did I have to lose?”
“Clarity of mind?” suggested Balasar.
Medrash gave him an irritated look.
“I take it,” Khouryn said, “that after you pledged yourself to the god-or something like that-things changed for you.”
“Not all at once,” Medrash said. “I didn’t stop being afraid, but I found the willpower to try things even though I was. I threw myself into my warrior training, because for the first time I truly believed I could improve.”
“And that’s the tooth that cracks the shell,” Balasar said. “Attitude. Confidence. I don’t need to believe that a god truly took a personal interest in one sad, puny little child to explain what happened next.”
“After half a year,” Medrash said, “I was stronger, quicker, and a better fighter than a number of my fellow students. After two years, I was better than nearly all of them.”
Balasar swallowed a mouthful of trout. “Except me. Obviously.”
Medrash snorted. “Oh, obviously. Later still, I happened across a Tormish temple. I looked at the paintings and statues and recognized the protector from my dreams. I took instruction from the holy champions and asked them to train me to be a paladin.”
“What did your clan think about that?” Khouryn asked.
“They tolerated it,” Medrash said. “Most dragonborn believe that those who pay homage to the gods are a little odd, but they don’t scorn us the way the Chessentans do their mages.”
“The clan realizes,” Balasar said, “that wherever Medrash’s special talents come from, they’re useful. Anyway, you can’t hate everybody at the same time, and well before any of our folk took an interest in the gods, Tymanther had already chosen targets for its bigotry.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Medrash snapped. “So, Khouryn, you’ve heard my story, such as it is. Now you answer a question for me. I understand why Lord Nicos wanted Perra to have an escort. I don’t understand why one of Aoth Fezim’s senior officers is commanding it. Doesn’t he want you with him when he fights the marauders out of Threskel?”
Plainly, Khouryn thought, I’m not the only one who knows how to change the subject. But fair enough. I don’t need to know who it is that Tymantherans spit at in the street. “I asked to lead the escort. During the riot and again in the fight with the Green Hands, you fellows saved my life.”
Medrash shrugged. “We three simply watched out for one another, as comrades do.”
“Maybe,” Khouryn said, “but I felt like helping you get home safely. Besides, there’s another reason I wanted to come. Tymanther’s not that far from East Rift. My wife’s there, and I haven’t seen her in a couple of years. I’m hoping to travel on down the Dustroad and visit. On griffonback, it’s not that long a trip.”
“Why don’t you live with her?” Medrash asked.
Khouryn grunted. “That’s not as happy a story as yours. Nor one I’m much inclined to tell, except to friends. When I was about as young as the two of you-which is damn young, for a dwarf-”
Vigilant sprang to her feet, dumping her master on his back. Balasar chuckled, but his mirth died away when he saw how the griffon was looking around.
Khouryn scrambled to his feet. “Something’s coming.” His mind raced: What did he have time to do? Pull on his mail? Saddle Vigilant? Quite possibly neither.
“We have sentries,” Balasar said.
“Who don’t see what’s sneaking up on us,” Khouryn said. Mace and boot, now that he was belatedly paying attention, he realized that except for the other campfires, reduced to mere smudges of glow, he could barely even make out the rest of the camp. He raised his voice to a bellow. “Something’s in the fog!”
In response, voices cursed. He could picture his fellow wayfarers hastily rising from their ease and grabbing their weapons, even as he was snatching up his urgrosh.
Balasar and Medrash took up their shields and drew their swords. The paladin rattled off an invocation, set his blade aglow with silvery light, and grimaced when he saw that the luminescence only helped a little to reveal what lay within the mist.
Then, closer to the lake, someone screamed. One of the pickets, maybe cut down before he even realized he was in danger. An instant later, Vigilant gave a deafening screech and charged in that direction.
Khouryn ran after her, and Medrash and Balasar pounded after him. Still, the griffon outdistanced them and vanished into the fog. Then wings snapped, bodies thudded together, and hissing cries rasped. She’d found the enemy.
When Khouryn caught up, he nearly faltered in surprise, for Vigilant was fighting creatures unlike any he’d ever seen. At first glance they somewhat resembled lizardfolk, but with limbs and torsos foreshortened from human- to dwarf-length, and flexible, whipping necks stretched more than long enough to make up the lost height. Their scales gleamed orange-yellow in the glow of Medrash’s sword.
Despite their fangs and claws, they were no match for Vigilant in close combat. She’d already shredded two and was gutting another with her talons. But four more, keeping their distance, spat what looked like water at her, and she screamed and jerked.
Khouryn charged the closest one. It spat the same spray at him. He dodged, but some of the jet still caught him.
It felt hot instead of wet. A wave of sickness surged through him. He stumbled, and his foe rushed him. The fanged head on the long neck struck at him like a snake.
Refusing to be weak no matter how wretched he suddenly felt, he swung the urgrosh and lopped it off. Then he pivoted and chopped a second such creature in the chest.
He looked around and saw that Medrash and Balasar had killed a couple too. That seemed to be all of them in the immediate vicinity. And to his relief, he didn’t feel as miserable as he had a moment before. Just parched, like he’d marched under the hot sun all day without a drop of water.
“Where now?” Balasar asked.
It was a good question. Khouryn could tell from the battle cries and shrieks that the whole camp was under attack. But since he couldn’t see the battle, how could he judge where he and his companions were needed most?
He tried to swallow away the dryness clogging his throat. “We go to the ambassador. Protect her.”
Medrash gave a brusque nod, and they headed for the center of the camp and Perra’s fire. With luck, maybe she hadn’t strayed far from that location.
When they blundered into more of the hissing, long-necked creatures, they killed them. Once or twice, Vigilant shot Khouryn what he would have sworn was an annoyed glare. Maybe she considered it beneath her dignity to fight on the ground. But he was afraid he’d see even less if he rode her up into the air.
Finally Perra came into view. Cutting and parrying with one of the greatswords that only the highest-ranking Tymantherans were allowed to wield, the gaunt old diplomat was holding her own. So were the several warriors, some dragonborn and some human members of the Brotherhood, standing with her in a defensive circle. Still, Khouryn judged that he and his friends had been wise to come to her aid. There were dozens of the long-necked creatures attacking the formation.
He started forward, and Medrash said, “Wait.” The paladin spat bright, crackling lightning, and his clan brother, silvery frost. Blasted from behind, several of the orange-yellow creatures collapsed.
“Now,” Balasar said.
The newcomers rushed in. Vigilant leaped into the air and came down on top of two of the attackers. Her aquiline talons pierced them through, and as they crumpled beneath her weight, her beak nipped and beheaded another.
Khouryn hacked a creature’s leg out from under it, then stamped in its ribs. Another foe caught the urgrosh in its fangs and tried to yank it away. He hung on and gave the weapon a twist and jerk that snapped the reptile’s neck.
“Toad-sniffer!” Balasar yelled.
Khouryn had never heard the oath before, nor did he know why a dragonborn would consider it obscene. But he recognized the tone-shock and disgust blended together. Balasar sounded like many a warrior who’d just noticed a nasty surprise appearing on the battlefield.
Khouryn whirled in time to see the last bits of an enormous creature waver into visibility. The tops of its
