SEVEN

12-15 KYTHORN THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

We’ve had griffon riders harassing them for days,” said Aoth. “Loosing an arrow or two, then flying away. Presumably, they’re sick of it and will jump at the chance to dish out some punishment in return. Especially when you consider that all those big beasts must eat a lot of meat, and men too stupid to run away will make a meal or two.”

Shala Karanok frowned. “Maybe. If they don’t realize that the small force they see before them is just the bait in a trap.” She waved a gauntleted hand at the oaks and elms that surrounded them. “Are you sure you can hide so many men in these little patches of woods?”

His red hair gleaming in a shaft of sunlight that penetrated the interlaced branches overhead, Gaedynn said, “We’re good at hiding, High Lady, especially my skirmishers.”

Aoth noted that despite Shala’s reduced status, the archer had still used a form of address indicative of great respect. He approved in principle, but wondered how Tchazzar felt about it.

But perhaps it would be more sensible to wonder if the living god even heard. Tchazzar stood gazing to the east. Toward the Sky Riders, although a person couldn’t see the hills with all the trees in the way.

“Besides,” Gaedynn continued, “we have wizards with a knack for veils. Isn’t that right, Oraxes?”

The sharp-featured youth gave a brusque nod. Strands of his long, greasy black hair stuck out from under the steel and leather helmet he’d taken to wearing.

Hasos made a sour face. Tchazzar could decree that his subjects had to stop persecuting arcanists, but he couldn’t make them stop fearing and mistrusting them in their hearts.

Well, choke on it, thought Aoth. Despite the trouble in Tchazzar’s temple, he still outranked the baron in military matters, and as long as he did, they’d use every trick they had available.

He turned to Jhesrhi. She looked odd in her fine new cloak and robe, but the scowl marring her lovely face was much the same as ever. “And you can still play your games with the wind?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said. As though simply turning her mind to the subject had roused it, a breeze gusted, toying with her yellow hair and wafting the scent of fresh spring verdure. “It would have helped if I’d reached this spot sooner-”

“But I suppose there were dances to dance,” Gaedynn said.

Jhesrhi glowered. So did Aoth. He had some idea of what was rankling Gaedynn. He even sympathized. But it was not the time for the Aglarondan to vent his feelings.

Fortunately, Tchazzar still appeared distracted.

“If I’d had a few days,” Jhesrhi said with an edge in her voice, “I could have done a thorough job of making friends with the winds. But they are restless on these plains. Angry from time to time. With the proper combination of insistence and propitiation, we mages should be able to induce them to do our bidding.”

The petite, impish-looking Meralaine said, “Lady, forgive me if you already know this, but the spirits of the air aren’t the only restless ones hereabouts.”

“I have sensed something,” Jhesrhi said, “but maybe not as much as you.”

“People lived here a long time ago.” Meralaine gestured toward a stone wrapped in helmthorn vine. It was hard to make out behind the long black thorns and green berries, and little more than a worn, rounded lump. Still, Aoth could tell that once it had possessed a sharp-edged regular shape that only tools could give. “Things didn’t end well for them. I can’t hear everything they’re whispering-not in daylight, not without going into a trance-but I think a dragon came.”

“That’s good!” Oraxes said, surprising Aoth. He’d thought the lad disliked Meralaine, but evidently things had changed while he was away. “If they have a grudge against dragons, then they should want to help us fight the ones from Threskel.”

“Wait,” Hasos said. “Are you talking about summoning the undead?”

“It’s her particular gift,” Gaedynn said, “and she used it to good effect when we were saving your town.”

“Well, she didn’t use it with my permission,” Hasos said.

“She didn’t need it,” said Aoth. “She doesn’t now either.”

Hasos sneered. “Of course a Thayan mage doesn’t see the evil in necromancy.”

“I see we’re in for a tough fight,” said Aoth. “I see we need every edge we can get.”

Shala gave the baron a troubled gaze. “I don’t like it either,” she said. “Still, Captain Fezim has a point.”

“Does he?” Tchazzar said.

Startled, Aoth pivoted. In human shape, Tchazzar was as imposing and magnetic a warlord as he’d ever met. But even so, he’d been so remote since the start of the discussion that one could forget he was even there.

Shala hesitated. “I think so, Majesty.”

“Even though your god himself will lead you into battle.”

“Majesty,” said Aoth, “we all acknowledge your power. But surely there’s a reason why you, in your wisdom, chose to fight at the head of an army instead of alone. And surely, for that army to serve its purpose, we need to be able to use our skills to best effect.”

Tchazzar advanced on Meralaine. Who recoiled a step, though she’d supposedly fought bravely during the siege and confronted horrors on a regular basis practicing her art. Hasos looked eager for what was to come.

Tchazzar grabbed handfuls of Meralaine’s mantle and jerked her off her feet, putting the two of them face to face. He looked like an enraged father shaking a naughty child. “Who freed you?” he shouted, spattering her with steaming drops of spittle.

Oraxes’s eyes opened wide, and his upper body hitched forward like he could barely restrain the urge to intervene. Meanwhile Meralaine flinched again, either from the heat of the dragon’s saliva, his vehemence, or a combination of the two. “You did, Majesty,” she stammered.

“And is this how you repay me?”

Meralaine looked like she had no idea what Tchazzar wanted her to say. Aoth didn’t either. He only knew that the young necromancer was currently dangling ashen-faced because he’d ordered her north. He had an obligation to protect her.

“Majesty,” he said, “please. Obviously there’s no need for any … debate. You rule here. If you don’t want the girl to call the dead, she won’t.”

“Then why is she even here?” Tchazzar snapped. “Explain her presence!”

Aoth was still trying to frame an answer likely to mollify the dragon when, to his relief, Jhesrhi spoke. “Alasklerbanbastos is a dracolich. He’s probably sent lesser undead south to fight us. We need a necromancer’s special knowledge to help us destroy them.”

Tchazzar frowned. “We have priests for that.”

“Knowledge and faith working together often accomplish more than faith alone. I think even Sunlord Apathos would admit that. In any case, I command the wizards who fight for the Brotherhood. I promise you that Meralaine will only use her powers to banish ghosts, never to call them from their graves.”

“So be it,” Tchazzar said. He tossed Meralaine away like she was a bone he’d finished gnawing.

Gaedynn was well aware he had better things to do. Still, something made him watch from a distance while Oraxes hovered over Meralaine. Eventually she shooed him away. He sensed she was embarrassed that Tchazzar had frightened her and disliked attention that kept the memory fresh. Because she wanted to look and feel strong.

Gaedynn approved of that. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was never to expose a vulnerable spot to anyone.

Still not sure why he was bothering-the mages out of Luthcheq were Jhesrhi’s and Aoth’s problem, and thank the true gods for that-he ambled to intercept the skinny, slouching youth with his several daggers on ostentatious display.

Oraxes glared. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

Gaedynn grinned. “No, but you were thinking of it. Don’t give in to the temptation. Tchazzar will swat you like a gnat.”