'What now?' asked Jet.
'Fly out over the city,' said Aoth. 'The direction doesn't matter.'
Once they passed beyond the confines of the castle and its wards, he invoked the magic of the ring.
The world shattered and reassembled itself yet again, and then he and the griffon were soaring above the gleaming black expanse of the Lapendrar. They flew west, over the ranks of their own army, and saw that the autharch's host was withdrawing.
Aoth felt some of the tension drain out of his body. This battle at least appeared to have gone about as well as anyone could have expected. Now, if only Szass Tam didn't come after him!
And in fact, when he peered around, he couldn't see any sign of such a pursuit. He supposed it made sense. He and his companions hadn't succeeded in destroying the lich, but surely they'd hurt him badly enough to make him think twice about starting a new fight with an entire army, spent and bloodied though it was. Especially considering that, as he'd made plain, it was the zulkirs he chiefly wanted to kill.
Aoth surveyed the ground and spotted Jhesrhi, Khouryn, and Gaedynn standing together. Responding to his unspoken desire, Jet furled his wings to land beside them.
Gaedynn grinned at the new arrivals. 'You missed all the excitement.'
Aoth dredged up a smile of his own. 'Well, maybe not all of it.'
EPILOGUE
28 Nightal, The Year of the Dark Circle (1478 DR)
Earlier that night, processions had wound through the streets of Lyrabar, the participants singing hymns as they went to visit their dead. But when Aoth pushed open the squeaking wrought-iron gate to the dilapidated little graveyard, he saw that here at least, people had already said their prayers, cried their tears, left their offerings, and departed. Some of the votive candles were still flickering, although a chill autumn breeze was blowing them out one and two at a time.
Aoth spotted a weather-stained limestone bench and flopped on top of it. He pulled the cork from the jug he'd brought with him, took a swig, and savored the burn as the cheap brandy went down.
He'd succeeded in extricating what remained of the Brotherhood and the council's legions from Thay without the necessity of another battle, only to find that it didn't earn him an excess of gratitude back in the Wizard's Reach. He supposed he understood. If one chose to look at it uncharitably, he'd gotten all four zulkirs killed and the expeditionary force decimated. And aside from some plunder, all anyone had to show for it was his assurance that the venture had neutralized a threat many people never credited or comprehended in the first place.
In truth, he wouldn't have wanted to stay in the Reach even if the remaining Red Wizards had offered to extend his contract. With the zulkirs dead, a struggle for supremacy began, and that, combined with the damage to the legions, was likely to deliver the realm into the hands of Aglarond within a year or two. He saw little point in trying to stem the tide.
So, by dint of threat, he'd extracted as much money from the archmages' heirs as he could-about half of what Lallara and her peers had promised-and accepted an offer of employment from the Grand Council of Impiltur, where even a sadly diminished sellsword company could earn its keep by chasing brigands and covens of demon- worshippers.
And the seasons turned, and the Feast of the Moon arrived. The Brothers of the Griffon couldn't visit the resting places of their dead-the graves and pyres were scattered across the East-so they sat around their campfires trading memories of the fallen and drinking to them too.
Aoth remained with the celebration for a while. But gradually he realized he wanted to remember comrades whom, he imagined, only he mourned. Accordingly, he took his leave and, weaving a trifle, wandered in search of a place where he could be alone. The graveyard looked like it would do.
By the Black Flame, he missed Bareris and Mirror! He could only pray that true death was treating them more kindly than undeath ever had.
To his surprise, he realized he even missed the zulkirs. They'd been heartless and tyrannical, but his service to them had made him the man he was, and in the end, they'd given their lives to foil the designs of a far greater monster than themselves.
He likewise mourned the Thay of his youth, so green and rich and proud. Now, though towns and farms remained, it was in large measure a haunted wasteland, and the vilest haunters were the very lords Szass Tam had raised up to rule over the living. These masters oppressed them mercilessly and tortured and killed them merely for their sport.
A hand settled gingerly on Aoth's shoulder. Startled, he looked around. Jhesrhi had come up behind him, and Khouryn, Gaedynn, and Jet stood behind her. The griffon's crimson eyes gleamed in the dark.
Since Aoth knew how Jhesrhi hated to touch or be touched, her gesture moved him. He wanted to cover her fingers with his own but knew that would only make the contact even more unpleasant for her.
'We grieve for Bareris and Mirror too,' she said.
'Yes,' Khouryn said. 'Undead or not, they were all right.'
'They saved my life more times than I can count,' said Aoth. 'Who knows, at the end, maybe they saved everybody's life.'
'So let's drink to them,' said Gaedynn. 'Unless you really would rather do it alone.'
'No.' Aoth raised the jug in a salute, took another swig, then handed it to Jhesrhi.
As they drained the liquor, Aoth felt his spirits lift. Surely, if there was any justice at all in the universe-an open question, but still-Bareris and Tammith were together, and Mirror sat at the right hand of his god.
Aoth himself was still alive and still possessed of staunch friends. He'd tarnished his hard-earned reputation, and the company he'd spent decades building was a shadow of its former self, but so what? He'd just have to build them again.
Khouryn tilted the jug until it was nearly upside down. Aoth stood up. 'If that one's empty, let's go find another.'
Szass Tam floated between the mountaintop and the black, all-but-starless sky and chanted. The Dread Rings fed him power of a sort, and he tried doggedly to shape it into the proper configurations. Invariably, it dissolved within his grasp, and eventually he concluded it always would.
As he drifted to the ground, he felt an urge to take his newly fashioned crystal staff and hit something. But he realized the impulse was childish and unworthy of him. Especially since he'd known before he started that Thay was no longer capable of providing the energies required for the Unmaking.
It was just that there was a difference between the knowledge derived from study and analysis and that obtained through direct experience. The former was occasionally mistaken, the latter, never, and so he'd deemed it worthwhile to conduct the experiment. Now that he had, he understood what he had to do.
He had nine hundred years left before Bane would return to enforce the terms of their bargain and carry him off into servitude. Plenty of time to strengthen his legions, conquer a neighboring realm or two, and construct a new system of Dread Rings.
Plenty of time, but that was no reason to put off getting started. His stride was brisk as he stepped from the mountain onto the apex of the Citadel.
simbarchs of aglarond
Ertrel
