But he didn’t have to. His plea had quelled the fury Nala hoped to incite.

Medrash kneeled down beside Patrin and pressed his hands against the dragon-worshiper’s back. Straining, he channeled a whisper of Torm’s Power through his own body and into that of the other paladin, but nowhere near enough to mend a fatal wound.

But Nala was a healer! Medrash looked up just in time to see her vanish, whisked away by the power of the small gray drake on her shoulder.

“It’s all right,” Patrin wheezed.

“I didn’t want to kill you,” Medrash said. “But I knew I only had one chance. I had to make sure I ended the fight.”

“It’s all right,” Patrin repeated, his voice growing even softer. “I prayed for truth and right to prevail, and they did. If Nala was what I thought …” He shuddered and then lay absolutely still.

For a moment, Medrash hated himself. Perhaps he even hated Torm, whose path had led him to that moment. Then that feeling crumbled into a pure and bitter regret. Clenching himself against the urge to howl out his grief, he stayed beside the corpse until Balasar came and gripped his shoulder. “Let’s find somebody to stitch up that arm,” the smaller Daardendrien said.

Aoth could see his hands and the spear he carried in the right one, but then, nothing was ever invisible to him. It was somewhat reassuring that he could also see a ghostly shimmer crawling on his limbs, a manifestation of the enchantments Jhesrhi, Oraxes, and Meralaine had cast to veil him.

He was about to find out how well they’d done their work. The wyrms hadn’t gone very far from camp. They were just ahead, their long necks rising like strangely curving tree trunks with all the spiny, leafless branches on one side.

Jet spoke to him across their psychic link. Even if they don’t see you, what about their noses? What about their ears?

Aoth sighed. Who woke you up? Gaedynn?

If you need a diversion, tell me and he’ll provide it.

No, he won’t. Neither will you.

Do you have any idea how sharp a dragon’s senses are?

Yes. But if the magic worked, I have no scent, and just in case it didn’t I’m downwind. And as far as noise is concerned, I do know how to sneak. I sneaked up on Malark on top of Szass Tam’s mountain.

And then he spotted you. And he wasn’t even a very old dragon, or undead, or a living god. Why are you doing this? Surely not just because you promised your new female.

No. Because she was right. We need a better understanding of what’s going on. All our lives may depend on it. Now stop pestering me and listen through my ears. If I do get into trouble, tell Jhesrhi and Gaedynn everything you heard before … well, before.

He skulked up to a broad, weathered stump. Good cover against many creatures, but not those tall enough to peer right over the top of it. He crept even closer to the dragons until he found a mossy old oak with a thick trunk. As he hid behind it, he realized that Tymora had favored him in one respect, anyway. Tchazzar and Jaxanaedegor weren’t conversing in the seemingly archaic Draconic dialect the vampire had used in camp. They were speaking the tongue as Aoth had learned it.

“-possibly trust you?” Tchazzar said.

“How can you not?” Jaxanaedegor replied. “Since I had some inkling of their purpose, my agents in Mourktar fought Alasklerbanbastos’s to make sure Jhesrhi Coldcreek and Gaedynn Ulraes ended up as my prisoners. Then, after I verified my information, I gave them a chance to escape and even allowed them to carry a staff of fire away with them. Because I suspected that if they actually found you, you might need a fountain of flame to restore you to yourself.”

In other circumstances, Aoth might have laughed in amazement. Whatever he’d expected to hear, it wasn’t that.

Meanwhile, Tchazzar snorted and tinged the air with smoke and sulfur. “ ‘Gave them a chance.’ ”

Yellow eyes glowing like foxfire, Jaxanaedegor bared his fangs in what might have been a grin. “I couldn’t just unchain them and wave goodbye. I have to assume the dracolich spies on me as he does on others.”

“I assume his scrutiny is also supposed to excuse the attack you led against me.”

The green flicked his wings. It sounded like the crack of empty sails when a gust of wind finally filled them. “That’s exactly right, and look how I managed it. Alasklerbanbastos lost a powerful artifact and three of the dragons who were truly loyal to him. It all would have gone better still if you’d joined the battle sooner.”

“Don’t presume to criticize me!” Tchazzar snarled. “Not you, a leech and the spawn of the dark! Not you of all creatures!”

Aoth winced at the red’s vehemence, and even Jaxanaedegor seemed slightly taken aback. “I … intended no offense. I’m simply trying to convince you that I’m on your side, so that together we can exploit an opportunity.”

“Which is?”

“It may end up being a good thing that your army took a beating. Alasklerbanbastos is wary, and he didn’t recruit all his sellswords and such because he meant to put himself in any real danger. But he also hates you with the cold, gnawing hatred of the undead. If he believes he has you at a serious disadvantage, he’ll come out of his caves to deliver the death stroke.”

“He does have me at a disadvantage!”

Jaxanaedegor smiled. “I can fix that. I’m directing the troops who are presently maneuvering to contain and isolate you. I can make them zig when they ought to zag, thus allowing reinforcements to reach you.”

Tchazzar grunted. “That would be helpful, but not necessarily sufficient.”

“Then it’s good that I have more to offer. I’ve communicated with some of the dragon princes and convinced them their arrangements with Alasklerbanbastos are contrary to their long-term interests. As a result, the warriors they provided will prove less useful than he expects.”

Aoth nodded. He’d wondered how High Imaskar, never before feared as a naval power, had conducted such a damaging series of raids on the Chessentan coast. And why he hadn’t seen any Imaskari among the troops who’d debarked from the pirate fleet to fight for the Great Bone Wyrm. The answer to both riddles was the same-High Imaskar had granted Murghomi warships free access to the Alamber Sea to fight on its behalf.

Which partly explained why there’d seemingly been dragonborn among the raiders. Wyrmkeepers were the dastards who knew how to disguise abishais as Tymantherans, and the principalities of Murghom, city-states ruled by dragons, were presumably crawling with them.

Unfortunately, the revelation raised new questions. In fact, it lent new levels of complexity to a situation that was already convoluted enough to make the War of the Zulkirs seem straightforward. But maybe if Aoth kept listening, he’d finally understand.

“And what of the other dragons Alasklerbanbastos commands?” Tchazzar asked. “Will they ‘prove less useful than he expects’?”

“Actually,” said Jaxanaedegor, “yes. I told you, we’ve already started the process of culling the herd. I should be able to eliminate at least one more of those who are truly loyal and blame her destruction on you. Which is to say, the majority of dragons who follow Alasklerbanbastos into battle will be just as tired of him as I am.”

“How confident are you that he hasn’t discerned their true sentiments? Or yours?”

“Reasonably. His hatred of you-and Skuthosiin, and Gestaniius-blinds him to other concerns. He blames you for every setback and misfortune he ever endured. In addition to which, his arrogance makes it difficult for him to imagine that any of his servants would dare rise up against him. He believes that even I must perforce content myself with fawning at his feet and begging for crumbs from his table.”

“As opposed to playing the game on your own behalf.”