still wore his collection of gleaming medals stamped with anchors, sea serpents, and other nautical emblems looped around his neck. “But I ask you, have we forgotten all about the filthy pirates?”
“I’m sure His Majesty hasn’t,” said Jhesrhi, marveling that the rich, self-important old man, who’d probably spent his whole long life despising arcanists, had sought her out for a conversation. “But it won’t do much good to protect our shipping and harbors if we lose the rest of the realm while we’re accomplishing it.”
“That’s sound thinking as far as it goes,” the merchant said. “But still, if the most important trading vessels could travel in convoy with a proper escort, it would benefit Chessenta immensely.”
Jhesrhi assumed that by “the most important trading vessels,” he meant the fleet he owned himself. Amused, she said, “If you care to request an audience, I imagine His Majesty will at least listen to your proposal.”
The shipping magnate beamed as though her response all but guaranteed success. Who knew? In the oblique parlance favored by courtiers, maybe it did. “Thank you, lady. Rest assured I won’t forget.”
Jhesrhi glanced out the casement at the western sky, gauging the position of Selune and the glittering haze of tears that forever trailed the goddess across the firmament. With a twinge of reluctance that surprised her, she decided it was time to leave the party.
She took a final look around. Tchazzar had commanded that mementoes of his past campaigns be placed on display in a hall in the War College to inspire martial ardor in his subjects, and the court was attending a private viewing. Some of the trophies were functional arms and armor, others a pavilion, captured banners, and obsolete maps.
For the most part the lords and merchants paid little attention to them. They were too busy talking. To Tchazzar, resplendent in crimson and gold, if he chose to favor them with his attention. Or to Halonya, more gaudily robed than ever, her entourage of newly anointed priests hovering in attendance, as a second choice.
Or, Jhesrhi suddenly wondered, to herself? Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t lacked for companionship over the course of the evening. Other courtiers loitered nearby, waiting to take the place of the elderly sea trader, and they looked rueful now that something in her demeanor told them she meant to go.
For some reason that made her blush, which in turn annoyed her. “I may be back,” she said. “If I can.” She turned and strode away.
She had to climb stairs to reach her apartments-which, despite the exertion involved, was a mark of Tchazzar’s favor. The finest and most coveted suites in the citadel were near the top, where the view looking out over Luthcheq was at its most spectacular. She nodded to the sentry the monarch had insisted on posting at her door, then went inside.
A servant had already lit a fire in the hearth. She kneeled down and traced a star-shaped but asymmetrical figure on the floor. Her fingertip left lines of yellow phosphorescence.
When the sigil was done, she rose and took her staff in both hands. The rod wasn’t alive, but it possessed a sort of quasi consciousness, and it always yearned to create and manipulate fire. She could feel its eagerness when it sensed that was her intent.
She recited words of power while shifting the staff around. First she held it vertically to her right, then in the same attitude on her left, then horizontally over her head. Together with the floor, the three positions defined a rectangle. Or, as she imagined it, a window.
She wasn’t adept at long-distance magical communication. Her talents lay elsewhere, and the same was true of Aoth. But they both possessed some mastery of fire. And since all fires were in a mystical sense the same fire- manifestations of the same cosmic principle and essential force-if they prearranged a time, they could sometimes use flame to talk to each other.
A tapestry started to smoke, and she silently commanded it not to ignite. Then the blaze in the hearth leaped higher. Dimly at first, then more clearly, she spied Aoth and Gaedynn-or shrunken images of them-standing on the far side of the flames. Spear in hand, Aoth was standing and making magic in much the same fashion as herself. Looking relaxed and self-possessed as a cat, Gaedynn sprawled in a chair with a cup in his hand and one long leg thrown over the armrest.
The archer leaned forward and peered. “Is that sweet Lady Firehair herself descended from the heavens to speak to us? Or have you acquired even more new finery?”
Jhesrhi scowled. “These are wizard’s robes, not some useless gown.”
“But not especially practical for the field either,” Gaedynn said. “Are those garnets or rubies in the flame pattern?”
“Enough,” said Aoth, scowling. “I’m not holding this conduit open so you two can bicker. Jhes, I assume that if you haven’t left Luthcheq, neither has Tchazzar.”
“No,” she said. It felt like an admission, which annoyed her because it was unfair. She couldn’t order the monarch around, nor could she leave until he gave permission.
“What about the legions”-the Chessentan forces weren’t actually called that, but the Thayan way of speaking still occasionally colored Aoth’s speech-“in and around the city?”
“They haven’t moved either.”
“Curse it!” said Aoth. “Soolabax is already under siege. There’s fighting all along the border. I need reinforcements, or a dragon of my own to counter the wyrms flying out of the north. Preferably both. What’s Tchazzar waiting on?”
Jhesrhi knew Aoth’s frustration was justified. So perhaps it was her suspicion that he blamed her for the problem that made her want to defend the war hero. “He was gone a hundred years. He has a lot to sort out.”
“None of which will matter a lump of dung if Threskel overruns us,” Gaedynn drawled. “Do you think the old snake’s afraid to fight?”
She hesitated, then remembered how Tchazzar had destroyed the blight wyrm Sseelrigoth. “He’s a dragon,” she said.
“Fine,” said Aoth, a trace of the blue light in his eyes gleaming through the wavering yellow haze of the fire. “He isn’t scared, just unwise. The point is this: Gaedynn did some spying and learned that more dragons are on their way here. Fortunately not too quickly. They’re herding some other creatures along, and not all of those can fly.
“I don’t want them joining the siege,” the war-mage continued. “I want to break out, then ambush the procession before it gets here. I’ve picked out a good spot.”
“That’s a bold plan,” she said. The notion of attacking flying creatures by surprise was always problematic, and if said creatures also possessed the cunning of dragons, it compounded the difficulties. But if anyone could do it, the Brotherhood could.
“At this point,” said Aoth, “Luthcheq’s soldiers can’t get here in time to help. But Tchazzar can.”
“I’ll talk to him,” she promised, “and tell you tomorrow night what he said.”
“Good.” Aoth hesitated. “How’s Cera?” he asked gruffly. Behind him, Gaedynn grinned.
“I haven’t seen her for a couple of days,” Jhesrhi said.
Aoth’s eyes narrowed. “What? Everyone knows Soolabax is surrounded, don’t they? She wouldn’t try to return here without a flying steed to carry her.”
“Everyone knows,” Jhesrhi said. “Your messenger arrived. Now that you mention it, it’s strange, because I’ve seen plenty of Daelric.” Mostly trying fruitlessly to arrange to talk to Tchazzar without Halonya in attendance. “You’d think Cera would have accompanied him at least part of the time.”
“I’m coming down there.”
At the end of the palaver, Aoth waved his hand. Jhesrhi’s image vanished, and the leaping flames subsided to mere flickering wisps among the coals. They’d devoured most of the wood while the magic was active.
“You realize,” Gaedynn said, “this is stupid. Maybe not let’s-go-to-Thay-and-fight-Szass-Tam stupid, but stupid nonetheless.”
“Somebody has to prod Tchazzar into motion.”
“And that somebody is Jhesrhi. The drake picks his favorites, and for the moment at least she’s one of them. So if she can’t do it, you can’t either. You’ll just make yourself look bad by showing up at court when you’re supposed to be here attending to business.”
“I’ll be there attending to business.”
“It’s Cera, isn’t it? You only just met the wench. How can she mean so much to you?”
