The spectators headed toward the center of the marketplace, where many folk were starting to cheer. Nala, Patrin, Balasar, and the rest of the neophytes followed.
On horseback, the lancers loomed above the heads of the crowd. Despite all the excited people crowded together in front of him, Balasar could more or less see Medrash and the rest of the procession riding past. Unlike the Platinum Cadre, the patrol hadn’t mutilated the bodies of fallen giants for trophies. But they had appropriated the barbarians’ huge stone weapons to show what they’d accomplished.
“This is glorious!” Patrin said.
He didn’t see the scowl Nala gave him, but Balasar did. At that moment, it was difficult to believe the two were lovers.
As the servant ushered Gaedynn into Hasos’s study, he reflected that he and the baron had a good deal in common. They were both gently born and followed the profession of arms. They were still young and good-looking, and in their disparate styles took pains with their appearances. Still, he could tell from Hasos’s frown that it wasn’t likely to be a particularly cordial meeting.
I don’t like it either, Gaedynn thought. But if I have to swallow the stone, then so do you.
Hasos stood up from behind his desk, although not with any great alacrity. “Sir Gaedynn,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“My scouts report that the dragons and their creatures are closer than we’d hoped.” Gaedynn noticed a map on the desk and pointed to a spot in Threskel. “As of this morning, they were here. Which means that to carry out Captain Fezim’s strategy, we need to break the siege now.”
Hasos’s frown turned into an outright glare. “That’s impossible.”
“To the contrary. It’s entirely feasible, especially since we have powerful wizards on our side.” At least they might be powerful. Gaedynn hadn’t seen any irrefutable evidence to the contrary.
Hasos made a spitting sound. “Wizards. Devil-worshiping degenerates.”
Gaedynn grinned. “Not anymore. Not since Tchazzar proclaimed them to be fine fellows, one and all. More to the point, whatever you think of them, we can put them to good use.”
“Still-”
Gaedynn decided it was time to move on from unfounded optimism to outright lies. “It’s also my pleasure to inform you that the war hero and the army under his personal command are now on their way to Soolabax. They’ll advance onto the battlefield when their sudden appearance will do the most damage.”
“Where’s the messenger who carried this news? Why didn’t you bring him to me right away?”
“Because it was the mage Jhesrhi Coldcreek, speaking to me from far away. The spell didn’t last long enough for me to send someone to fetch you.”
“Then have one of the ‘powerful’ wizards who are still in the city communicate with her. Or Captain Fezim. Or the war hero himself.”
Gaedynn smiled and spread his hands. “I wish that were possible. But as you may know, every sorcerer has his own secrets and specialties. Oraxes and his fellows truly are formidable, but alas, none of them is a master of the particular art in question.”
Hasos sneered. “You have an answer for everything.”
“I like to think so. Unfortunately, it’s clear you don’t find any of them especially convincing. But you can believe this: We’re going ahead with Aoth’s plan, and Tchazzar will receive a report of the outcome. It’s up to you whether he hears that you gave your wholehearted support or balked at every turn.”
His voice tight with resentment, Hasos said, “When exactly are we planning to launch the attack?”
FOUR
4 KYTHORN, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Nicos Corynian loved his family and made a point of taking his evening meal with them whenever practical. That night, however, the bright, trivial chatter of his wife and nieces grated on his already jangled nerves. As soon as he could make his escape, he headed for the private study that served him as a kind of refuge.
His hand with its scarred knuckles trembling ever so slightly, he opened the door, set the single white wax candle he’d brought along on the dice table, and headed for the walnut cabinet in which he kept strong drink. The taper was sufficient illumination for the moment. He’d worry about lighting the lamps when he had some brandy inside him.
A deep voice sounded from the shadows. “Good evening, milord.”
Startled, Nicos lurched around. A robed and hooded figure rose from one of the chairs between the dice table and the wall. The apparition stepped forward and Nicos saw the eerie blue glow of its eyes.
Aoth pushed the cowl back, and the yellow candlelight gilded his tattooed face. “Please excuse the clothes. I realize they’re filthy and smell like garbage. But it’s not easy to wander around without being recognized when you look like I do.”
“How did you get in here?” As soon as the question left Nicos’s mouth, he realized the answer wasn’t important. But he was still too rattled to think straight.
“You have a kindly cook. She was willing to feed a beggar. Then I slipped out of the kitchen when her back was turned. I stole a bottle of cooking wine and left the door ajar so she’d assume I’d departed the house.”
“All right, but why are you in Luthcheq at all?”
“Partly to prod Tchazzar into heading north.” The mercenary hesitated. “What?”
Nicos realized that his expression must have changed when Aoth spoke the dragon’s name. “It’s nothing.”
“Plainly it isn’t, and since I’m planning to talk to him, I need to know about it.”
Nicos sighed. “Have it your way. At court today, a minstrel sang a song he’d written about Tchazzar’s past triumphs. In it he made mention of one of the wyrm’s old lieutenants. Someone Tchazzar evidently remembers fondly.”
“Go on.”
“Tchazzar flew into a rage. He said the bard had insulted his friend and ordered him whipped.”
“That’s harsh, but I’ve known other princes who might have done the same.”
“So have I,” said Nicos, “but here’s the difference. No one else could perceive the insult. I still can’t. Every word the singer used was complimentary.”
“Maybe if you’d actually known the fellow, you’d see that the words conveyed some hidden irony?”
“I doubt it, and anyway there’s more. A guard started the whipping, but Tchazzar wasn’t satisfied with the results. He insisted on taking over, and I think he must have some portion of a dragon’s strength even when he’s a man. He went on and on, tirelessly, until he’d all but cut the minstrel to pieces.”
Aoth frowned. “And we brought him back to Chessenta. Well, Jhesrhi and Gaedynn did, but I sent them on your orders.”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’ll just have to hope that Tchazzar’s good qualities offset his quirks. Meanwhile, I’ve delayed presenting myself at the War College because Cera Eurthos has disappeared, and I wanted a free hand to poke around. What do you know about it?”
Nicos blinked. “Me? Nothing! Why would I?”
“She was staying in Amaunator’s temple, but no one’s seen her for a while. I gather Daelric’s not especially concerned. He assumes she headed back north. Which she shouldn’t and wouldn’t have done without asking permission. But he’s apparently too jealous of Halonya’s sudden rise to think the matter through.”
“Perhaps she left the Keeper’s house to visit family or friends in the city.”
Aoth shook his head. “She doesn’t have any living family. She probably does have old friends hereabouts, but I’m certain she had something else in mind. As I’m sure you realize, no one ever figured out the whole truth about the Green Hand murders. She believed her god had given her the task.”
“That sounds potentially dangerous.”
Aoth smiled a crooked smile. “I agree. Yet I left her here to snoop around alone. I was preoccupied. I thought my responsibility was to lead the Brotherhood and defeat Threskel.”
“You were right. It is.”