thrive underground. Nor had hunger yet stolen all his strength. But he needed tools, as his raw fingertips attested.
They gave him a twinge at the mere thought of picking at the bolts and screws again. He stood up from the cold, hard, concrete floor and moved to the door anyway then started humming a song he’d once heard a master smith sing, as best he could recall the tune. There might be magic in it to bend iron and steel to the singer’s will, although if so, he certainly hadn’t seen any evidence of it so far.
At least it pushed back the silence. But then something else did too. Something clanked on the other side of the door. Someone was coming.
Probably to push another cup of water and maybe even a crust of moldy bread through the narrow slot at the bottom of the door. Up until that point, the guard entrusted with the chore had been careful to keep his hand beyond Khouryn’s reach. But maybe he wouldn’t be the next time. Then Khouryn could grab it, jerk the human’s arm through the hole, and twist and bend it viciously, threaten to cripple him for life unless he surrendered the key to the cell.
Even if it didn’t get him out of there-and Khouryn was realist enough to recognize it probably wouldn’t-a little taste of revenge would do him good.
He kneeled beside the slot and poised his hands to grab. Then, to his surprise, the lock clicked.
He stood back up, and the door creaked open. There were four guards clad in mail and crimson jupons outside, not just one, and three of them had their short swords leveled. Without a weapon of his own, Khouryn had no hope of taking them on.
The fourth carried a pair of manacles. “Turn around, dwarf,” he said, “and put your hands behind your back.”
Khouryn obeyed. Heavy rings snapped shut on one wrist, then the other. The chain between them clinked.
“Now come on,” said the fourth guard, retrieving a lantern from a niche in the corridor wall. Its glow stretched all of their shadows out behind them as they climbed from the dungeons back into the palace above.
“Who are you taking me to see?” Khouryn asked. If it was someone besides the crazy woman who’d ordered him imprisoned, then maybe he could convince that person of his innocence.
“Shut up,” answered one of the guards, who then gave him a shove.
That suggested the sad likelihood that it was the madwoman who’d ordered Khouryn hauled forth. So he was pleasantly surprised when his escort ushered him into a hall decorated with tapestries and marble statues depicting the legendary Tchazzar’s martial exploits. The crazy woman actually was there, looking as outlandish as before in layers of garish vestments. But so were Jhesrhi, Shala, Zan-akar Zeraez, and-
Khouryn faltered in astonishment when it registered that it wasn’t Shala sitting on the war hero’s raised, golden throne. It was a man, whose pointed ears and long face subtly suggested the shape of a dragon’s head without detracting from a flawless masculine beauty, a man who very much resembled the woven and sculpted portraits of Tchazzar on every side.
Recovering his wits, Khouryn started to bow. Then the madwoman shrilled, “Kneel before the living god!” And before he could even consider doing so, one of the guards grabbed him from behind and threw him down on his belly.
Khouryn floundered to his knees as best he could with his hands still shackled behind him. Meanwhile, her golden eyes ablaze with anger, Jhesrhi said, “There was no need for that! Nor any need to arrest him in the first place!”
“He’s a friend to the dragonborn,” the madwoman said, “and so an enemy to Chessenta and Your Majesty. Why else did he go slinking off to Tymanther with Ambassador Perra and her household?”
Although Tchazzar-if that was really who he was-hadn’t given him permission to rise, Khouryn decided he’d be damned if he’d stay down like a prisoner already judged guilty of some heinous offense. He clambered to his feet, and to his relief, nobody moved to shove him down again.
“Majesty,” he said, “you and I haven’t met. But if you know Jhesrhi, and Aoth Fezim, you know what you need to know about me. I’m loyal to the Brotherhood of the Griffon and to whoever’s paying us to fight. I escorted Perra and her people home because Shala Karanok wanted them to have an escort.”
Shala’s mouth tightened as though she didn’t especially appreciate being involved in his defense. But she spoke up without hesitation. “That’s true, Your Majesty.”
The scrawny woman rounded on her in a swirl of red. The voluminous folds of her garments kept swinging and flapping for another moment after her bony body had stopped moving. “And why was it true? Why would you let them escape Chessenta when it had just been proved that dragonborn were behind the Green Hand murders?”
Shala scowled. “Because, Lady Halonya, it hadn’t been proved that all dragonborn, up to and including Tarhun’s own emissaries, were guilty. I hoped not, and wanted to preserve the alliance if, in fact, it was genuine.”
“Even though I warned you what sort of treacherous, murdering scum the dragonborn are,” said Zan-akar Zeraez. The Akanulan ambassador was a stormsoul genasi. He had silvery spikes in place of hair, and a complex pattern of argent lines etching skin the same deep purple as a grape. Sparks often crawled and crackled along them, especially when he was agitated, but that wasn’t the case at the moment. Apparently he was satisfied with the way events were unfolding.
“It was unquestionably a blunder,” Tchazzar said. “But then, we already knew Shala wasn’t up to the task of ruling Chessenta. That’s why I had to return from the realm of the gods.”
“Majesty,” Jhesrhi, “the point isn’t whether or not Lady Shala made a good decision. It’s whether Khouryn should be blamed for obeying an order from the person who was, at that time, the supreme authority in the land.”
“That’s not the whole point,” Halonya said. “The sellswords who marched south with the dwarf came back as soon as their errand was done. But he stayed in Tymanther for months afterward. Why was that?”
“I had Captain Fezim’s permission to take a leave of absence,” Khouryn said. “I wanted to head on down to East Rift to see my wife and kin.”
“And did you go?” Tchazzar asked.
“No,” Khouryn said. “The ash giants were on the attack and had closed the Dustroad. And my griffon had died on the way from here to Djerad Thymar, so I couldn’t just fly over them. I stuck around, hoping the dragonborn would beat the giants back and get the road open again, as they finally did. But by then, it was time for me to rejoin the Brotherhood.”
“Riding on a bat,” Zan-akar said. “The steed of the dragonborn’s Lance Defenders.”
“It was a gift,” Khouryn said. “I helped defeat the giants.”
Halonya whipped back around to address Tchazzar. “He admits to giving aid to your enemies!”
“I didn’t know they were enemies,” Khouryn said. “I still don’t understand why it needs to be that way. I mean, I realize that a handful of dragonborn committed crimes here in Luthcheq. I helped catch them. But I’ve spent quite a bit of time talking to Tarhun and Perra, and I’m sure they want Chessenta and Tymanther to be friends.”
Tchazzar sneered. “Sadly, I know otherwise.”
“Majesty,” Jhesrhi said, “I say again that, while Tymanther may be the enemy, Khouryn hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“He gave aid to Tymanther,” Halonya said. “So much aid, apparently, that they honored him with one of their special treasures. And he’s still speaking well of them, right to Your Majesty’s face. Don’t let him go around saying the same sort of things to others. Don’t let him weaken your warriors’ resolve!”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Khouryn said.
“Would you tell us everything you’ve learned about Tymanther’s defenses?” Zan-akar asked.
Khouryn took a breath. “Yes. If Captain Fezim or His Majesty ordered me to.”
“I don’t believe you,” the genasi said.
“Neither do I,” Halonya said. “Not unless we force him to give up what he knows.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Jhesrhi said. For a moment, yellow flame rippled up from her hand to the head of her staff.
Zan-akar put on a sober, nuanced expression worthy of a diplomat, one that simultaneously sympathized with her distress and rejected her opinion. “With respect, Lady Jhesrhi, not from Akanul’s point of view. We’ve joined
