Undead

god with all his alleged omniscience could be gulled into making a disastrously bad bargain.

Perched on Brightwing's back, Aoth surveyed an expanse of sky, and his preternaturally keen vision discerned all sorts of things. Subtle variations in the grayness of the clouds. Sparrows. Vultures circling. A white gull that had strayed too far north of the seashore. But no ravens.

A cold drizzle started falling, further souring his mood. 'Will ravens fly in this?' he asked.

'They might,' Brightwing said, 'if it doesn't get any harder.'

'Wonderful.' That meant he and the griffon had to keep flying in it, too.

Proving Malark's treachery, if in fact he was a traitor, seemed simple enough in principle. One need only show a discrepancy between the intelligence the spymaster received and the information he supplied to the zulkirs or the commanders in the field. Or between the orders the council gave him to transmit and those he actually sent along.

The trick was identifying those contradictions. Aoth was a high-ranking officer, and Bareris likewise occupied a position of trust, but even so, they had no right or apparent reason to review every secret message that found its way to Malark, or that he sent in turn. Nor were they informed of the outcome every time the zulkirs conferred, or when one of the archmages acted unilaterally.

Since they doubted their ability to spy on Malark and remain undetected while he waited on his superiors and read and prepared his scrolls, that left Aoth and his fellow conspirators to hunt messenger birds on the wing, but not near the Central Citadel or anywhere over Bezantur, where they might have had some reasonable hope of finding them. They had to seek them in the vastness of the countryside, and hope that if they did manage to kill one, its message would prove duplicitous, and they'd know enough to recognize the treason when they saw it.

'Curse it, anyway,' Aoth growled. 'I'm working with the false friend who betrayed me to trip up the true one who saved my life, and I'm doing it to serve the masters who wanted to cut me to pieces. What in Kossuth's name is wrong with me?'

'I've been wondering that for years,' Brightwing said. 'We can still desert if you'd rather.'

Aoth sighed. 'No, I've lost the inclination. Walking away from a long, slow grind of a stalemate is one thing, because what does it matter if you're there or not? But for a little while, after the blue fires came, it seemed the south might actually win, and now it looks as if Szass Tam might defeat us for good and all. Either way, the war feels different, and running off would seem more cowardly.'

'Is that supposed to be an example of human reason at work? Because to a griffon, it makes no sense.'

Aoth tried to frame a retort, then sat up straight in the saddle when he spotted a fleck of black in the distance. Before the blue flame infected his eyes, he wouldn't have been able to see it at all. Now he thought he could discern a brown wrapping bound to a yellow foot.

'There,' he said.

'Where?' Brightwing asked.

He married his mind to hers, sharing his vision. 'To the right, above the abandoned vineyard.'

'Got it.' She raised one wing, dipped the other, turned, and hurtled in the proper direction.

The raven saw them coming and fled. Perhaps, in its animal way, it wondered why they were troubling it, for such a small bird should have been beneath the notice of such a large predator.

A war mage would have no trouble bringing a raven down, but Aoth had to make sure he did it in a way that wouldn't destroy the message it carried. He recited a spell, brandished his spear, and a cloud of greenish vapor materialized around the bird. It convulsed, fell, and smashed against the ground.

Brightwing landed beside it. Aoth dismounted and picked up the broken carcass. For a moment, he felt like a bully, using powerful sorcery to kill such a fragile, defenseless creature.

He opened the tiny scroll case and it swelled to its full size. He shook out the document inside, unfurled it, and read it. A chill oozed up his spine.

'Is it anything?' Brightwing asked.

'Yes.' He rolled up the parchment again. 'We need to get back to the city.'

Dmitra Flass kept a garden in the heart of the grim black fortress that was the Central Citadel, and the rosebuds blazed in voluptuous shades of crimson and gold despite the droughts, tainted rains, and plant-killing pests of the past ten years. Perhaps, Malark thought, it was illusion that kept the flowers bright and the grass thick and verdant at all times.

Whatever the truth of the matter, when his schedule allowed, as it did that evening, he liked to stroll and meditate here. He headed for a favorite bower, and then Aoth stepped onto the path ahead of him.

Aoth was carrying his spear, had his falchion strapped across his back, and wore mail, but none of that was unusual. It was the deliberate way he moved and the grim set of his square, tattooed face that betrayed his intentions.

A pity. Malark had known someone would discover his treason eventually, but he'd hoped for more time.

Had Aoth come alone? It was possible, but Malark doubted it. It seemed more likely that someone else was sneaking through the trees and bushes to strike him down from behind if he resisted arrest. He listened, trying to pinpoint the location of that hypothetical threat, meanwhile giving the war mage a smile. 'Good evening. How are your eyes?'

'I know about your treason,' Aoth said. 'I got my hands on one of the scrolls you wrote.'

'This is some sort of misunderstanding.'

'Don't insult my intelligence.'

'You're right. I should know better, and I apologize.' Malark had never had any reason to doubt the acuity of his hearing, but he still couldn't detect anyone creeping up on him. Maybe no one was. On the other hand, if Aoth had enlisted Mirror's aid, the ghost wouldn't make any noise unless he wanted to. 'Can I appeal to friendship and gratitude instead?'

'No. I hate this, but I mean to do my duty. Curse it all, why would you turn traitor now, when we actually had a chance of winning? What can Szass Tam give you that Dmitra Flass wouldn't?'

Malark sighed. 'It's complicated.'

'Have it your way. I'm sure it will all come out during your interrogation. Will you accompany me peacefully? It might go a little easier for you if you cooperate.'

'All right. Take me to Dmitra.'

'No. She's fond of you. Of course, she's also a zulkir, and I doubt mere sentiment would cloud her judgment sufficiently for you to talk your way out of trouble, but I figured, why risk it? I showed the proof of your guilt to Nevron, and he's the one who ordered your arrest. He'll question you first, and involve the rest of the council when he sees fit.'

'All right.' Malark took a step forward. 'But indulge my curiosity. Tell me what aroused your suspicions.' Sometimes people had trouble talking and focusing on an opponent at the same time, and if he could distract Aoth, maybe he could spring and attack without provoking a blaze of arcane power from the head of the spear.

Or maybe not. Malark rarely met a warrior whose prowess he truly respected, but the commander of the Griffon Legion was one of the few.

Which meant this confrontation could quite possibly end in a fitting death for one of them. But the prospect made Malark feel an unaccustomed ambivalence. He still wanted to die, but he also wanted to share in what was to come.

'Sorry,' Aoth said. 'I don't care to answer that question.' He leveled the spear and stepped off the path, making way for his prisoner to move in front of him, and then, off to Malark's right, something brushed in the grass.

At last Malark knew the approximate position of another adversary, and this one might be less formidable than Aoth. He pivoted and charged toward the faint noise.

He felt a pang of surprise when he saw Bareris. He'd thought the bard and war mage had had a falling out, but apparently they'd patched things up. From a certain perspective, that was unfortunate, for Bareris too was a fighter to be reckoned with.

Happily though, Malark's sudden move caught both griffon riders by surprise. Aoth hurled a blast of flame from his spear, but it only roared through the space his target had just vacated. Bareris extended his sword, but his timing was off. Malark brushed the blade aside with one hand, stepped in, and struck at Bareris's chest with the