the coast. “But I don’t think they knew about the temple of Umberlee. The waveservants used their magic to help us soldiers fight, and we won.”
“That’s good news,” Shala said, “and it’s plain you rode hard to bring it. I’m grateful. But it could have waited until I finished my current business.”
“Excuse me, Majesty, but there’s more. There were dragonborn among the Imaskari.”
The courtiers babbled.
“Majesty,” Perra said, raising her voice to make it heard above the clamor, “I swear on the honor of Clan Ophinshtalajiir, the vanquisher would never allow such a thing.”
“Did the dragonborn have piercings?” Medrash asked, but the question got lost in the general din.
“Shut up!” Shala snapped, and the room quieted. She fixed her gaze on Perra. “You and your people will have to leave Luthcheq.”
Zan-akar somehow managed to keep his expression grave, but Jhesrhi suspected he was whooping with joy on the inside.
“Majesty,” Perra replied, “let me be very sure I understand you. You’re expelling us from Chessenta and breaking off relations with Tymanther?”
“I’m sending you away,” Shala said, “to avoid another riot when the city hears this news. For your own safety, in other words. I’ll have to ponder further to decide whether to sever ties with your kingdom.”
But with Zan-akar urging her to do precisely that, and no one left to speak for Tymanther, Jhesrhi figured she knew what decision the war hero would ultimately make.
Perra surely assumed the same, but maybe she also judged it would be impossible to change Shala’s mind. Because she simply bowed and said, “As Your Majesty commands.”
Resplendent in a new suit of silk and brocade, the candlelight glinting on his jeweled ornaments, Gaedynn related the story of the taking of the Dread Ring in Lapendrar. Apparently he’d done it more or less single-handedly, with every arrow piercing a vampire or some other undead horror through the heart.
It was a tale told on two levels. His comrades were meant to take it as a joke. The pretty young ladies seated to either side of him-Nicos’s nieces, or was it cousins?-were supposed to ooh and ah at his heroism, and they did.
Aoth was glad someone was enjoying the victory feast. Jhesrhi had begged off, as she often avoided such occasions. Khouryn grew quieter with every cup of Sembian red. Even their host seemed subdued.
So was Aoth, and it annoyed him. So what if the dragonborn had suffered a misfortune? No one was paying him to look out for their interests. By the Black Flame, for all he knew, it might even be true that Tymanther was the secret enemy of Chessenta. Old Perra wouldn’t be the first envoy who didn’t know what her own government was up to.
Seated at the head of the table, Nicos turned his head in Aoth’s general direction. “Numestra, could you possibly spare the captain for a little while? He and I have matters to discuss.”
Aoth’s buxom, freckled tablemate had gamely made conversation throughout the five-course meal, but he had the feeling she was happy to be rid of him. His weird eyes, copious tattoos, and reputation as a bloodthirsty Thayan sellsword intrigued some women but repulsed others, and she was probably in the latter camp. And his dourness had offered little to win her over.
Nicos led him toward the same study in which they’d had their initial conversation. But the nobleman stopped short in the antechamber where the halfling clerks labored by day. Aoth caught a whiff of a distinctive sweet-and- sour smell hanging on the air.
“Wait,” Nicos said. “I have a particularly fine apricot cordial. We can share that as we talk.” He waved for Aoth to precede him back the way they’d come.
Maybe the aristocrat really did crave another drink. But Aoth wondered if he was trying to keep him from catching the lingering aroma of a rare aromatic gum burned in certain rituals.
Fine. If he didn’t want Aoth to smell it, he wouldn’t let on that he had. Kossuth knew he didn’t blame the nobleman for not wanting anyone, even one of his own agents, to know he possessed a modicum of occult knowledge and ability. Not in Chessenta.
They ended up in a game room with one table for throwing dice and another for spinning tops at arrangements of little wooden pins. It was in an offshoot of the house, with no floors above it, so Aoth could hear the rain pattering on the roof.
Nicos served the sweet liqueur. Aoth assumed it probably was every bit as good as his host claimed, although he couldn’t really tell. His palate was so lacking in discernment that he could drink almost anything with relish.
He waited for Nicos to tell him the purpose of their discussion, but the Chessentan seemed to be having trouble getting started. In hopes of moving things along, Aoth said, “I noticed that neither Lord Luthen nor his proxy Daelric said a word in council today. I suppose they realized they’d look like idiots speaking out against you now that you truly have stopped the Green Hand killings.”
Although now that he thought about it, it was odd. Luthen hadn’t looked unhappy. He’d had a little smile on his round, bearded face.
Nicos grunted. “We did stop them-or rather, you and your people did. It needed doing, and you succeeded brilliantly.” He hesitated.
“But?” Aoth prompted.
“It didn’t work out the way I hoped. I’m afraid the provocations from Threskel and High Imaskar, outrageous and damaging as they are, are merely the precursors to actual invasions. In large measure, that’s why I wanted to catch the Green Hands. To allay the common suspicion of mages enough that the war hero and her commanders would consent to use them in our defense.”
Aoth nodded. “And we did. But now Chessenta won’t have dragonborn allies fighting alongside her soldiers. You’re worried you came out behind on the trade.”
“Exactly.”
“Of course, if Tymanther really is your enemy, you wouldn’t have had their help anyway.”
Nicos waved a dismissive hand, as if to convey that Tymanther’s guilt was an impossibility. Aoth had his own doubts, based more on intuition than the facts, but he wondered how the Chessentan could be so sure.
“In any case,” Nicos said, “our situation remains more complicated than anticipated. Shala’s right-Perra and her household are now in much the same situation as were the wizards two days ago. The people despise them and may well try to harm them, and we can’t trust native Chessentan troops to protect them. Can you provide an escort to see them safely back to Tymanther?”
Aoth sighed. He would have preferred to have all his strength to contend with whatever Threskel sent south. “I can spare a few men.”
“Good. There’s something else as well. But first, I have to ask you, are you truly my agent? Will you follow my orders in preference to any others?”
Aoth stared at him. “By the Nine Dark Princes! Was Luthen right? Did you bring us here to help overthrow the war hero?”
“No! Of course not!”
“Well, that’s a relief, because I don’t think that at our current strength we could pull it off. We might kill or imprison her, but we probably wouldn’t fare well in the dung storm that would follow.”
“I’m not a traitor!”
“Clearly not, milord. I was just speaking hypothetically. To answer your question-yes, I’m your man, as long as you keep paying me.”
“All right. Then how much do you know about Tchazzar?”
Aoth cocked his head. “Very little. I’m old enough that I actually could have seen him, but I never did. I was a little busy up in Thay the last time he was around.”
“I assume you’ve at least heard that he vanished during the upheavals of the Spellplague.”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s a little more to the story. He ventured into Threskel and never returned. It’s possible he was
