happened with the kobolds. And the way I’ve been since we arrived in Luthcheq.”
“I have wondered and worried about you. So has Khouryn.”
“What about Aoth?”
“Well, I could tell he’s not puzzled. He knows what’s bothering you, although much to my annoyance he kept your secret. But he was concerned. I think it’s one reason he wished we had somewhere to go besides Chessenta.”
Another silence. Finally she said, “I was born in Luthcheq. I started showing signs of having a talent for wizardry from an early age.”
“Were your parents mages?”
“No. They were respectable merchants who shared the general prejudice against wizards. They were afraid I was going to draw demons into their home or grow up to commit horrible crimes. Most of all they worried that other people would find out I was an abomination, and that would damage their own reputations. So they forbade me to use my gift and prayed to Chauntea to take it away.”
Chauntea, Gaedynn reflected, being the goddess who oversaw natural, healthy growth. “Obviously, that didn’t work.”
“No. I tried to be good and obey, but I couldn’t keep from experimenting with my talent any more than you could have refrained from picking up a bow after you saw your elf friends practicing archery. And so my mother and father grew ever more afraid and loved me less and less.
“And then,” she continued, her voice still oddly cool and matter-of-fact, “they led a caravan north. This was during one of those times when Chessenta and Threskel were supposedly at peace. But the north country was still full of brigands, human and otherwise, and a band of elemental magi waylaid us.”
Elemental magi were ogres who, somewhat like the genasi, possessed an innate affinity for fire, earth, or air. “When you half saw that big kobold-thing standing in the dark, you took it for an elemental mage, didn’t you? That’s what… rattled you.”
“Yes. But let me finish telling this my own way. The caravan was better prepared than the giants expected, and the guards withstood their first attack. But the magi still posed a threat, and the creatures knew it. They demanded tribute to let my parents go on their way.”
Gaedynn felt sick to his stomach. “You were the tribute, weren’t you? Or a part of it.”
“Yes.” Jhesrhi’s voice, though still soft and calm, grew bitter. “The elemental magi liked the idea of having a human child for a slave, and by that point my parents barely thought of me as their daughter anymore. I was just a problem, and this was a solution.”
She took a breath. “The next several years were bad. The giants brutalized me in all the usual ways. When the shaman perceived my gift, they taught me their own kind of magic, but even that, which should have been joyous, was awful. Partly because they made me use it to help them attack other travelers.”
“Knowing you as I do, I assume they must have taken precautions to keep you from turning the power on them.”
“Yes. I don’t know where they got it, but they had an old leather collar with an enchantment of obedience on it. And they made me wear it. But even if they hadn’t, I don’t know if I would have found the courage to rebel. I was so afraid of them! To some extent, that fear started trickling back as soon as I learned we were bound for Luthcheq, and it grew stronger when Aoth asked us to travel to Threskel.”
“Levistus take him for that, and for dragging you to this wretched kingdom in the first place.”
“He has to do what’s right for the Brotherhood. The whole Brotherhood. And I have to perform the duties that fall to me, or I never should have joined the company in the first place. And I have performed them, except for those few moments with the kobolds.”
“You performed them then too.” He chuckled. “It just took you a little longer than I found comfortable. Still, for Aoth to send you on this particular mission-”
“He needed a mage, and he probably thought it might help that I spent years wandering the wilds of Threskel. Please don’t be angry with him. I’d still be a slave if he hadn’t rescued me.”
“Oh?”
“It was pure chance, Tymora smiling on me or Ilmater taking pity on me at last. The Brotherhood was sailing to start a new commission, and storms damaged the ships. They had to put in to a port south of the Wizards’ Reach for repairs, and while they were stuck there, some minor Jedea cousin wanted to hire a few sellswords to travel inland and do a job. Aoth was bored, so he decided to attend to it personally. When the elemental magi and I attacked, he and the other Brothers killed the ogres, but they let me live. Because those eyes of his could see it was the collar forcing me to fight. He got it off me and offered me a place in the company. Maybe because he realized I had nowhere else to go.”
“Or maybe because he realized such a powerful wizard would be damn useful, especially after he arranged for additional training. Still, you’ve made your point. Perhaps I won’t shoot him when we see him next.”
She was silent again.
“Jhesrhi?” he asked.
Her chains clinked. “Now maybe you understand.”
“I do.”
“Not about the kobolds and all that. About before, and you and me. I thought that if it could be good with anyone, it would be good with you. But when we tried, all I could think about was the ogres. They were so ugly and rough and big, and I was so little. Just the stink of them…” She drew a ragged breath.
Guilt twisted Gaedynn’s insides. Which was completely unfair, since he hadn’t known about the magi and certainly hadn’t intended to put her through an ordeal, but the feeling persisted nonetheless. “I’m sorry.”
“No. I am.”
“Don’t be. At least we stayed friends, and I finally understand I shouldn’t take your revulsion personally. As for the rest, I can get that in any festhall.” He faltered. “I didn’t mean that the way it may have sounded.”
She laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that, and it was strange to hear it sounding from the darkness of their prison, especially considering the torments she’d just revealed. “Now I know why you generally avoid saying how you truly feel. You’re terrible at it.”
A retort sprang to mind. But before he could voice it, a cold hand gripped his shoulder.
The apartments of Clan Daardendrien were high up the south wall of the pyramid, which meant Khouryn and his fellow sellswords had a long climb up stairs and ramps to get there. But the supper of roast pheasant was worth it. So was the tart white wine.
Afterward, pleasantly replete and a little tipsy, with full goblets in hand and a fresh bottle awaiting their pleasure, he, Medrash, and Balasar lounged on the balcony overlooking the atrium. The magical illumination had dimmed to match the night outside. Across the empty space, the lamps in other dragonborn homes glowed like stars. Somewhere, a lutenist plucked out an air in a minor key.
Balasar sipped from his cup. “Do you like the view?”
“Yes,” Khouryn said. “Now that the light’s faded, this feels very much like certain portions of East Rift.”
Speaking the name of his home brought a pang of melancholy.
Evidently Medrash sensed it. “There must be some way to get you there,” he said.
“It doesn’t seem like it,” Khouryn said. He emptied his cup and reached for the new bottle. “Your war has closed the Dustroad. Somehow, it’s even stopped boat traffic on the lakes, even though I’m told the giants never bothered it before.”
Balasar shrugged. “If you took control of the narrows where Lanee Lake flows into Ash Lake, it wouldn’t be that hard to do.”
“Apparently not,” Khouryn sighed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try going the long way around?”
“Through the Shaar Desolation? I like to think I could survive the trek, but traveling through a desert would take a lot longer than using the road. And I can’t stay gone from the Brotherhood forever, not with Chessenta and Threskel preparing for war. Truly, the only solution I can imagine would be for the vanquisher to lend me one of those bats. And you say that despite the warm welcome he gave me, he won’t.”
