She asked, “Is this my fault?”

“No,” Khouryn said. “The dragon was going to hit us at some point, and some of us were going to die when it did. But follow orders from now on.”

The unnatural power of his condition compensating for the lack of hide stretched across the bony framework of his wings, Alasklerbanbastos floated on the night wind and studied the enemy camp. Gliding at his master’s side, Jaxanaedegor surreptitiously studied him.

Tchazzar and his servants weren’t relying on invisibility to mask their true strength. It was difficult to keep such a glamour in place for days on end, and a wizard as accomplished as a dracolich was apt to see through it anyway. Instead they were using other tricks. A paucity of campfires, tents, and noise. Men and beasts tucked away wherever there was cover to obscure their numbers. Freshly turned earth to give the appearance of a mass grave. Lamplight and motion inside the healers’ pavilions. The absence of any whisper or tingle of mystical power at work.

Finally the Great Bone Wyrm wheeled. Jaxanaedegor did the same, and they beat their way back toward the north and the massed might of Threskel’s army.

But they didn’t go all the way back to their own camp. Alasklerbanbastos evidently didn’t want to wait that long to talk. Blue sparks jumping and cracking on his naked bones, he spiraled down to the crest of a low hill. From there, he’d be able to spot anyone or anything suicidal enough to approach him.

You’re always so wary, Jaxanaedegor thought. But not wary enough of me. I could strike at you right now, while you’re on the ground and I’m still on the wing.

But it was just a pleasant fantasy. Neither the high air nor the element of surprise would suffice to defeat a creature so endowed with every other advantage. Jaxanaedegor set down on coarse grass and weeds that had already started to wither simply because the dracolich was near.

Pale light gleamed in Alasklerbanbastos’s eye sockets, and the air around him smelled like a rising storm. “There are more soldiers,” he growled, “than you led me to believe.”

Jaxanaedegor felt a pang of uneasiness. He made sure it didn’t reflect in his tone or expression. “Truly, my lord? I estimated their numbers as accurately as I could.”

“Yes, truly,” the skeletal dragon replied, with the sneering mimicry his vassal had come to hate. “Are you sure Tchazzar hasn’t received reinforcements?”

“I can’t imagine how. They would have had to swing far to the east. Even if they’d had time, our watchers in the Sky Riders would have spotted them.”

Alasklerbanbastos grunted.

Jaxanaedegor had hoped he wouldn’t need to encourage the undead blue to attack. It seemed better-safer-if Alasklerbanbastos arrived at the decision on his own. But if he was having second thoughts, Jaxanaedegor supposed he’d have to give him a nudge.

“If I did underestimate,” the vampire said, “I apologize. But even so, there are more of us than there are of them, and you can feel the pall of demoralization hanging over their camp. The battle we already fought cost us, but we won. We crippled them.”

“They supposedly had necromancers. And sunlords.” Alasklerbanbastos was particularly cautious of those who wielded special power against the undead.

“We killed them,” Jaxanaedegor said. “Or most of them, anyway.”

Using the tip of a claw, Alasklerbanbastos scratched a rune in the dirt. A different symbol inscribed itself beside it, and then another after that, until there were seven in a line. Despite his own considerable knowledge of arcana, Jaxanaedegor didn’t recognize any of the characters, nor did he have any idea what the magic was meant to accomplish. Not knowing twisted his nerves a little tighter.

“But you didn’t kill Tchazzar,” the Bone Wyrm said.

“No,” Jaxanaedegor replied. “But our spies say he’s behaving erratically, and I myself told you how long it took him to join the battle. He’s not the same dragon you remember, and surely not Tiamat’s Chosen anymore.”

“He was dragon enough to kill three others when he finally did take flight.”

“My lord,” Jaxanaedegor said, “if you think it prudent, return to the safety of Dragonback Mountain. That’s a king’s prerogative. Your knights and captains will stay to fight for you and die for you if need be. That’s a vassal’s duty. But I ask you to consider whether you truly wish to forgo the joy of destroying Tchazzar with your own breath and claws. I ask you also to consider the effect on your reputation.”

Sparks crawled on Alasklerbanbastos’s fangs, and the light in his orbits grew brighter. “Meaning what, exactly? Choose your words carefully.”

“Great one, you know I fear you. How could I not? How many times have I felt the pressure of your foot on my spine or the top of my head? How many years have I lost to true death, my ghost wandering Banehold until it suited your whim to pull your stake from my heart? But xorvintaal … changes things. Every dragon is studying every other for signs of weakness. And, while one wins points for achievement and guile, a player can also score for daring and renown-if he makes the right move.”

At first Alasklerbanbastos didn’t reply. The moment stretched until it seemed that something-Jaxanaedegor’s composure, perhaps-must surely snap.

Then the dracolich snorted. “You may be right about the game. You’re certainly right that it’s past time for Tchazzar to die, and that I want to be the one who dowses the flame. Come!” He lashed his rattling, fleshless wings and climbed.

Jaxanaedegor followed with a certain feeling of joyful incredulity. He possessed considerable faith in his own cunning. Still, perhaps there was a buried part of him that hadn’t believed he could bring the scheme to fruition.

Yet he had. After centuries of preliminary maneuvering, the two most powerful wyrms in Chessenta were going to meet in final battle.

During the early phases of the combat, Jaxanaedegor would perform as Alasklerbanbastos expected, and if the army of Threskel gained the upper hand, he’d simply continue to do so. But if, as he hoped, Tchazzar seized the advantage, then Jaxanaedegor and his followers would switch sides just as he’d promised the red. And whichever elder dragon ultimately won, he’d reward Jaxanaedegor for playing a key role in his victory.

There was even a chance that Alasklerbanbastos and Tchazzar would destroy each other, making Jaxanaedegor the most powerful creature in Chessenta. He reminded himself it was such a remote possibility that he didn’t dare base his strategy on it. But if it happened, it would be the sweetest outcome of all.

From on high, the Threskelan army looked rather like a mass of ants creeping across the ground. Aoth supposed he should be glad the ground was where most of them were. He and his comrades had apparently wiped out most of the Great Bone Wyrm’s flying minions in the previous battle.

Of course, there were dragons in the air, as well as bats with suspiciously phosphorescent eyes. Aoth reminded himself that if he could trust Jaxanaedegor-a significant if-then most of the flyers were actually on his side.

Whether they were or not, he was ready to fight. Partly, he supposed, because an honest battle would provide a respite from mysteries and pandering to Tchazzar’s eccentricities. But mostly because a decisive victory that night would restore the Brotherhood’s reputation. Afterward would be time enough to fret over the meaning of the dragons’ Precepts and to decide how much longer to remain in the war hero’s service.

Time enough as well to sort out Jhesrhi. She’d told him that Tchazzar had expressed sympathy with Skuthosiin’s desire to slaughter the dragonborn-not that he knew what to make of that either-but he sensed there was something else, something more personal, that she was keeping back.