“That makes sense,” said Aoth. “From what I’ve heard, steel dragons are one of the kinds that like to go around disguised as men or elves.”

“But they’re metallics,” Cera said. “I wouldn’t expect them to take any part in Tiamat’s filthy game.”

Gaedynn grinned. “Sunlady, forgive me if this is contrary to the dogma of your faith. But good is never as good as it’s supposed to be. Although evil is often every bit as bad.”

“If we can return to practical matters,” said Aoth, “the important thing is that if it was Yemere who tried to kill us in Airspur, then there’s reason for hope that Vairshekellabex doesn’t know we’re coming.”

“Yemere didn’t think he did,” Gaedynn replied. He left off scratching Eider, and the griffon twisted her head and gave him a reproachful look. He snorted and resumed petting her. “He was going to fly off tonight and tell him all about it. If I hadn’t stopped him.”

“Yes,” said Aoth, “you’re a hero. Understood. Remind me to buy you a mug of ale someday. Meanwhile, shall we head back to camp?”

“Let me fetch my bow,” Gaedynn said. He retrieved it and was glad to discover that Yemere hadn’t stepped on it either. He grinned at Son-liin. “How about if Eider and I give you a ride back? She doesn’t have her saddle, but I can keep you from falling off.”

Son-liin smiled. “I’d like that.”

He held one of their bows in either hand and guided Eider with his voice and knees alone, not that the griffon really needed guiding for the short flight back to camp. Getting the weapons out of the way made it easier for Son-liin to sit behind him and wrap her arms around him.

“Ever flown before?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“There’s nothing like it. You’ll probably come away from this little jaunt craving a winged steed of your own.”

After that, she was quiet for several heartbeats. Taking in the view, he assumed, or as much of the vague, black masses of the mountains and valleys as a person could make out in the dark. Then she said, “What made you think I was under a spell?”

“I grew up wandering and hunting in the wild too. Not exactly this kind of wild, but still. I figured you must have learned to handle yourself better than you have been lately. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have survived. I also overheard when you told Cera you’d mysteriously forgotten your father’s warning about traveling the gorge with the blue mist at this time of year.”

Son-liin grunted. “But you were so… scornful. I thought you blamed me for everything. That you hated me.”

“I assumed that whoever was tampering with your mind, he was taking steps to make sure no one found out. I wanted him to believe that one person he didn’t need to watch out for was me.”

“Well, you’re a good pretender.”

Gaedynn grinned. “You should learn too. There’s not a more useful skill in all the world.”

EIGHT

25 E LEASIS, THE Y EAR OF THE A GELESS O NE

The glow of Medrash’s blade dimmed. He grunted in annoyance. It took only a small exertion of his paladin abilities to make the steel shine. But the need to do so repeatedly was gradually depleting the mystical strength he might need in a fight. And he and Khouryn did have to fight whenever pale, eyeless beasts sprang out of holes or dropped from the ceiling.

But the only alternative to making light was blindness, and that was no option at all. Medrash breathed slowly and deeply, blowing out frustration and worry and summoning fortitude and reverence to take their place. When he felt the Loyal Fury’s regard turn in his direction, he slashed at the air. The blade flared brighter.

Unfortunately that didn’t make the view in front of him any less ominous. Several paces ahead, the floor of the broad passage he and Khouryn were currently traversing rose like a steep hillside.

“I’m not sure this is the right way,” Khouryn said. “Let’s take another look at what’s behind us.”

Peering around for potential threats, they retreated the way they’d come, to the carcass of the last beast to attack them. It had looked like a huge, furless, malformed bat, but had crawled instead of flown and had sucker rings all over the inner surfaces of its wings. Tiny chittering scavengers scurried away from the body as the dwarf and dragonborn approached. The torn flesh already smelled of decay.

“This is far enough,” Khouryn said, keeping his voice low.

“You don’t really think you missed a branching tunnel, do you?” Medrash replied just as softly. “You just wanted to go back far enough so that if the quicksilver dragon’s lurking at the top of that slope, it won’t be able to overhear us.”

“You’re right,” said the dwarf. “Although that won’t help if it oozes after us through another seam in the rock. But I think that if it actually has set up at the top of the rise, it’ll stay put for a while. Do you agree that it’s probably up there?”

“Definitely,” Medrash said. “The dragon’s servant creatures haven’t stopped us. Maybe it doesn’t expect them to. Maybe they’re just supposed to soften us up or give the wyrm a better idea of what we can do. At any rate, the rise is the perfect place for the wyrm itself to ambush us. When we’ve clambered partway up, it’ll stick its head over the edge and blast us with its breath.”

“Which is unfortunate,” Khouryn said, “because we have to climb the slope. If there is a way out, that’s it. The question is can you do anything to keep us alive while we try?”

Medrash frowned and reviewed all the feats he’d learned to perform by channeling Torm’s might. “Yes. Let’s start with a blessing. If we’re stronger, we’ll get to the top of the slope that much faster.”

He drew on his god’s power once again. It seemed to pour down from high above and well up inside him at the same time. A tingling surge of vitality washed the weariness and soreness out of his muscles. His thoughts focused into a sort of fearless clarity. Khouryn worked his massive shoulders and flashed his teeth in a grin as he felt the same effects.

“All right,” the sellsword said. “Let’s do it.”

They hiked back to the foot of the rise. Inspecting it anew, Medrash decided that parts of it were so steep that he’d never make it up without using both hands. He’d never make it without light either, but fortunately his broadsword had a martingale to bind it to his wrist. He let the weapon dangle from the leather loop, and he and Khouryn began their scrambling ascent.

It was more difficult than he expected. Some of the rock was soft. It crumbled when he clutched it or set his foot on it, then pattered down the slope. Hanging as it was, the sword kept bumping his leg in an irritating way.

But the chief problem was that in such an attitude the blade didn’t light up nearly as much area as when he’d held it aloft like a torch. Yet it was important that he spot the quicksilver dragon as soon as it appeared; otherwise it stood an excellent chance of killing Khouryn and him before he could react. Keeping his eyes moving, moving, always moving, as his clan elders and masters-of-arms had taught him, he watched the murk at the top of the rise.

Although he knew it was just an illusion of sorts, it seemed to take forever for Khouryn and him to clamber halfway up. Then they were perfectly positioned for an ambush, too high to retreat easily, yet still well below the top. If the dragon truly was up there, it was really going to make its move-

There! A stirring in the darkness! Medrash drew breath to bellow Torm’s holy name then saw at the last possible moment that nothing solid, nothing real, had moved. A shadow had simply shifted as the sword-lamp swung and bounced with the motion of his body.

Easy, he thought, easy. Don’t waste your magic. Don’t let the foul creature know you’re ready for it.

He hauled himself upward, through another stretch where it was essential to grip the rock with both hands to make any progress. The claws of his off hand made little scraping noises on the granite, and his armor clinked.