Aoth was still pondering how best to handle the situation when Jet furled his wings and dived. Maybe he wanted to prove he was as capable of maneuvering among and, when necessary, smashing right through branches as he’d ever been.

Thanks to their mystical connection, Aoth knew which ettercap Jet was targeting. He pointed his spear, spoke a word of command, and hurled darts of blue light at the other two.

Then he and Jet were plunging through the canopy, branches cracking beneath them like a drumroll. The ettercap the griffon had chosen looked up in reaction to the noise, then flexed its four hind limbs and tried to spring aside.

With a flick of his wings, Jet compensated and crashed down on the spidery hunter anyway. His talons punched through shell into the flesh beneath, and the branch on which the ettercap had been perching snapped as well.

They all plunged on earthward together. Jet lashed his wings to slow their descent and landed without giving his master much of a jolt. His weight drove his eagle claws even deeper into the ettercap, though, and through their bond, Aoth felt the creature convulse and then stop moving as its body squashed.

Aoth glanced up. His magic hadn’t killed either of the other ettercaps, but they were fleeing, scurrying and leaping from branch to branch and tree to tree.

He then pointed his spear at the foragers, both of whom were frozen with shock, and set the point of the weapon aglow with an intimidating display of power.

“Hello,” he said. “Do you know me? If not, you surely remember my steed. Which of you vermin shot him out of the sky?”

“Not me!” babbled the man who’d been digging the roots. “Not either of us!”

“No matter,” said Jet. “You were all trying. That’s why I couldn’t let the ettercaps have you.” Making a show of it, he pulled his gory talons from the carcass beneath him.

“Please!” said the root digger. “It wasn’t personal. Our captain ordered us to shoot, and we obeyed. You’re sellswords. You know how it is!”

“We do,” said Aoth. “Just like we know it’s bad for a mercenary company’s reputation to let anybody attack it without reprisal. But fortunately for you, the man we really came to see is Mario Bez. If you take us to him, you just might live to see the moon rise.”

Both foragers seemed cowed and eager to cooperate. Still, Aoth made sure the failed sentry pointed his crossbow away from his captors and uncocked it slowly.

Meanwhile, he dismounted. Jet was always happy to carry him through the air, but not when they were on the ground. It was beneath his dignity to perform the function of a common beast of burden.

They ordered their captives to walk in front and watched them for signs of mischief. But the foragers led them straight to their camp and without trying to warn their comrades that enemies were approaching. That, however, didn’t keep the other sellswords from snatching for their weapons when Aoth and Jet came into view.

“Easy!” said Aoth. “If we wanted to kill you, we would have attacked from above in the dead of night. Half of you would have died in your sleep.”

“And if one of you raises a weapon or starts jabbering a spell,” Jet rasped, “these two idiots we caught will die right now. Then Captain Fezim and I will slaughter the rest of you.”

A bit of broken twig caught in the grizzled hair that now hung loose, not gathered in his customary ponytail, Mario Bez smiled. “I don’t take that threat lightly. The two of you wouldn’t be here now if you weren’t every bit as tough as the stories say. But if it is just the two of you dropping by, I’m fairly certain my crew and I can cope with you.”

“Even if you’re right,” Aoth replied, “you wouldn’t all live through it. And those who did wouldn’t be any better off than they were before.”

Bez raised an eyebrow. “Whereas …?”

“The undead didn’t all perish in the Fortress of the Half-Demon. In fact, the ones that remain are a bigger problem than anybody realized. You’ll hear the details if we come to an agreement, but the nub of it all is that Rashemen still needs you to do the job you promised to do in the first place.”

“In exchange for what? At this point, I assume Yhelbruna wouldn’t stand for Halruaans claiming any of the wild griffons, no matter how much we contributed to the solution of her problem.”

“In exchange for safe passage out of the country.”

Bez snorted. “Not exactly a generous offer for professionals of our caliber.”

“Your other option is to go on hiding here like the common outlaws the Rashemi now consider you to be. How’s that working out?” Aoth waved his spear to indicate the haggard faces and crudely constructed lean-tos he saw before him. “Do you like sleeping rough in the cold of a northern winter? Anybody sick yet? Are you finding plenty to eat? Just how often do you run into ettercaps and trolls? I hear the Ashenwood is crawling with them.”

Bez glowered. “I won’t insult your intelligence by saying we don’t find our situation challenging. But after what’s happened, it’s difficult to believe Yhelbruna and the Iron Lord would let us depart in peace no matter what.”

Jet made a spitting noise that was half screech as well. “Liars always have trouble believing other folk are telling the truth.”

“You’re right,” said Aoth. “But maybe Captain Bez senses there’s something I haven’t mentioned. And if we’re going to sneer at him for being the lying, traitorous turd he is, then maybe I shouldn’t hold any information back.”

Bez’s hand had shifted to the hilt of his main gauche. Evidently, he didn’t appreciate being likened to dung. “By all means,” he said through gritted teeth, “enlighten me.”

“You understand the locals have cause to dislike you,” Aoth replied, “but you don’t realize just how much of your treachery has come out. Vandar Cherlinka survived your attack to reveal you and your crew murdered his lodge brothers.”

For a heartbeat, Bez looked taken aback. Then he chuckled. “I can see how that looks bad.”

“Still, I told you the truth. Rashemen’s need is such that if you help now, Yhelbruna swears by the Three that each and every one of you will receive a pardon for his misdeeds. But for you, Captain, that won’t be quite the end of the matter. You and I may think of this land as backward, but it understands dueling as well as Chessenta, Impiltur, or any civilized realm you care to name. And before you take your leave, one of the folk you’ve wronged will call you out.”

“Are you referring to yourself?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I hope so.”

“Then perhaps it would be better to kill you here and now.”

“Better for whom? It’s only you who will have to fight the extra fight. No one will bother your men.”

A white-haired, sour-faced man with a wand tucked in his broad yellow belt cleared his throat.

Bez’s eyes flicked to the side to see who’d spoken, then immediately returned to Aoth. “Uregaunt,” he said. “What is it?”

“We’re sellswords,” the old mage said. “We follow a leader because it’s in our interest, not because he’s some halfwit inbred nobleman or somebody like that. Starving here in the snow is not in our interest.”

Bez smiled a smile so crooked it fell just short of being a sneer. “So you’re telling me if I don’t accept Captain Fezim’s offer, you’ll desert.”

“I’m saying I’ve watched you win plenty of fights. I’ll wager you can win one more.”

“Or,” Aoth said, “I suppose that if you’re afraid, you could even refuse to duel. But I wish you luck commanding sellswords or attracting contracts when word of that gets around.”

“I’m not afraid,” Bez said, “just examining all possibilities. You’d do the same in my place.”

“So is that a yes?” asked Aoth.

Bez snorted. “It is, curse you to the Hells. I assume you understand that to fight to best advantage, my crew and I will need the Storm of Vengeance.”