“Yes.”
“But it doesn’t matter. As long as we reach the Brotherhood ahead of him, we’ll be all right.”
Inwardly he prayed to old Keen-Eye that that was true.
They soared over the site of Tchazzar’s new temple. The shops and homes that had stood there were mostly rubble, waiting for someone to cart it away. Fires burned in the shadow of the piles. Displaced paupers with nowhere else to go were surviving as best they could.
Gaedynn peered ahead, at the place where the city started to thin out and the army was encamped. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed a sigh when he spotted figures scurrying in the Brotherhood’s part of the sprawl. Something had alerted them that there was trouble in the city, and that meant they all had a chance.
Jhesrhi’s tame wind set them down in the center of their camp, then departed in a final howling swirl. People gawked at them. Her mouth hanging open, Son-liin in particular seemed unable to tear her gaze away from Gaedynn.
He grinned. “I know it’s magnificent, but now is not the time. Find me a bow and quiver. Go!”
The stormsoul scurried off, and Ramed strode out of the dark. “What’s happening?” he asked. “Jet cried that there was danger, then-”
“Tchazzar’s coming to attack us,” Gaedynn said, “but maybe we can make him reconsider. Get all the griffons in the air.”
“It’s only been a little while. Most of them aren’t saddled-”
“I don’t care. I don’t care if they have riders. They’re more intimidating on the wing than on the ground. I want every man showing he’s ready to fight too. Don’t worry about putting them in formation. There’s no time for that either. Just have them point their weapons at the sky.”
“Right.” Ramed hurried away, shouting orders.
“It isn’t going to be enough,” Jhesrhi said. “Tchazzar’s a warlord. He’ll see that we’re not prepared to stop him.” She looked around. “Oraxes! Meralaine!”
She kept shouting while Gaedynn scrutinized the sky above the city. His mouth was dry, and his hands ached with their emptiness. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime although he knew that it had really been only a few breaths, Son-liin came running back with a longbow and arrows. Then Oraxes and Meralaine trotted out of the dark aisle that ran away between two rows of tents.
“Tchazzar’s coming for us,” Jhesrhi told them. “He’ll be here in a matter of moments. You have to make us look more ready than we are. You have to fill the night with shadows and phantoms and play on his fears. Start now and I’ll support you as best I can.”
Meralaine clutched her wand of bone in both fists and whispered. Her body shriveled and dark patches appeared on her skin as she took on the appearance of one of the dead. Oraxes drew one of his daggers and gashed the tattooed palm of his hand. At first the cut bled normally, but when he started to chant, the blood swirled forth as phosphorescent vapor, with vague shapes forming and dissolving inside the coils. Murmuring along with one incantation then the other, Jhesrhi stretched out her hand, and the air rippled between it and the younger mages to whom she was lending her strength.
The warm, summer night turned cold, and the stink of corruption tinged the air. Overhead, a griffon screeched, and even though he was in on the trick, Gaedynn felt a pang of reflexive dread because, somehow, it hadn’t sounded like the cry of a living creature. There was a quality to it, a hollowness, perhaps, that bespoke the insatiable hunger and malice of the undead.
But it was just an illusion, and how could anyone think that Tchazzar would fall for it again, when he understood that his supposed allies had been deceiving him all along? Scowling, Gaedynn laid an arrow on his bow.
“Aim for the eyes,” he told Son-liin. “They’ll be tough to hit, but if we do-”
The former firestormer gave a nod. “We might really hurt him,” she said, her youthful, soprano voice steady. “I understand.”
Then, suddenly, Tchazzar was there, a bat-winged shadow sweeping in from the east, still difficult to make out except for the glow of his eyes and the firelight flickering through his fangs. Gaedynn drew his arrow back to his ear-
And the Red Dragon veered off.
For a few moments, the camp was silent. Then people started cheering and Meralaine collapsed. Oraxes lunged, grabbed her, but couldn’t hold her up. Instead, she dragged him to the ground.
Their companions hurried over to them. Gaedynn was glad to see that Meralaine was breathing, and the blotches and streaks of discoloration were dissolving from her skin. She was still thinner than before she’d worked her magic but plainly alive as well.
“I think she’s all right,” Oraxes wheezed. “Is she all right?”
“She just fainted,” Jhesrhi said. “That weakened her like it did you.”
Oraxes sneered at the suggestion that anything could weaken him, made some effort to arrange Meralaine comfortably, then dragged himself to his feet.
“Nicely done,” Gaedynn said. “Frankly I had my doubts that it would work.”
“I suspect,” Jhesrhi said, “it only did because Tchazzar has an army and Alasklerbanbastos coming to help him. So he thought, why should he run any risk by tackling us by himself?”
Gaedynn stared at her. “Wait. Alasklerbanbastos is on his way here? To ally with Tchazzar?”
“That’s what he told me.”
“The fun just never stops, does it? Any clever ideas on how to handle that?”
With a rustle of wings, Aoth, Cera, and Jet settled on the ground. “Why don’t you start by putting on some clothes?” the warmage said.
THIRTEEN
7 E LEINT, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE
As Tchazzar swooped toward the roof of the War College, he scrutinized the various counselors and warriors assembled to meet him. There was no sign of Aoth Fezim and Cera Eurthos. Evidently they’d escaped too.
His body clenched with fury, and he thought how easy it would be not to light, but instead to stay in the air in dragon form and incinerate every last one of the traitors and incompetents who’d disappointed him yet again.
But he still had uses for them, so he plunged at the center of the roof, and people scurried to avoid being crushed. He poised himself to pull his substance in, to dwindle then decided not to. On a night of war and treachery, it was better to remain armored in the full panoply of his might. And if it frightened any of his subjects to see him in that guise, well, good. They were wise to fear him in his current mood.
Everyone started to bow or curtsy. He snarled, spitting some fire without quite meaning to, and all the humans flinched. A couple of them yelped.
“I take it,” he said, “that the royal garrison wasn’t up to the task of arresting a sleeping man and woman.”
“They did escape, Majesty,” Nicos Corynian said, stepping forward. The counselor’s house stood near the War College, and he’d likely rushed to the fortress in search of answers after the fire fell from the sky. “But they left a message for you.” He motioned an officer forward.
The soldier stank of sweat and trembled. His armor clattered faintly. “Captain Fezim said that he and his company just want to leave. But if anyone tries to stop them, they’ll make sure the battle destroys Luthcheq.”
Tchazzar twisted his head to glare down at Nicos again. It would be so easy to smash him flat or flick him over the battlements. “This is the scoundrel you brought into our land.”
Nicos inclined his head. “I beg forgiveness. I’ll try to make amends by giving the best advice I can.”
“I don’t need advice. I need spears and crossbows.”
“Then you do mean to detain the sellswords?”
“I mean to slaughter them to the last man! They’re on the edge of the city. How much damage can they do?”
