Before them was an agora with rings of shops around it. The travelers proceeded along the edge of the commercial area, between the outermost mercantile establishments and a row of pillars, until they reached a rectangular structure that clearly served as a stable and likely performed other functions as well.
Grooms marked with the jade-ring piercings of Clan Ophinshtalajiir hurried to take charge of the horses and to clamor greetings. Perra responded cordially, but also with a briskness that made it clear she didn’t have time for chitchat.
As everyone dismounted, Khouryn said, “I suppose I can stick here for the time being.”
“Please don’t,” Perra said. “You were in the thick of it, just like Medrash and Balasar. The vanquisher may wish to question you.”
“Whatever you want,” Khouryn said.
She led the three warriors past the stalls into a tack room that smelled of leather and the oil that kept it supple. “Since we’re in a hurry, I’m about to trust the three of you with a secret of my clan. Just a little one, but I expect you to keep it.” Using a claw tip, she traced a right triangle on a bare section of wall.
The world seemed to flash and lurch, and then they were standing in a different room. Khouryn realized magic had shifted them through space. Up into the pyramid, he assumed.
They strode on through what proved to be a handsomely appointed residence, where other dragonborn bearing jade rings hailed Perra with even greater surprise. As before, she didn’t let anyone delay her for more than a moment or two, and when she’d shaken off the last of her well-wishers, she swept through an arch, between a pair of sentries, and into a passage that was plainly a public thoroughfare.
That in turn led to a plaza, an atrium that rose from the pyramid’s floor all the way to its ceiling, where huge bats hung wrapped in their folded wings. Catwalks crisscrossed among them, a clue that the beasts weren’t vermin, but rather the flying mounts Khouryn had seen swooping and fluttering across the sky outside.
Countless balconies jutted from the walls, and-rather to his surprise-beds of flowering plants flourished on the floor, suffusing the air with the scent of verdure. Evidently the magical glow illuminating the space nourished them as well as sunlight would.
“Don’t stop and gawk,” Medrash said. Then, possibly realizing how harsh he’d sounded, he softened his tone. “I understand the urge. I was the same way when I first got to Luthcheq. But Balasar and I will show you around later.”
They marched on into a succession of chambers that-by virtue of their spaciousness and general magnificence, and the number of guards and bustling servants in evidence-Khouryn took to be the residence of the vanquisher. Perra spoke to a functionary who then hurried away, hurried back shortly thereafter, and conducted the newcomers into an audience chamber.
Khouryn’s first impression was that like Shala Karanok’s, the Tymantheran monarch’s hall celebrated war. But here, suits of armor on stands took the place of the sculptures, and the cracked, faded frescos all depicted heroic struggles against dragons. There were wyrm heads mounted on the walls too, and old yellowed claws the size of short swords on display in trophy cases.
Tarhun, the vanquisher himself, was as hulking a dragonborn as Khouryn had yet seen, with a greatsword cradled in his hands to serve as a symbol of office. Square bits of gold studded the green hide under his eyes like teardrops. “Perra!” he boomed, as soon as she and her companions entered. “What does this mean?”
Perra, Medrash, and Balasar all bowed while sinuously sweeping their hands outward. Khouryn copied the salute as best he could.
“The war hero expelled us from Chessenta,” Perra replied. “I take full responsibility.”
Tarhun grunted. “Before we go assigning blame, maybe you should explain exactly how it happened.”
“Yes, Majesty.” Perra gave him the story as clearly and concisely as, Khouryn suspected, such a bewildering mess could be related.
When she finished, Tarhun’s eyes shifted to Khouryn. Who saw curiosity and calculation there, but none of the distrust and distaste he’d so often encountered in Chessentan faces. “And you must be the sellsword officer who helped my emissaries in Luthcheq and again on the road home,” the vanquisher said.
“Yes, Majesty,” Khouryn said.
“For that,” Tarhun said, “Tymanther thanks you. Will you and your spearmen stay on in my service, for a season or a year? I can use your skills, and I’ll pay well.”
“Thank you. But we’re content in the Brotherhood of the Griffon, and the Brotherhood already has a contract.”
Tarhun grimaced. “Which could mean that the next time I see you, it will be at the wrong end of a battlefield.”
“Maybe not, Majesty. Shala Karanok expects to have her hands full with the Great Bone Wyrm.”
“An enemy we dragonborn would gladly help her fight, if…” The monarch shook his head. In that moment, his manifest strength notwithstanding, his manner conveyed an emotion not too far removed from despair.
“Majesty,” Medrash said, “if I may speak-from the smoke in the sky, I gather we have our own war to concern us.”
“Yes,” Tarhun said. “With the ash giants.”
“They’ve been raiding for generations,” Medrash said. “But as far as I know, no one ever gave them the honor of beating the war drums for them before.”
“It’s different this time. They’re coming in greater numbers and in a more organized fashion. Someone has united the tribes. They certainly seem to be fighting more cleverly, although the details are sketchy. Many of those who engaged them didn’t return to tell the tale.” The vanquisher barked a mirthless laugh. “I know I just said I would have helped Chessenta, but in truth we could use their help just as much. And if Shala actually does attack us, or if she merely permits the genasi to cross her territory and attack, then we’ll have to fight two foes simultaneously.”
“Majesty,” Perra said, “I need to make sure I understand what’s really happening if I’m to be of any use to you. And so, though I don’t wish to give offense, I’ll ask directly-did you send raiders into Akanul and simply not tell me about it?”
Tarhun glowered. “Of course not.”
“Did you send assassins into Luthcheq?”
“Again, of course not. The dishonor aside, what possible reason could there be?”
“Did you lend warriors to High Imaskar to serve aboard her ships?”
“You know better than anyone how fast I’ve danced to stay neutral in the quarrel between Chessenta and the Imaskari. And even if my policy had changed, I need every soldier I have to fight the giants.”
“You know,” Balasar drawled, “the last I heard, the Imaskari have an ambassador in Djerad Thymar. Somebody could ask him what’s going on in their navy, and possibly unravel one little corner of this tangle, anyway.”
“That,” said Tarhun, “is a sensible idea. Certainly more sensible than what usually comes out of your mouth, scapegrace. Fetch Nellis Saradexma.”
They didn’t have to wait long. The Imaskari ambassador probably lived in apartments handy to the royal residence. Tall and thin, he had a high, broad slab of a forehead and a receding hairline that made it seem even more prominent.
Gray lines marbled his skin. Khouryn might have taken them for scars or a souvenir of some illness that marked its victims like the pox, except that the retainers accompanying Nellis had them too. Evidently the marks were a characteristic peculiar to their race, like the patterns etching the bodies of the genasi.
The envoy wore a high-collared coat with three layers of shoulder cape attached. The silvery fabric gleamed and rippled in the light. The shirt, sash, and trousers underneath were black, as were the several rings on his fingers and the wizard’s orb tucked under his arm.
He had to palm the crystal globe in one long-fingered hand to bow as the dragonborn did on entering the presence of their overlord, and he managed it deftly. “Majesty. How may I be of service?”
“You can tell me,” Tarhun said, “about the Imaskari’s naval operations against Chessenta.”
Nellis frowned. “As Your Majesty knows, Chessenta has been raiding High Imaskar for years, with no better justification than a hatred millennia out of date. We’re simply retaliating in kind. I daresay that in our place, Tymanther would do as much and more.”
“Maybe,” Tarhun said. “But the war hero believes there are dragonborn serving aboard your warships. I need
