without quite as much danger of getting squashed.
Still weak and shaky from the effects of the word of smiting, he scarcely felt capable of running across the cavern another time. But he staggered one step, then another, and the debility fell away. Dragonborn and Imaskari followed him, stumbling and lurching at first, then picking up speed.
When they reached the wyrms, they had to seize their opportunities, rush in, strike, and be ready to retreat in an instant, because while the dragons weren’t whirling and lunging around as they had before, they weren’t motionless either. They rolled and heaved, and any such shift could crush the smaller creatures stabbing and cutting in their shadow.
Khouryn struck, then ducked a stray swipe of Prax’s foot that might otherwise have smashed his skull. Off to the right, a couple of warriors shouted in excitement, but he had no idea why until the next time he had to retreat. Then he saw how Prax had looped his bloody, truncated tail around Gestanius’s neck like a garrote.
Frantic to break the chokehold, she tore at him, thrashing so madly that Khouryn didn’t see how he or any of his warriors could advance back into striking distance. But Medrash ran in as if he imagined the behemoths’ raking, flailing limbs couldn’t possibly touch him.
He shouted, “Torm!” and Praxasalandos snarled, “Bahamut!” Medrash thrust his sword deep into Gestanius’s chest, and the quicksilver dragon pulled the noose that was his tail tighter still.
Gestanius went rigid. Then her struggles started to subside, although everyone kept strangling, cutting, or hammering her for a while longer, just to make sure she really was dead.
ELEVEN
29-30 E LEASIS, THE YEAR OF THE A GELESS ONE
Aoth judged that the view from Arathane’s throne room was as spectacular as on his previous visit, but in a more forbidding way. There were gray-black thunderheads to the north, out over the sea. He hoped it wasn’t an omen.
He’d given a condensed account of the expedition to kill Vairshekellabex, and the royal audience had ground to a halt while various genasi priests and clerks had examined the wyrmkeepers’ papers and even authenticated the handwriting and wax seal on Mardiz-sul’s testament. Though Cera was doing her best to keep her composure, Aoth could see impatience gnawing at her. Gaedynn somehow managed to lounge standing up with his customary air of insouciance. Son-liin, who’d never before visited such a regal setting, was taking advantage of the recess to gawk at the chamber’s lavish appointments and the courtiers’ bejeweled attire.
Each expert whispered his opinion to Tradrem Kethrod. When he’d heard from them all, the square-built Steward of the Earth turned toward the raised, silver throne and the slender young stormsoul sitting on it.
“Well, milord?” Arathane asked. Today she was wearing gold rings set with amethysts on her hair spikes.
“There are no clear, incontrovertible signs of forgery,” Tradrem said. “However-”
“However,” Gaedynn said, “you might fall down foaming in a fit if you said straight out that we were right and you were wrong. Is that more or less the way of it?”
The earthsoul shot him a glare but continued to address the queen. “As I was saying: However, even if we assume that every word we’ve heard spoken or read from a piece of parchment today is true, it doesn’t prove that the dragonborn haven’t been raiding our villages. It simply provides some reason to suspect that this Vairshekellabex and his servants were doing it too.”
“With all respect, milord,” said Aoth, “that’s a tortured interpretation of the facts. What are the odds that Tymanther would conduct clandestine raids, and in the same year, Vairshekellabex’s wyrmkeepers would disguise fiends out of Banehold as dragonborn and dispatch them to commit exactly the same kind of atrocities?”
“Not so bad,” Tradrem said, “if Vairshekellabex noticed what the dragonborn were up to and decided to use their incursions as a smokescreen to hide his own outrages.”
“Your Majesty,” Cera said, “I will swear the most sacred oaths of my faith and my order that my companions and I are telling the truth. Vairshekellabex and his servants were solely responsible for the massacres. The gray wanted to see Akanul’s troops drawn beyond its borders to fight a pointless war. Surely you can see how that would make him more secure and able to slaughter and steal with impunity.”
“Not that your army showed any actual signs of getting ready to go hunt him down and kill him,” Gaedynn said, “but I suppose a person can’t have too much impunity.”
Arathane’s lips tightened. Lightning flickered inside the clouds to the north, and some of the silvery lines in her purple skin gleamed in time with it. “Milord,” she said to Tradrem, “it does seem to me that at the very least, Captain Fezim, his friends, and the Firestorm Cabal have done Akanul a service. Enough of one, surely, to merit a courteous, serious hearing.”
“Your Majesty,” Tradrem said, “if I’ve been anything less than courteous, it was because I have reservations about notorious mercenaries and feckless thrill seekers undertaking desperate escapades inside our borders without authorization from the Crown. Still, I apologize. All honor to those who risked their own lives to rid the realm of a dangerous beast.”
Aoth took a calming breath. “But?”
“But,” said Tradrem, “does it really matter in relation to the coming war? The dragonborn are the genasi’s ancient enemies. We need to move against them sooner or later.”
“Then let it be later,” said Aoth, “when the aboleths don’t pose such a threat to Akanul and Tymanther at least gives you a pretext that won’t make you look like dupes or reavers when the truth comes out.”
Cera made a wry face. “Your Majesty, I wouldn’t have put things in quite such… pragmatic terms. But in his way, Captain Fezim is getting at a fundamental truth. You shouldn’t fight a war over an accusation you know to be a lie.”
Tradrem gave her a sour look. “Sunlady, with all respect, didn’t I just explain that the matter is more complicated than that? The dragonborn have provoked us. For generations. We must also consider the promises made to our ally Chessenta and the effort and expense required to send the army south. What if we pull back now and then decide we need to fight Tymanther next year, with a depleted treasury, no friends to stand with us, and not even a clear, uncontested road to reach the enemy?”
Son-liin cleared her throat. Aoth looked at her in surprise. Others did the same.
The scrutiny of so many lordly folk all but made her squirm. It did make her stammer. “I… I…”
“Take a breath,” Gaedynn whispered.
She did. “Majesty, my father taught me that the first thing to know about a bow is that once you loose an arrow, you can’t call it back. I found out what he meant on the hunt for the gray dragon. I was under a spell, and I made a shot that could have gotten Captain Fezim killed.”
“Forgive me,” Tradrem asked, “but is this relevant?”
The young firestormer scowled. “Yes, my lord, with respect, I think it is. I’m trying to tell the queen that she has the advantage over an archer. She can call her soldiers back short of doing some terrible wrong or harm. It may be awkward or embarrassing. It may cost a lot of coin. But she can do it!”
“We’ll even deliver the dispatches containing the new orders,” Gaedynn said. “As it happens, we’re going to Chessenta anyway.”
As she had during the previous audience, Arathane turned to the other two Stewards in attendance. “My lady? Milord?”
Lehaya lowered her head and gazed at her folded hands as if wisdom could be found in her silvery, interlaced fingers. Finally she said, “If I were a judge trying the dragonborn for the particular offense of which they stood accused, I would have to acquit. And if I acquitted, I obviously couldn’t punish.”
“But it’s not a trial!” Tradrem snapped. “It’s statecraft!”
“That may be,” Lehaya said, “but I ask you not to blame me for viewing the matter through the eyes of the law. It’s why I hold the office that I do.”
Aoth smiled. “As I suppose it’s safe to say that Lord Myxofin holds his office because he knows his way around an abacus and a counting house. He’s the kind of fellow who’ll wake up at night screaming if it turns out that Akanul squandered a great sum to march its army south and then simply marched it home again.”
