This might work, Jhesrhi said. She willed a caul of flame to spring forth from her face.
Vandar recoiled a half step before catching himself with a scowl. Evidently a lodge chieftain wasn t supposed to show fear. Jovial until that moment, Bez narrowed his dark, somewhat bloodshot eyes as though he suddenly believed that Aoth might well succeed in claiming the griffons.
The door in the far wall banged open, and a dozen men, including the guard who d escorted Jhesrhi and her companions to the hall, swept through. The one in the lead was as tall and as muscular as Vandar, but older, with a sprinkling of white in his close-cropped beard. He wore an iron circlet on his head, a fine leather doublet with an intricate design hammered in, and deerskin boots that cross-laced up to his knees.
He was almost certainly Mangan Uruk, the Iron Lord. A smallish Shou in a long green gold-trimmed coat and an Aglarondan officer headed straight for him. Ignoring them and Aoth, Cera, and even Jhesrhi with her mask of fire he strode straight up to Bez, who tried not to look as surprised by it as everyone else was.
Bez bowed. Highness he began.
Your ship, Mangan rapped. How soon can it take flight?
As soon as I give the order, Bez replied. He was plainly exaggerating, but Jhesrhi suspected only by a little. Is something wrong?
Yes, the warlord said. How badly wrong remains to be seen. A sparrow that brought word died while it was still trying to explain. Either it strained its heart struggling to reach us, or something poisoned it.
A sparrow that brought word, Jhesrhi thought, marvelling. According to travelers tales, Rashemen was supposedly as full of talking animals as it was of Nature spirits. Maybe the stories were true.
Well, said Bez, don t you worry. I ll soon have you there to see for yourself. He raised his voice to a shout. Storm of Vengeance! Get up, you lazy bastards! His Highness needs us!
Even the more inebriated sellswords scurried to attend their captain. At a shout from the scar-faced half-elf who had to be their commander, the Aglarondans made haste to bestir themselves as well. Though the Iron Lord hadn t asked them for transport, they plainly meant to accompany him anyway, in the hope of finding a way to ingratiate themselves. Lacking his own means of flying, the Shou in the green and gold coat pleaded with Bez and then the half-elf for a ride. Both ignored him.
Aoth turned to Jhesrhi. Can you make the wind carry all three of us as you did that night in Luthcheq? he asked.
Of course, she replied, frowning.
Good, Aoth said. It seems Bez and the Aglarondans mean to make themselves useful and ingratiate themselves with the Iron Lord and thus, I assume, the witches, too. We need to fly along with them and do our part. People were already streaming out of the chamber. Come on.
Take me, too! Vandar said.
Sorry, said Aoth. It would be stupid of me to help a rival.
All you outlanders are jumping at the chance to serve, Vandar called. But there are a lot of sellswords in Bez s crew, a lot of Aglarondans, and only three of you. How can you expect to accomplish anything the others can t do better, unless you have a companion who knows this land to help you?
Aoth hesitated. There s no way of knowing if that will make a difference, he said.
But it might, Vandar replied. Are you afraid that one Rashemi berserker will outshine all you sophisticated southerners?
Aoth chuckled. When you put it that way, I don t suppose I am, he said. Ever flown before?
No, Vandar answered.
Then I should bring you along, said Aoth.
Afterward, you may not even want the griffons.
TWO
Jet hadn t seen any of his own kind since departing Luthcheq, and the prospect of doing so pleased him. Although to give them their due, humans made for decent company. Indeed, he shared things with them that he never could with his less intelligent kin. But he also possessed nonhuman feelings and perspectives that even Aoth, with their psychic link, could only partly understand.
Spiraling out from Immilmar, Jet found a pride of griffons quickly enough, in a snowy field just north of town. But he also found the soldiers who were tending the beasts; their tents and the banner of Aglarond were planted in the frozen ground. Jet inferred that the simbarchs had dispatched an envoy and his escort to try to buy the wild griffons, and those folk had left their winged mounts just far enough out of town to spare them the constant temptation of horseflesh on the hoof.
As usual, Jet reflected sourly, Aoth had landed them in a situation that was proving to be more complicated than expected. He considered advising the war mage of his discovery, then decided that Aoth had probably already found out this particular bit of bad news for himself.
So Jet simply and mischievously screeched a greeting as he flew overhead. Griffons below cried in response and restlessly shook out their wings. Their keepers scurried about, calming them and making sure they wouldn t try to take flight and join their fellow in the sky.
Jet found the feral but ensorcelled griffons, the ones the Rashemi presumably meant to sell, prowling on the white hillsides farther to the east, or soaring and circling above them. His eyes widened at their numbers. It was astonishing that they d bred or been captured in such profusion, and he had little doubt that wizardry or the whim of a god was involved.
In any case, magic was surely responsible for holding them where they were. As Jet flew nearer, a kind of crackling rawness in the air prickled across his body, while colors brightened or dimmed from moment to moment. A human female in a green robe strolled fearlessly among the huge beasts on the ground. She lifted her masked face to watch his approach. Perhaps it was her task to renew the enchantment and keep it strong.
Jet wondered if he should turn around lest the spell snare him, too. But he didn t feel any compulsion trying to squirm into his mind. And besides, if the magic did take him prisoner, Aoth would surely set him free. He flew on for a closer look.
The witch didn t try to stop him. But one griffon gave a rasping scream, lashed his wings, and leaped up from the ground.
Thanks to Aoth s benign enchantments shaping him from the moment of conception, Jet was different than any normal creature of his kind. Not only was he more intelligent and capable of speech, he was bigger and stronger, with gleaming black feathers and fur and crimson eyes.
For the first time, Jet was looking at a griffon as extraordinary as himself. In fact, the other beast was even larger, with gold-striped wings and brilliant blue eyes instead of the usual yellow.
Since the Rashemi had just taken the beasts from the wild, Jet doubted that a spellcaster had altered the creature. Rather, the magic of that strange northern land itself where animals talked, and every creek, bush, and tree supposedly housed a guardian spirit must have shaped him into the superior being he was.
A superior being who didn t like Jet. Climbing to the same altitude, the gold griffon screamed again, and the rage and challenge in his cry were unmistakable.
Jet understood why. In the wild, griffons were often solitary except when mating or raising cubs. But in areas where game was plentiful, they sometimes formed prides. And of course when they served as mounts for aerial cavalry, they were obliged to live in groups.
In such situations, one griffon generally rose to dominance. And evidently the blue-eyed creature saw Jet the newcomer as a potential threat to his ascendancy.
Jet considered how best to respond. He was still pondering when Aoth spoke to him mind to mind.
We re flying east out of Immilmar, his master said. Come join us.
Stay in my head, said Jet, wheeling. Guide me to you.
I will, Aoth answered with a hint of humor, but I don t think you can miss us. It s quite a procession.
As Jet finished turning, the blue-eyed griffon screamed at what no doubt resembled a display of fear. Other beasts gave vent to their own rasping, scornful cries. Their wings snapped as they flew after him.
A wave of fury swept through Jet. He longed to turn again and prove his strength and courage by tearing the
