That left Mario Bez. Reasonably clever and devoid of scruples, he was currently flying around the countryside on his skyship hunting for ghosts and such. But he returned to Immilmar periodically. Dai Shan would offer him a partnership the next time he did.
So, that was one decision made. But Dai Shan still had another to ponder, and it was the more problematic of the two. He could think of several reasons why a cautious man would shun the course of action he was contemplating. But he hadn t risen to prominence in the House of Shan through caution it had taken boldness and cunning. For, the Dark Goddess knew, his father would never favor a son simply for the sake of affection, even if the old snake were genuinely capable of feeling the emotion.
Dai Shan abruptly realized that he d made his second choice. Somehow, picturing his father, withered, palsied, and propped up on a mound of pillows, but as crafty, ruthless, and grasping as ever, had made it for him.
He glanced around to make sure he was unobserved. The Iron Lord no doubt had sentries who were supposed to walk the battlements, but at the moment, none was in evidence. He whispered, Wake.
The moonlight gave him the bare hint of a shadow. In the darkness, many men might have failed to observe it even after it had leaped upright. But Dai Shan had no difficulty making out the inky rippling a kind of negative shimmer when it moved, or gave an attentive tilt of its head. He could even feel its stare and eagerness to please him. It was only by doing the latter that it could fill, even briefly, the aching hollowness inside it.
Go forth, he said, and find the undead creatures troubling this land. Bring them to me when you do.
The shadow bowed. It turned, leaped between two merlons, plunged to the ground outside the castle, and dashed away. Portions of its body stretched and contracted in the fluid manner of its insubstantial kind. In a moment or two, it had vanished into the night, and even its master couldn t make it out anymore.
Dai Shan knew he might never hear anything more of the familiar. It was undead of a sort, too, but that didn t mean it could sniff out durthan revenants, or that they d trust it or care about its controller s offer if it did. Still, like reaching out to Bez, the tactic was worth a try.
It was impossible to guess who, if anyone, would ultimately end up helping Dai Shan claim the griffons. But, by the Dark Moon, claim them he somehow would. And if Rashemen came to harm as a result Well, the Iron Lord was right about one thing: his poor, barbaric land had never been much of a trading partner anyway.
Aoth kept his eyes moving. He was watching for threats slinking through the trees and keeping an eye on Choschax. Even with the cyclops s hands bound behind him and his feet hobbled with the silver-dusted rope originally intended to restrain werewolves, he might still try to escape or give warning of their approach.
Aoth took stock of the state of his command, making sure they were game for what he was about to require of them. Much as he trusted them well, all of them except Vandar he would have understood if they were nervous. They d already fought one fight, and although they d all emerged from it essentially unscathed, such struggles took a toll. On top of that, everyone was aware that the spellcasters among them had already expended a fair amount of their mystical strength. In other circumstances, Aoth would have put off a raid until they had rested and recovered. But if he delayed that long, Choschax s mistress would wonder why the cyclopes who d gone out to meet the wolf pack hadn t returned.
Fortunately, no one looked shaky. Not even Cera, who arguably still wasn t a true warrior even if, since falling in with Aoth, she d fought foes more terrible than most soldiers would ever have to face. Or Jhesrhi, who d once spent a grim and desperate time trapped in the spirit world and likely wasn t eager to go back. He felt a surge of pride and affection for them both.
Vandar looks just as steady, said Jet, speaking mind to mind. The griffon was soaring above the treetops watching for trouble from that angle.
Aoth snorted. He s too stupid to know what we re getting into.
He s Rashemi. He knows more about the fey than we do. You just don t like the way he fights.
You re right. It s sloppy and undisciplined.
It s not so different from the way you and I fight when cornered.
But we try hard not to get cornered. We keep our heads, and that allows us to do the cornering. That s why we ve survived as long as
Choschax stumbled around to face his captors. Aoth turned his eyes slightly to the side, so he wasn t meeting the cyclops s burning gaze dead on.
It s just ahead, Choschax said. You ll see it.
Go back the way we came, said Aoth. We ll find you and untie you when we come back out. And remember, my griffon is watching you. If you try to get rid of your bonds, warn your friends, or do anything else we wouldn t like, he ll dive down and rip you apart.
The prisoner scowled. I hear you.
Then go.
As Aoth and his comrades skulked forward, and Choschax hobbled in the opposite direction, Jet said, If we killed him, no one would need to keep track of him, and then I could go into the hole with you.
That s not the only reason I m leaving you on watch, or even the main reason, replied Aoth. You re stealthy on the wing, not underground, and stealth is what s required now. Besides, if we run into trouble, I ll give you a shout, and you can go for help.
You mean, back to Chessenta? That s where the rest of the Brotherhood is, and nobody in Rashemen cares what happens to a Thayan.
Go to Vandar s lodge. I imagine they ll listen to a griffon that tells them their chieftain is in trouble.
And fortunately, they re only a few days travel away.
Then you come up with a better plan. Just do it quietly. I need to focus on what I m doing so we won t need rescuing in the first place.
A gnarled thorn tree with twisted forking branches like clawed hands stood some little distance from its nearest neighbor. Aoth didn t recognize the species, but he did observe that it looked dead. The slimy pockets of rot in its trunk made it stand out in a season when every deciduous tree had shed its leaves.
What he couldn t discern, even with fire-kissed eyes, was that the thorn tree was a sentinel, animate and aware of its surroundings. But he spoke the words that Choschax had taught him anyway.
The tree shuddered, its branches rattling. Cera took a reflexive step backward, and Vandar hefted his javelin. Jhesrhi drew fire from the head of her staff, and Aoth aimed his spear.
But the thorn tree didn t try to harm them. With its roots writhing and coiling like tentacles and pulling themselves out of the earth, it reached out and lifted a section of ground, like a trapdoor on its hinges. Illuminated by a pale glow from below, rude sandstone steps high and deep, sized for a cyclops descended into the earth.
I ll go first, said Aoth. I ll be able to see no matter what. Jhes, you re second, and Cera, third. Vandar, you re rearguard.
The berserker glowered but for a welcome change didn t argue.
The thorn-tree guardian lowered the plug back into the hole once Vandar was inside. Descending, Aoth and his comrades soon came to the source of the glow: a sort of rippling curtain of light.
To Aoth s annoyance, seeing it made him hesitate. Perhaps it was because, despite an eventful first century of life, he d only visited another plane once before Szass Tam s lifeless little artificial world and he hadn t much enjoyed the trip. He spat, readied his spear, and strode on through.
Everything changed.
Aoth was still climbing downstairs, but his surroundings weren t earth anymore. They were black stone: unfinished, but glossy as though polished. Veins of gold and rubies, or something like them, glowed in the rock, providing additonal illumination. The intricacy of the patterns and the richness of the colors were fascinating. Aoth knew he had to remain alert, but couldn t resist drinking in the particularly gorgeous detail for just a heartbeat or two. And then that one over there
Something bumped into his back and pitched him forward. He staggered down the steps and struggled to keep from falling. The effort snapped him out of his daze.
He turned and looked up at his companions. As they stepped through the curtain, each faltered and caught his or her breath as Aoth no doubt had, transfixed by the preternatural beauty before them.
It was a beauty they shared. Cera and Jhesrhi had always been beautiful in Aoth s eyes, but although he couldn t say how any one feature had changed, each now seemed as flawless and as radiant as a goddess. Even
