The dragon-worshipers flinched. Started to clear a path. Then, in a puff of displaced air, Patrin and Nala appeared out of nowhere, the latter with a small gray drake perched on her shoulder. It had a scabby gash in its flank where Balasar’s knife had pierced it.
And what a shame the blade hadn’t killed the portal drake. For it was no doubt the creature’s power that had enabled Nala to exit the Catacombs far enough in advance of her foes to arrange the reception.
“My friends,” Patrin said, looking down the stairs, “what are you doing?”
For an instant, Medrash considered lying. But Balasar’s lie hadn’t accomplished anything. Besides, lying had never been Medrash’s way, and it certainly wasn’t the path of Torm.
“You know,” he said. “Or rather, you know what Nala told you-a distorted version of the truth. Down in the Catacombs, we found evidence of her crimes. Proof that she doesn’t worship your Bahamut but a different Power altogether, and has tricked the Platinum Cadre into serving that goddess as well. Proof that she herself creates the summoning orbs for the giants.”
A sort of collective snarl sounded from the mob.
“Growl as much as you like,” Balasar said. He reached into his jerkin and brought out one of the green globes. “Here’s a talisman she hadn’t yet gotten around to smuggling out. We have papers she wrote as well.”
Patrin scowled. “We just won a victory against the giants. I don’t suppose it was difficult to loot the bodies of a few adepts. If a clan has the resources of Daardendrien, I don’t imagine it’s difficult to get documents forged either.”
“You know us,” Medrash said. “Would any of us be a party to such a thing?”
“I don’t like believing it,” Patrin said. “But time after time I’ve seen how my faith repulses you, even when you tried to hide it. And plainly you’re not above deceit, or Balasar would never have joined the Cadre.”
“You have us there,” Balasar said. “I did trick you. But a little trickery is one thing. A false accusation of treason is another. I ask you to believe we wouldn’t stoop to that.”
Nala laughed an ugly laugh. “He has the gall to say that, when we intercepted them on the way to do that very thing!”
Khouryn looked up at Patrin. “If you won’t trust us, then trust the vanquisher’s justice. If our accusations are false, then Nala has nothing to fear.”
The wyrmkeeper touched her lover and champion on the forearm. “We’ve come so far,” she said. “But there are still many-including counselors close to Tarhun-who despise us. Don’t give anyone a chance to undo what we’ve accomplished.”
“Iron and stone,” Khouryn said, still speaking to Patrin, “just think, will you? I’m no priest or mystic, but even I now understand why your gifts are nothing like those of the rest of the Cadre. You were pledged to Bahamut before you ever met Nala. Your bond with your god shields you from Tiamat’s taint. But the rank and file aren’t as lucky.”
Patrin hesitated, and Medrash hoped the dwarf was getting through to him. Then the other paladin said, “I do have a tie to the Lord of the North Wind. So I’d know it if anyone were subverting his worship.”
“No,” Medrash said. “Ever since Torm drew me to the scene of one of the murders in Luthcheq, I’ve prayed for him to tell me everything I need to know and what I’m supposed to do about it. But I’ve learned that except in the rarest instances, the gods don’t operate that way. Which means that even paladins can miss the truth and make mistakes.”
“My dear one,” said Nala to Patrin, “remember how it was for you-for all of Bahamut’s worshipers-before I heard his call and came to guide you. You were a tiny circle of outcasts scorned by all. Look at us now. Can you possibly doubt that you and I have been doing his work?”
“No,” Patrin. “Of course I don’t.”
“So what happens now?” Balasar asked. “Are you going to set this whole mob on us? You’ll make murderers of them if you do.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Nala said. “No one will ever know what became of you.” But perhaps that had been the wrong tack to take, for it drew a frown from Patrin.
“If you send dozens against three,” Medrash asked, “is that in accordance with Bahamut’s creed?”
Patrin scowled. “It would be better if you surrendered. I’m not sure what we’ll do thereafter, but I guarantee your lives.”
“I have a better idea,” Medrash said. “You and I will fight a fair fight, one against one. A duel of honor that won’t get anyone in trouble with the law.
“If I win,” he continued, “then we all go to Tarhun together. Balasar, Khouryn, and I will present our charges, and Nala will rebut them as best she can.
“If you win, then Balasar and Khouryn-and I, if I’m still breathing-will give ourselves into your hands. You can destroy our evidence, extort promises, or anything else you like.”
Nala’s fingers tightened on Patrin’s forearm. “There’s no need for this. We have them.”
Patrin smiled at her. “You’re not a warrior, so you don’t understand. There is a need, because it’s the honorable thing. Besides, there’s nothing to worry about. Truth and right are on our side.” He gently removed her grip from his arm and looked at the cultists clustered around them. “Clear a space.”
Medrash took a deep breath. He’d achieved his purpose. The mob wasn’t going to tear them apart. But he hated the thought of dueling a warrior whom, despite everything, he regarded as a comrade and a friend.
Especially when he was by no means certain he was going to win.
Aoth felt as dumbfounded as everyone else looked. Jaxanaedegor was Alasklerbanbastos’s chief lieutenant and the commander who’d nearly slaughtered Tchazzar’s army. And the two of them were strolling off together like old friends? What in the name of the Black Flame was the Twenty-Eighth Precept anyway?
“Well,” Gaedynn said, an arrow still resting on his bow, “that was interesting.” He turned to Jhesrhi and arched an eyebrow. “Can you explain it?”
“No,” she said. A line of blue and yellow flame rippled down her staff, then guttered out.
“How odd,” the archer said. “I thought you were privy to all his divine secrets.”
“Don’t start,” Aoth said. “We have work to do.” He gestured to Oraxes and Meralaine. “You too.”
Shala started around the campfire. “Captain, if-”
“No, High Lady,” said Aoth. “Thank you, but no. This is a matter for the Brotherhood.” He led his fellow mages and Gaedynn into a stand of oaks.
“Actually,” Oraxes said, “Meralaine and I aren’t sellswords either.”
“Shut up,” said Aoth. “Here’s the plan. I’m going to sneak after the dragons and eavesdrop.”
Gaedynn smiled. “That sounds a little dangerous.”
“That’s why I need every enchantment anyone can cast to help me hide.”
“It also sounds like work for an expert scout.”
“You don’t speak Draconic.”
Oraxes swallowed. “I speak some. And I can veil myself even better than I can somebody else.”
“Thanks,” said Aoth. “But it’s my stupid idea, and I’ll run the risk. If I get caught, none of you knew anything about it.”
“Captain …” Meralaine’s voice trailed off, but she finished her thought by indicating Jhesrhi with a tiny jerk of her head.
“It’s all right,” Gaedynn said. “She’s still one of us. Aren’t you, Buttercup?”
“Of course!” Jhesrhi snapped. “But I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” said Aoth. “Now everyone start conjuring.”
As he climbed the last few steps, Medrash studied Patrin. Bahamut’s champion wore sturdy garments incorporating a fair amount of leather. They’d provide him with a measure of protection, but not nearly so much as actual armor.
That was good as far as it went. But it just meant the two combatants were equal in one regard, because Medrash wasn’t wearing armor either. When he’d found Balasar’s note, he hadn’t known how dangerous the night would become, and hadn’t wanted to make himself conspicuous by clinking around the city in plate or mail.
He suspected there were ways in which his foe actually had the advantage. Medrash had already exerted himself and expended mystic Power. He’d been scratched by a purplespawn’s tail, and though he’d used Torm’s gifts to heal himself, he might still have a trace of sleep poison in his veins to slow him down. Whereas Patrin was presumably fresh.