herself to me as Zyl has done?
Are you sure? the Stag King asked as he turned his gaze on Jhesrhi. I m not such a bad master. Zyl will vouch for that. I can teach you a great deal, and make it easier to complete your transformation.
It is complete, she said through gritted teeth.
And I like it where I am.
The Stag King turned back to Aoth. Well, then, Captain, that leaves you, he said.
I have wealth to barter, the Thayan replied.
Gold, some talismans, enchanted weapons, and such. It s not all in Rashemen, but if we make a deal, I ll get it to you.
The enormous creature grinned. No need. Your greatest treasure is here: eyes infected with the Blue Fire that changed the whole world. Eyes with truesight. Give me one of them. You ll still see better than any other human in the world.
Aoth snorted and said, Unless some foe sneaks up on the wrong flank.
Then you decline the offer?
Of course. I explained that it s in your best interest to ally with the hathrans and me. That should be enough. I shouldn t have to haggle with you like I m trying to buy a carpet in a marketplace, and it s laughable that you think I d give up one of my most valuable officers, or mutilate myself, to purchase your help. With all due respect, it s nowhere near that important. So sit idle in this tumbledown pile if it pleases you. Jhes and I will find a way to beat the undead without you.
The Stag King glared. Is that your final word? he asked.
Yes, Aoth replied.
The spirit s glower softened into a crooked smile.
Well, I may not be a rug merchant, but you still can t blame me for trying, he said. But all right. My warriors and I will accompany you to the Fortress of the Half-Demon. We ll see what we can learn and whom we can kill.
SEVEN
Zyl had alluded to berserkers cutting themselves and frothing at the mouth. But though Vandar fought like a madman when the fury held him in its sway, Cera hadn t seen him do either of those things, and so she d assumed the hare was exaggerating.
She didn t think so anymore. Even though the warriors of the Griffon Lodge weren t headed into battle at the moment, and the excitement they were experiencing was likely only a shadow of what they would feel then, a few were indeed slicing their own brawny arms and chests. Others gnashed their teeth in a gesture seemingly intended to mimic a griffon snapping its beak, a gesture that often sent spittle flying through the air. Meanwhile, the rest had other ways of acting crazy. They screeched like griffons, swept their arms wide like griffons spreading their wings, or punched their neighbors for no particular reason.
Which was to say, with Vandar having delivered his news, his brothers were raising the feral spirit they d likely need when they reached the Fortress of the Half-Demon. Cera suspected that Jet, standing with Vandar and her in front of the crowd, was a potent source of inspiration. The berserkers might constitute the Griffon Lodge, but how many of them had ever been so close to their totem?
At first, Jet regarded the berserkers display with what Cera had learned to recognize as dour tolerance, an attitude of
Humans are idiots, but there s nothing to be done about it. Soon, however, he raised his black-feathered head high. Some of the Rashemi fell silent, and the echoing clamor inside the lodge diminished.
What is it? Cera asked.
I need to get outside, the familiar replied. He glanced at a tall mullioned glass window, surely an expensive luxury and object of pride in that rustic land. Already wincing, Cera imagined him leaping and smashing through it. But instead he turned and bounded down the length of the smoky torch-lit hall toward the double doors in the far wall. Startled berserkers scrambled out of the way, and she and Vandar scurried to keep up.
She threw open the doors. Jet leaped out into the dirty, trodden snow, and she and Vandar followed. She heard the sound that the familiar had caught even inside the noisy building. Faint with distance, the cries of other griffons mingled with the whistle of the wind.
Is it the wild ones? she asked.
No, said Jet. It s the ones from Aglarond.
How can you tell? Vandar asked.
For one thing, said Jet, a grim note in his voice, I d recognize the call of that male with the blue eyes. Trust me, it s the Aglarondans, and the reason they re calling to one another is that their riders are rousing them to fly.
In the middle of a cold winter s night, Vandar said. Folcoerr Dulsaer would only order that if he suddenly thinks he knows where to go to strike a blow at the undead
Cera smiled. If Jet and I shadow them, we can find out exactly what they re up to, she said.
That s a good idea, the berserker replied. But I should be the one to go.
I m no griffonrider, Cera said. But I ve at least spent enough time aloft to know how to sit in the saddle and trust Jet to take care of me. Besides, you need to get your brothers ready to travel.
Although Yhelbruna had told all the outlanders they could ask for help as needed, Cera and Vandar had judged that the Griffon Lodge needed to sneak out of Immilmar and march on the Fortress of the Half-Demon alone. Otherwise there was a fair chance that the Aglarondans or Mario Bez s sellswords either of whom could travel faster in the sky than the Rashemi could on the ground would race to their destination ahead of them, accomplish whatever could be accomplished there, and claim the credit for doing it.
Vandar scowled. But he said, All right, lady, but be careful. My impression of the Aglarondans is that they wouldn t try to hurt you themselves. But they might not care if the creatures they re hunting attacked a rival and a spy.
With that he turned and started giving orders to the nearest berserkers. Jet and Cera ran toward the shed where they d stowed the griffon s tack. He bounded, lashing his wings with each leap, and instantly outdistanced her as she labored with her short legs through the snow.
When she caught up, he crouched so she could heave the saddle onto his back. She cinched it, climbed on, and buckled the safety straps with the meticulous slowness of a novice rider. Somewhat to her surprise, Jet didn t offer any acerbic remarks.
He broke into a run, sprang, lashed his wings, and climbed into the sky the instant she was ready. She caught her breath at the suddenness of it. She trusted Jet and had come to enjoy flying, but that didn t mean she was at ease every single moment.
As he wheeled to follow the Aglarondans, Jet rasped, Your mace keeps bumping me.
Oh! Sorry! she said. She slipped the dangling weapon off her wrist and into one of the sheaths built into the front of the saddle. The holder made a sucking sound as a minor enchantment made it clamp down tight. Do you think we can just sneak in among the Aglarondans without anybody noticing us?
I ll try, Jet replied. Don t count on the griffons mistaking me for one on their own. And if they do realize we re strangers, they may cry out. But with luck, their riders won t understand what it means. His tone made plain his scorn for human stupidity.
That sounds good, Cera said. The night was even colder up here in the sky, and she shivered. I m going to ask the Keeper to warm me. Shall I do the same for you?
The familiar laughed, a bloodcurdling sound she hadn t recognized the first time she d heard it. Don t bother, he said. Nature made griffons properly. We don t need magic just to endure the winter wind.
Well, aren t you special, she said as she began to murmur a prayer. Warmth suffused her body.
They flew on in silence for a while. She peered into the darkness ahead for a first glimpse of the Aglarondans and breathed in Jet s smell: a not-unpleasant mix of bird and cat.
Eventually the griffon asked, Are you going to stay with Aoth?
