Finish it! Jhesrhi thought. Before he leeches away everything I gave you!
As if he’d heard her, Tchazzar strained with every limb to loosen Sseelrigoth’s coils. Unequal to the pressure, a bone in his left wing snapped and a jagged end stabbed through the membrane. But then he broke free of his adversary’s grip.
At once he opened his jaws wider than Jhesrhi would have imagined possible. Taking advantage of his regained mobility, he launched himself at Sseelrigoth fast as an arrow leaping from a bow. And she perceived for the first time just how much bigger he was than the other wyrm. Big enough for his fangs to crash shut on Sseelrigoth’s head from the snout to just behind the eyes.
Tchazzar’s jaw muscles bunched as he bit down with all his might and wrenched his head from side to side. Flexible as a serpent, Sseelrigoth whipped his coils around his foe and clawed. In some places, his talons sliced to the bone. Meanwhile, his tail whipped up and down, battering a section of Tchazzar’s neck.
Jhesrhi held her breath. She couldn’t imagine the battle lasting much longer. No one, not even a dragon, could endure such punishment for long. One of them was going to succumb.
It turned out be Sseelrigoth. A splintering crunch sounded from inside Tchazzar’s jaws, and then the blight wyrm’s neck lashed back and forth. Nothing was restraining it anymore. Blood sprayed from the jagged bowl that was all that remained of Sseelrigoth’s head.
His decapitated body raked and bashed Tchazzar another time or two. Then, the spurts of gore abating, his neck flopped to the ground and his limbs went limp as well.
Tchazzar spat out several pieces of Sseelrigoth’s head. Jhesrhi took note of the short horns that encrusted them, realized the inside of the red dragon’s mouth must now be a mass of sores, and winced. Still employing every bit of his strength and speed, Tchazzar kept clawing his foe’s corpse.
Jhesrhi frowned. Surely Tchazzar realized Sseelrigoth was dead. But he looked like he didn’t mean to stop until he’d reduced the blight dragon to tiny specks of flesh and bone.
And that wouldn’t do. Gaedynn needed them now.
She stepped forward. “My lord!” she called.
Eyes blazing, flame leaping from between his fangs, Tchazzar whirled in her direction. A shock of terror jolted her as she sensed he had no idea who she was. He crouched to spring-
And then he evidently remembered her. She was no expert at reading the features of dragons, but even so she saw some of the radiant fury go out of his eyes.
He straightened up into a less threatening posture. He started to speak, grimaced, spat out a mix of blood and flame, and then tried again. “My daughter.”
“My comrade Gaedynn,” she said. “The shadar-kai are hunting him.”
“Yes. I saw the chase begin.”
“If we don’t help him soon, it will be too late.”
Tchazzar turned and dipped a wing to touch the ground.
She realized she was supposed to climb it like a ramp. Thinking of the broken bone and all his other wounds, she asked, “Can you still fly?”
He laughed. “I could fly to the stars for a chance to burn those maggots.”
So Jhesrhi scrambled up the wing into a smell compounded of combustion, blood, decay, and a sort of dry reptilian musk. The act of climbing didn’t repulse her. Though intelligent, Tchazzar was so different in form from a giant or a man that she could touch him as easily as a griffon.
She seated herself between two of the dorsal frills at the base of his neck. At once he lunged forward, lashed his wings, and carried her into the sky.
As they hurtled along, she studied the hills below. All she saw was earth and trees. She asked the wind for news of the pursuit, but this was one of those occasions when it hadn’t taken any notice of the doings of creatures of flesh and blood.
Then Tchazzar dived lower, and she spotted the living flame she’d conjured shining in a depression among the hills. Shadar-kai flickered down the slopes toward the lure at the bottom. One of them fell. She couldn’t actually see the arrow that had pierced him, but she was sure it was there, and she smiled.
Tchazzar didn’t roar to announce his coming. He swooped at the dark men like an owl descending on a mouse. The first ones didn’t know he was there until a plume of his fiery breath seared them from existence.
He wheeled and burned a second group. By the time he made a third pass, the rest were ready to fight, but it didn’t matter. Their javelins and arrows couldn’t stop a creature that had survived Sseelrigoth’s fangs and claws. Most of the weapons glanced off Tchazzar’s scales, and, all but berserk with the joy of vengeance, he didn’t even seem to notice the ones that stuck.
To Jhesrhi’s surprise, she felt a pang of pity. Run, she thought. Some of you might get away.
But none of them tried. And when the last of them was dead, and Tchazzar set down on the ground, Gaedynn limped out of the stand of gnarled spruces where he’d taken cover. Gray-faced, his hair plastered down with sweat, he grinned and said, “That went better than I expected.”
EPILOGUE
13 MIRTUL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Khouryn knew at a glance that the army less camped than huddled on the shore of Ash Lake had suffered a serious defeat. It wasn’t just the presence of the wounded slumped on the ground, some moaning or calling out for help, although there were plenty of them. It was the absence of straight lines and organization, and the paucity of tents and baggage carts. It was the almost palpable air of misery.
Khouryn sighed with a sorrow of his own. I won’t get home this season, he realized. Most likely not this year. He touched his truesilver betrothal ring through his steel and leather gauntlet.
“Those are the Lance Defenders down there,” Medrash said.
“Yes,” Khouryn said. “I figured that out.”
“Well,” Balasar said, “at least nobody’s going to pay much attention to the fact that our band of Daardendriens lost its own little battle.”
Medrash turned his head to glare. “This is really not funny.”
“I agree,” Nala said, swaying ever so slightly from side to side in the saddle. “It’s a sacred moment. The turning of the tide.”
“What do you mean?” Khouryn asked.
“Surely it’s obvious,” the wizard replied. “This proves that only the Platinum Cadre can stand against the ash giants, and that means our people won’t be able to scorn us anymore. To the contrary. Come on. We need to talk to the commander.” She kicked her horse into motion.
Patrin smiled at Medrash. “It’s a great day for you too, brother,” he said. “When Tymanther starts honoring Bahamut, I’m sure it will pay homage to Torm as well.” He rode after Nala.
Khouryn didn’t, and neither did Medrash and Balasar. Plainly they all felt the same impulse to sit on their mounts and confer quietly while the foot soldiers of the cadre passed on either side.
“I’ve always hoped more of our people would take up the worship of Torm,” Medrash said, “but not at such a cost. And I don’t say it just because Bahamut’s a dragon god, despicable as that is. There’s something more wrong with all this. And something sick about what happens to some of these cultists in battle.”
“I agree,” Khouryn said. “And I’ve come to believe what you do-that somehow it’s a part of something bigger, although don’t ask me what.” He chuckled a mirthless chuckle. “From the start I’ve known I don’t have a head for intrigue, and all my bewilderment since has only gone to prove it. But it occurs to me that if I took the vanquisher up on that offer of employment, maybe I could help your troops win without joining in Nala’s prayers. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but dwarves are good at fighting giants.”
“You’d do that?” Medrash asked.
“For a little while. If our hunches are right, it might be the most useful thing I can do for the Brotherhood.”
“Then that’s the plan,” Balasar said. “You two go win battles while I infiltrate the cult.”
“What?” Medrash asked.
