griffon with the gold-streaked wings to shreds. He could savage the whole pride if necessary, until the bloodied survivors cowered before him.
But that was a beast s impulse. Jet was more than a beast, and Aoth needed him. He raced onward. Unable to leave the confines of their invisible cage, the wild griffons soon gave up the chase.
Cera had grown accustomed to riding on Jet, but soaring along across the sky with only the wind supporting her was unsettling. Her body kept tensing, certain she was about to fall.
Her mind knew better, of course. Jhesrhi, who had at some point extinguished her mask of fire, might be a morose and taciturn companion and never more so than in recent weeks but she was still a faithful friend and a true adept at elemental magic. She wasn t going to drop anybody.
Cera tried to distract herself by looking around. Aoth was scowling, although probably not because he was worried about a fall. He had magic bound in a tattoo that would ensure a soft landing even if that happened. He just didn t like not being in control.
Vandar s beadwork vest fluttered and clinked faintly in the breeze. He had a clenched look that suggested he was afraid but determined not to show it. Or maybe he just didn t want to shudder and have his teeth chatter in the cold. For various reasons, his three companions were either impervious to winter s chill or could at least render themselves resistant. But the berserker had no such advantage. Cera murmured a prayer to the Keeper to warm him.
Farther away, the Storm of Vengeance swept along under sail, including the folding winglike constructions of canvas and wood now projecting from the sides of her hull. The skyship creaked and groaned like a common vessel at sea, and crewmen clambered as nimble as squirrels in her rigging. Mangan Uruk peered ahead from the bow, with Mario Bez at his side.
All around, to the right and left and above and below, twenty or so Aglarondans urged their griffons onward, with shouts and light taps from the butts of their lances.
By the Yellow Sun, it all made for a glorious spectacle. Cera didn t only love Aoth because her association with him had led her to wonders and excitement that, as a priestess in a quiet market town, she had never imagined she might experience. But she suspected that was a part of it, even though the wonders and excitement had a nasty habit of turning into terrifying danger.
Could she give all that up? Give him up? She didn t want to, but, because of the part she d played in destroying Tchazzar and driving out the wyrmkeepers, her peers might well seek to proclaim her sunlady of all Chessenta. That honor would tie her to the realm for the rest of her life, while the day was bound to come when Aoth and the Brotherhood of the Griffon would move on.
And if she was offered poor Daelric Apathos s office, what else could she think but that it was Amaunator s will? And such being the case, how could she justify turning her back on the god s plan for her?
Cera had agreed to accompany Aoth to Rashemen partly because she hoped the journey would somehow help her see her path clearly. And if not, at least it was another chance to be with him, to make memories she could cherish during what might be lonely years to come.
There! Aoth said, jarring her from her reverie. He pointed with his spear.
To the south stood a snow-shrouded stand of oaks and pines, like a detached bit of the great forest Ashenwood, visible as a distant dark mass. A couple of huts stood among the trees, and that was about as much detail as Cera could make out. She surmised, though, that Aoth had spotted signs of trouble, and that was why he was certain that was their destination.
Jhesrhi spoke words in what Cera assumed to be the language of the wind, and they swooped over the grove for a closer look. Flying felt even more like falling. But it only gave Cera a momentary twinge of fear, probably because she was too busy peering for actual danger.
Though she didn t see any, she did spot three witches and an enormous fox sprawled motionless in the cleared area in front of the huts. One of the women wore a white robe and a mask with a single horn jutting from the brow. She d apparently pledged herself to the goddess Mielikki, the Forest Queen. Another had on brown and green, and a circlet of little red rosebuds that must have flowered for her in the midst of winter to crown her as a hathran of Chauntea, the Earthmother. The last witch lay cloaked in black and silver and was likely a priestess of Sel ne, the Moonmaiden.
Cera at first thought that the fox had been one of the attackers, but she saw that it was facing away from the witches. Such being the case, it seemed more likely that the animal had come to harm trying to protect them.
Cera looked to Jhesrhi. Please, get me down there, she said. Someone might still be alive.
Unfortunately, no, Aoth said. But we ve learned all we can from up here.
On Jhesrhi s command, the wind let them plummet, slowing their descent at what seemed the last possible moment. Cera s boots settled lightly in the snow, and she could see what Aoth had observed from on high. The bodies before her were withered and twisted, and already stank of rot despite the cold. She sighed in pity and disappointment.
When she looked up from the corpses, Aoth, Jhesrhi, and Vandar were peering about, their weapons at the ready. Their priority was to scan for hidden foes, not to examine the fallen. That, Cera reflected, was the difference between truly warlike folk and one who no matter how many desperate exploits she survived would always be a cleric and healer in her innermost heart.
With rasping cries and the rustling of wings, the griffons and their Aglarondan masters descended. Less agile in flight, her canvas wings partly folded, the Storm of Vengeance was still maneuvering to land beyond the trees while gradually floating lower in the process.
The Aglarondan half-elf with the old white scar creasing his cheek and tugging slightly at the corner of his mouth glared at Aoth.
All of you, step away from there, he said.
No, Aoth replied. Not on your order. This isn t Aglarond, and you have no authority. If any of us does, it s the lodge master here, until Mangan Uruk touches down.
Vandar drew himself up straighter. That s true, he said. And I say we should be figuring out who committed this outrage, not bickering amongst ourselves.
Fine, the half-elf snapped. He turned to his men.
We ll work our way through the trees. See what you can find.
As the griffonriders moved off, their mounts prowling beside them like faithful hounds, Aoth gave Vandar a nod. Thanks for backing me up, he said.
The berserker shrugged. We agreed that, for the time being, we d help each other, he replied. I take it that Folcoerr Dulsaer doesn t like you.
Is that his name? asked Aoth. I broke a contract with Aglarond once and fought on the side of its enemy instead. I guess he hasn t forgotten.
And it doesn t shame you to admit it? Vandar asked, sneering.
You don t know anything about it, said Aoth. And anyway, it has nothing to do with what happened here. Let s work on understanding that. Tell me about that tree. Aoth pointed with his spear to indicate the one he meant.
It was a towering old oak, and Cera winced to behold its current state. The bark was flaking away, and patches of black, slimy rot were eating into the sapwood. The bare branches had twisted into unnatural shapes that reminded her of the contortions of the dead hathrans.
Vandar scowled. It was the reason this place was sacred, he said. The reason the witches dwelled here. A wise old spirit lived inside it. If the oak s been killed, I suppose the telthor has been, too. He extended his hand and touched his heart in what Cera took to be a sign of reverence.
So the point of all this was desecration, she said. The thought made her neck muscles tighten in anger.
Desecration and plunder, said Aoth. I doubt that all three of these women died without a wand or a staff in their hands. And you can see the huts have been ransacked.
What I don t see, Vandar said, are clear tracks of anyone but the hathrans and the fox.
I noticed that, too, said Aoth. There are spells to erase a human s tracks, but they run out of power after a while. That means the Aglarondans have the right idea. If we move out from this point, maybe we can pick up a trail. Cera, stay with me.
She snorted. I think I ve proved I can take care of myself.
