“But probably not the one who sent an assassin to kill me at the gate.”
She frowned. “Do you really believe one of the town elders was responsible?”
“Truthfully? Who knows? Hasos resents me for taking away part of his authority and showing him up. Others may think I’ll somehow bring disaster just because I’m a war-mage. But there are other possibilities. You can pretty much count on it that Threskel has an agent or two living in town. Even if they don’t, how hard would it be to sneak an assassin in with the honest farmers and travelers whenever the gates are open? Especially one who knows some sorcery.”
“You don’t seem very worried about it.”
He shrugged. “I won’t say I’m used to it exactly, but sometimes assassination attempts are just a part of war.”
“Well, I think you’re brave. To say nothing of observant. I would have fallen through those stairs if you hadn’t been with me.”
He could have pointed out that if she hadn’t been with him, the steps would have been undamaged, but given his hopes, that seemed counterproductive. He stroked her cheek. A bit tentatively, for she was, after all, a high priestess, and a part of him was still the Mulan who’d spent his childhood being reminded over and over that he looked like a lowly, ugly Rashemi.
She smiled and slid closer, and then he was sure they wanted the same thing. He kissed her. Her lips warmed him like sunlight.
Before long, they grew impatient with the hard narrow bench and lay together on the ground. He unhooked the top of her yellow vestment and slipped his hand inside to caress her through her shift.
Then, for just a heartbeat, he caught a whiff of something nasty and stinging through the mingled scents of the vegetation, the wet rich soil, and her lilac perfume.
He started to lift himself up to look around, and she tugged to pull him back down. He almost yielded, but then realized the new odor had smelled exactly like the acid the dragonborn had spat at him in Luthcheq.
He jerked himself out of Cera’s embrace, and she gave a startled little cry of protest. Clad in hooded robes and cloaks, dragonborn were stalking toward him and his companion. A flicker of magic outlined their forms. Most likely it meant they were more or less invisible. Not to him, of course, but with his attention fixed on Cera, they’d managed to sneak up on him just fine.
The two nearest sucked in deep breaths.
Kneeling, he snatched for his spear, aimed it, and snarled a word of command to discharge one of the spells stored inside. A cloud of greenish vapor materialized around the dragonborn. They reeled and retched inside it, unable to spew their breath weapons-for the moment, anyway.
Unfortunately, there were plenty more outside the fog, and Aoth didn’t even have his mail. You didn’t wear armor to a banquet.
He scrambled to his feet. So did Cera. In circumstances like these, he was sometimes uncertain how much people with ordinary eyes could see. Judging from her expression and stance, she perceived some indication of the threat, maybe shadowy figures flickering in and out of view.
“I can call back Amaunator’s light-,” she began.
“I can already see them,” Aoth snapped. “I’m also armed. You aren’t. Get help!”
She turned and ran toward the arched yellow door that led back into the Keeper’s house. Dragonborn darted after her. Aoth lunged to intercept them.
The reptile in the lead swung a sword down at his head. He caught the stroke on the shaft of his spear, spun the weapon, and thrust it into his opponent’s throat. As he yanked it back, he saw another dragonborn spitting vitriol at him.
There was no time left to close the distance or try to deter the reptile with a spell. He could only dodge, and some of the spray splashed his left arm and shoulder anyway. Smoking and sizzling, the liquid burned like Kossuth’s anger.
But he couldn’t let that slow him down, or his assailants would overwhelm him for certain. He invoked the magic of a tattoo to dampen the pain and struck back with a thunderous blast of sound. The magic knocked the dragonborn off his feet, and shattered bones and ruptured organs if Aoth was lucky.
He couldn’t wait and watch to see if he was. He had to pivot and blast another pair of dragonborn with an explosion of crimson flame.
Pain seared his back. Once again he invoked the magic of the numbing tattoo. It worked, but not as well as before. He turned, rattled off words of power, and crumbled the foe who’d just spat on him into a spill of dust.
Individually the dragonborn were no match for him, but there were a lot of them, they weren’t attacking individually, and they weren’t stupid enough to bunch up so he could catch several at once with a spell devised to smite multiple opponents. Gradually, and despite his best efforts, they surrounded him.
More acid caught him in the back. He cried out and lurched forward. Dragonborn lunged to hack and stab while he was off balance.
Then he felt a presence enter his mind and avail itself of his eyes. A shape as black as the night sky overhead plunged out of it to pierce reptiles with its talons and smash them under its hurtling weight. Jet twisted his head and decapitated another dragonborn with a snap of his beak. Startled, the rest recoiled.
Aoth tried the tattoo again and found there was still a little analgesic virtue left in it. “Were you spying on me?” he gasped.
“No,” Jet replied. “I was just taking some exercise and happened to fly overhead. But I probably should have been. Why is it you can never mate without it turning into a situation?”
A dragonborn recovered his nerve and charged. Aoth ducked the swing of his axe and drove his spear into the creature’s guts. Then the rest of the enemy surged forward, and there was no more time or breath to spare for talk. Not until every reptile lay torn, blackened and smoldering, encrusted with frost, or otherwise slain on the ground.
“Curse it,” Aoth growled. “We really could have used a prisoner to question.”
Jet grunted. “And here I thought I was doing well just to save your hide.”
“Believe me, I’m grateful. It’s just that it’s unfortunate.” Aoth studied the bodies.
“I see it too,” the griffon said. “No piercings, just like in Luthcheq.”
“You’re right,” said Aoth, “but this time I’m noticing something more. Dragonborn come in a variety of colors, but every one of these is black. What are the odds?”
“Not bad, if they belong to some sect or cadre that only takes black ones.”
“All right. But they all spat acid at us, just like all black dragons spew acid. Even though the color of a dragonborn’s scales has no relation to the nature of his breath weapon. So what are the chances of that?”
“Maybe not as good. But what does it mean?”
Aoth sighed. “I have no idea.” His burns throbbed, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth.
Then the yellow door flew open, and Cera rushed out with a mace and targe that were either made of gold or, more likely, simply looked like it. The priests and guards scrambling behind her were similarly equipped. They all stopped short at the sight of the carnage.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” said Jet.
Cera gave Aoth an apologetic look. “It’s only been a few moments. I brought the others as fast as I could.”
“I know,” said Aoth, “and you’re not too late to help us. We’re both burned. It hurts quite a lot, actually.”
She dropped her weapon and shield and came to inspect his wounds. She murmured a prayer and gently touched her hands to the burned spots, and a soothing warmth began to ease the pain.
“Did you know there were this many dragonborn in Soolabax?” asked Aoth.
Cera shook her head. “That’s what I can’t understand. There aren’t any.”
“Well,” said Jet as her fellow sunlords-moving gingerly in proximity to such a formidable beast with such a gory beak and bloody claws-began to tend his burns, “maybe not anymore.”
Gaedynn banged his shackles on the floor. It jolted his wrists and soon made them sore, but he kept at it
