

But he didn’t entirely begrudge the envoy his good fortune. Zan-akar had been an aggravation almost from the day Gaedynn and his comrades had arrived, but he’d acquitted himself bravely in the face of Tchazzar’s wrath.

Tchazzar clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. The smoke stopped fuming out of his nostrils, and the scales melted off his skin.

Then he leered out at the assembly. “This is actually excellent news,” he said. “Arathane’s timidity means more glory and plunder for the rest of us.” He looked at Aoth. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Possibly,” Aoth replied. He then launched into an analysis of how the loss of their genasi allies would likely affect the course of the coming war. He pointed out one difficulty after another but never said that the invasion had become too risky. He wanted Tchazzar to draw that conclusion for himself.

Any rational human monarch would have, but Tchazzar was neither the one nor the other, and as Gaedynn watched the Red Dragon’s jaw set with stubbornness, he wondered if killing Vairshekellabex had been pointless. Maybe it had simply ensured that the war in the south would last longer and cost more sellswords their lives than would have been the case otherwise.