“Meaning no offense to Captain Fezim, his lieutenant, nor certainly to a sunlady,” he said, “I have to agree with Lord Tradrem. Your Majesty already made her decision. Your army is already on its way to Chessenta. We’ve already spent a great deal of treasure to equip and provision them. And this story is just too strange.”
When he finished, everyone looked to a female windsoul with the silver skin and blue patterning of her kind. Despite the urging implicit in their regard, she still stood, frowned, and deliberated for a couple moments longer. She was evidently Lehaya, the Steward of the Sky and Akanul’s Lawgiver.
“Majesty,” she said when she was ready, “you no doubt remember that from the start, I had misgivings over going to war.” Aoth felt a pang of hope. “Still, I must agree with my fellow stewards.”
Curse it! “Just give me fifty men,” he said. “Fifty to rid your realm of a horror.”
Now it was Arathane’s turn to hesitate. She looked out over them all with troubled eyes.
“Majesty,” Tradrem said, “pardon me for bringing this up. But you know that, by your mother’s decree, if the Four Stewards stand united in opposition to the queen, it’s our will that prevails. And I believe we all know how Magnol would vote if he were here.”
“But he isn’t,” Gaedynn said. “He’s marching south at the head of Akanul’s army. So Your Majesty can do whatever you want. And where’s the fun in wearing a crown if you don’t make an unpopular decision once in a while and then make everybody eat it?”
Inwardly Aoth winced but Arathane surprised him by chuckling. “You’re not shy about speaking your mind, are you?” she said.
Gaedynn grinned. “It’s merely one of my many endearing qualities.”
“I’m sure. Still… gentlemen, sunlady, you’re welcome in Akanul for as long as you care to stay. And you needn’t worry that anyone will inform Tchazzar of what you said to me. But I truly don’t know what to make of it, so I’ll abide by the advice of my counselors. Vairshekellabex, if indeed he exists, will have to wait until the war is over.”
FOUR
10-14 E LEASIS, THE Y EAR OF THE A GELESS O NE
An inn that specialized in catering to those who traveled on the backs of flying steeds, the Eagle’s Idyll resembled a stone beehive floating in midair, with only three arcing bridges connecting it to other bits of Airspur. The open-air tavern on top was famous for its cuisine, and Gaedynn was a man who appreciated fine food. Still, he looked down at the broiled spiced shrimp, wild rice, green beans, and roll on the octagonal plate before him and realized he wasn’t hungry.
“Curse it,” he said. “For a moment, I thought I had the queen on my hook.”
“Why did you say we brought our information hoping for a reward?” Cera asked. With her blonde curls and gold-trimmed yellow vestments gleaming on the bright, summer day, she looked like a proper agent of the god she worshiped, except that there was nothing sunny about her scowl. “After you blurted it out, Aoth and I had no choice but to follow your lead.”
“I didn’t ‘blurt,’ ” Gaedynn replied. “I weighed the options, then told the queen and her deputies we were behaving exactly as people expect knavish sellswords to behave. It was something they could understand. Did you really want to claim that we were here because Amaunator sent us? Reveal that we revived Alasklerbanbastos? Maybe call the gruesome brute into the royal presence to vouch for us?”
“Yes!” Cera said. “Because it’s the truth, and it might have worked. Your way didn’t.”
Gaedynn smiled crookedly. “I admit, you have me there.” He turned to Aoth. “What do you think?”
Aoth shook his head. “It’s possible the genasi just hate the dragonborn too much and that plans for the war have progressed too far for our arguments to have prevailed no matter what we said. It’s even possible that Tradrem-or Lehaya or Myxofin-opposed us because he’s secretly in league with one of the dragons. After all, Nicos Corynian-our own original employer, may the Black Flame help us-took bribes to advance Skuthosin’s schemes.”
Gaedynn took a sip of chilled green tea. “I’m getting tired of feeling like somebody’s always a move ahead of us. Or worse, that we still aren’t really players at all, but merely pawns. It’s injurious to my pride.”
Aoth snorted. “I suspect it will withstand the blow.”
“We can only hope. So what’s the plan now? I don’t suppose it’s simply to give up, fight in Tchazzar’s new war and profit thereby like sensible sellswords, and then clear out of Chessenta as soon as it’s practical?”
“Sorry,” said Aoth.
“Then how about this? I’ll fly back to Threskel and fetch a few dozen of our fellow griffon riders to accompany us on a dragon hunt.”
“No,” said Aoth. “Someone would likely notice the absence of so many and send word to Tchazzar or Halonya. We three are already taking a big risk just by being gone ourselves.”
“Hunting Vairshekellabex and his wyrmkeepers and whatnot all by ourselves strikes me as a fair-sized risk as well.”
“We have Alasklerbanbastos,” Cera said, chicken, mushrooms, and chucks of red pepper impaled on the skewer in her hand. “Our own wyrm to pit against the other.”
“Right up until the instant he sees a chance to turn on us,” Gaedynn said. “Excuse me. I meant, turn on us again. I realize that if we go ahead with this, we probably have no choice but to use him as a weapon, but-”
Aoth leaned sideways. Gaedynn realized it was so he could look past him. “Company,” the warmage said.
Gaedynn turned. Well dressed in a wine red taffeta jacket and cambric shirt, a firesoul was striding across the terrace with its scatter of round tables, mosaic floor, and low parapet. The pattern of golden lines on his face was asymmetrical, with more on the right than the left. Gaedynn wondered if it was the genasi equivalent of a birthmark. Whatever it was, the fellow was handsome enough otherwise, with an aristocratic self-assurance to his expression and a swagger in his walk.
Aoth rose and offered his hand. “I believe we met some comrades of yours on our journey to Airspur. The patrol led by Yarel-karn.”
For a moment, Gaedynn wondered how Aoth knew the genasi belonged to the Firestorm Cabal. Then he noticed the rectangular gold ring on the middle finger, with its dusting of tiny garnets. Some of the riders in the red-coated patrol had worn similar ones, and even at a distance, Aoth’s spellscarred eyes had spotted it.
The firesoul blinked. “Really? How are they faring?”
Gaedynn grinned. “Not so badly, thanks to us.”
“Then you’ll have to tell me the story. But first I’d like to discuss something else.” He glanced at an empty chair. “May I?”
“Certainly.” Aoth sat back down in his own chair. “Maybe you should start with your name.”
“And how you knew to come looking for us,” Gaedynn added, “when we’ve only been in the city half a day.”
“Of course,” said the firesoul. “My name is Mardiz-sul. I’m a Bright Sword in the Cabal.” Gaedynn surmised that was a position of authority. “And I knew you were in Airspur because our fellowship has more friends that most people realize, including some close to the throne.”
In other words, Gaedynn thought, Arathane’s court was as rotten with intrigue as Tchazzar’s.
“Then I assume,” said Aoth, “that you know what was said in our ‘private’ audience with the queen.”
“I do,” said Mardiz-sul.
“And you believe us?” Cera asked.
“Well, sunlady,” the firesoul said, “I’m inclined to. We firestormers flatter ourselves that we know the lands where the attacks occurred better than the army does. And although our scouts and trackers have searched, we haven’t found the hidden trail the dragonborn allegedly used to sneak all the way north from Tymanther and then back home again. But we have heard rumors of a gray dragon. And if it’s really there, I imagine it’s powerful and malicious enough to get up to all sorts of tricks.”
Cera smiled at him. “If you’re leading up to telling us you’ll give us the help we need, then Amaunator bless you today and forevermore.”
