A red spark streaked past him and then, with a boom, exploded into fire. The mote of light hadn’t flown quite far enough for the blast to engulf any of the drakes, but they screeched and veered off. And as they aimed themselves at Gaedynn once again, their pounding wings finally slowed down.

Oraxes wheeled Queen Umara close enough to call across the intervening distance. Which was closer than Gaedynn would have preferred, given the wizard’s lack of experience in the saddle. “That showed them!” Oraxes yelled.

“Shut up!” Gaedynn snapped. “Head for camp as fast as you can.”

They didn’t actually need to run all the way. The drakes gave up the pursuit before they’d flown much farther. But Aoth would want to hear their report as soon as possible.

Jhesrhi seldom minded killing people. She wouldn’t have lasted long as a sellsword if she did. But helpless animals were a different matter, and as she approached the metal and wooden cages the army had brought from Soolabax, she felt a pang of reluctance.

She quelled it as every mage learned to silence distracting thoughts. She had to keep her mind focused on her purpose, or the power she’d raised with her purifications and invocations would slip from her control.

She opened the first cage, a dainty brass miniature palace. The canary inside was wise enough to mistrust her and, wings fluttering, tried to evade her grasp. But wizards have nimble hands, and she seized it anyway, although not before it gave her a stinging peck on the thumb.

She looked skyward, recited a final incantation, and drew the blade of a small silver knife across the canary’s throat. Wind swirled around her, and the bird’s blood spiraled upward, dispersing into mist and then disappearing entirely. A drop or two of her own blood went with it, but that was all right. It might make the binding stronger.

As she killed each bird in its turn, her inner eye gradually started to perceive entities who were vast, formless, and invisible to ordinary sight. Still for the moment, or nearly so, the winds of the plain hovered above her, greedy for a sip of life and magic. Willing to indenture themselves for the taste.

The final offering was a dove. She could feel its heartbeat through her wet, red fingers. She started to make the cut, and then Tchazzar said, “My lady!”

She hadn’t realized he’d come up behind her. His voice startled her, and she didn’t slice as deeply as she’d intended. Wounded but not slain, the dove shuddered.

She felt a shift in the attitude of the hovering spirits, a sudden doubt that she was strong and clever enough to command them. She rattled off words of power and made a second cut. The dove stopped struggling. For a moment it looked like the blood was going to drip to the ground, but then it whirled upward like that of the previous sacrifices.

Jhesrhi sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she recited the closing incantation and made a chopping motion with her staff to end the ritual safely. She felt the residual power drain into the ground, and the winds departed with a whoosh that set her clothing flapping and branches lashing.

Tchazzar was a dragon, a monarch, and the Brotherhood’s employer. All good reasons not to let on that she was annoyed with him. Still, as she turned around, she had to struggle to keep it from showing in her expression. She had yet to learn if he was a wizard or if all his legendary powers were innate. But either way, he surely knew enough about magic to understand that it was stupid to disturb a conjuror in the middle of a ritual.

But when she saw the contrition and anxiety in his handsome face, it took the edge off her irritation. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were still working. Did I spoil it?”

“No, Majesty,” she said. Although the binding likely wasn’t as strong as it could have been.

“Good. Come walk with me.”

Her throat was raw from reciting so many incantations, and her body sore from standing in one spot for too long. Still, even at a moment when she would have preferred to flop down on the ground and drink a jack of ale, it was flattering that he desired her company. She found a smile for him and used the butt of her staff to open the circle she’d earlier drawn on the ground.

Then they strolled through the darkened camp with its paucity of crackling, smoky fires. (Aoth didn’t want enemy scouts to count the points of light and arrive at an accurate estimate of the size of their army.) Chessentan soldiers and sellswords alike saluted as the war hero passed. Tchazzar acknowledged them, but in a perfunctory fashion.

For a while Jhesrhi wondered if they were simply going to wander around in silence. Then he said, “The enemy force is stronger than expected.”

“I know,” she said. By then everyone knew what Gaedynn and Oraxes had seen.

“Hasos recommends that we fall back to Soolabax.”

She said what she knew Aoth must have said if he’d heard that particular proposal. “Your troops didn’t break one siege of the town just to run back inside the walls and wait for another. We need to take the fight to the enemy to solve the problem of Threskel for good and all. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Tchazzar smiled a tight-lipped, troubled smile. “Of course. What king, what god, could tolerate a part of his dominions defying his authority? It’s just … Do you understand why I didn’t want that wretched little witch to call the dead?”

Jhesrhi hesitated. “Not entirely, Majesty.”

“The dead are dark things. And it was here, in this very place, that dark things held and tortured me until I nearly lost my mind.”

“It wasn’t really here, Majesty. It was in the Sky Riders. It was also in the Shadowfell, a whole different world than the one we’re walking and talking in now.”

“Can I trust a necromancer, who draws her strength from darkness? Or a Thayan mage? They’re all necromancers, aren’t they? And when you consider that the man profaned my temple-”

“Majesty, I beg you to remember that like the rest of Chessenta’s arcanists, Meralaine owes everything to you. And Aoth is as honorable a mercenary as you could hope to hire, and outcast from his own people for fighting necromancers. There’s no question that either of them is loyal.”

“I suppose.” Some of the tension went out of his face. “I’m fortunate to have you for my lovac.”

She could tell he meant it as a compliment, and that pleased her. Still, she had to admit, “I don’t know that word, Majesty.”

He hesitated, then said, “It’s an old Draconic word. It means the faithful friend and lieutenant of a king.”

The enemy had seen a few griffon riders. So Tchazzar’s army wasn’t giving away any secrets by having a few in the air as the foe approached. Aoth had chosen to be among them to obtain the best possible view of all that was happening.

The decoy force stood at the top of a rise behind earthen ramparts. He wished Khouryn were there to command it. He tried to draw some comfort from everyone’s assurances that while it was always Hasos’s instinct to avoid battle if possible, he fought well if you managed to push him into one.

Aoth had had a century to grow accustomed to his fire-kissed eyes. Still, it was momentarily disconcerting to look down at the various stands of oaks and elms and plainly see the rest of the illusion-veiled army. He had to remind himself that the Threskelans couldn’t.

Or at least that was the idea. Unfortunately, dragons had keen senses. But if Tymora smiled, the wyrms would have other things to occupy their attention.

All three enemy dragons, the two reds and the green, were in the air along with other flying creatures. They were heading for the top of the rise. Aoth assumed the wyrms intended to start the battle by raking the position with flame and poisonous fumes.