He patted his way down the guard’s body. He found the knife, the scimitar his adversary hadn’t been able to use fighting at such close quarters, and then the metal ring clipped to his belt. When he felt what was attached to it, he caught his breath.
“What is it?”
He slipped the key into the shackle on his left wrist and twisted it. The lock clicked and the heavy metal ring hitched open. “Proof that Lady Luck might actually love me almost as much as I deserve.” He rid himself of the other shackle. “Talk, so I can find you without bumping into you.”
“My name is Jhesrhi Coldcreek. I’m a wizard and an officer in the Brotherhood of the Griffon. The name of my own griffon is-”
“Good enough.” He reached and found that she had her arms outstretched. The key fit her shackles too.
She murmured a word of command and conjured a glowing amber ball into the palm of her upturned hand. At first it dazzled him and made him squint, but when his eyes adjusted, he could see for himself that she was disheveled but unharmed. He felt the urge to hug her but caught himself in time.
The light revealed that the guard had been an orc. By rights one such creature shouldn’t pose much of a problem for a soldier who’d stood against wraiths, nightwalkers, and the steel scorpion of Anhaurz, and Gaedynn grinned at the thought that this foe had given him one of the most desperate fights he’d ever fought.
“What are you smirking at?” Jhesrhi asked.
“I’ll tell you later. Look, somehow we managed to dance with the guard without overturning either of our bowls. So drink and eat. We’re going to need it.”
After he finished his own meal, he appropriated the orc’s weapons and-his mouth twisted in distaste-the brigandine. The reinforced leather stank of the brutish warrior’s sweat, but armor was armor.
As he buckled it on and found he couldn’t tighten the straps enough to make it snug on his lean frame, he asked, “Can you disguise us?”
“To a degree,” Jhesrhi said. “But we’ll never find a way out without light.”
“I know. But since Jaxanaedegor’s more or less a grandee of the realm, maybe he has servants or occasional visitors who need light as much as we do. If so, then using it won’t necessarily unmask us.”
“We can hope.” She set the orb of light afloat in midair as if she were setting it on a shelf. Then she murmured a rhyming incantation and stroked her fingertips from the midline of her face outward like she was streaking it with paint. When she did the same to Gaedynn, his cheeks and forehead tingled.
“There,” she said.
He looked at his hands. They appeared clean, pale, and devoid of hair. Tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves of what now appeared to be a finely made mail shirt with hammered brass runes and sigils riveted to the links.
Jhesrhi was tattooed and hairless too, even her eyebrows and lashes shed to leave her bald as an egg. Her golden eyes had changed to a less distinctive gray, and the patched, ragged garb of Ilzza the vagabond had become a crimson robe.
“We’re Thayans,” he said.
“Supposedly Szass Tam sometimes sends envoys to the lords of Threskel. If so, then Jaxanaedegor’s lesser servants have learned to bow and scrape to them. They also wouldn’t expect them to know their way around. Both those things could work to our advantage. So I’m a Red Wizard and you’re my knight.”
He smiled. “Almost like real life.”
Thanks to the golden glow, it was now plain that Jaxanaedegor’s servants had imprisoned them in a hollow where a dozen sets of shackles dangled from the walls. A single passage ran away into the dark. Jhesrhi sent the light drifting in that direction, and she and Gaedynn followed.
As they paced along, he kept hoping for a branching passage. Because there was a guard station, barracks, or something similar up ahead. He hadn’t been able to see it in the dark, but he’d heard the murmur of voices as the vampires marched Jhesrhi and him back and forth.
But it appeared fickle Tymora had forgotten him again. Or, to be fair, maybe it was a bit much to ask her to reach back in time, trespass in the business of Kossuth and Grumbar, and alter the way lava carved rifts in the volcano just to smooth his path. In any case, no alternate route presented itself before he heard voices once again and caught the smells of wood smoke and roasting meat. His hunk of stale bread hadn’t been all that big or satisfying, and the latter aroma made his mouth water.
“They’re going to think it odd that two Thayans are coming out of the prison,” Jhesrhi whispered.
“Especially when they didn’t notice two Thayans going in,” Gaedynn answered. “That’s assuming they bother to think about it. Maybe they won’t. But if they do, well, you’re magical and too important and arrogant to take kindly to answering questions from the likes of them.”
“Right.” They walked on.
The way widened, and openings led off the passage to interconnecting chambers on either side. Taken altogether, the honeycomb was large enough for a garrison of dozens, but Gaedynn was glad to see there didn’t appear to be that many warriors currently.
There was at least one, though. Frowning, a one-eyed orc peered out into the passage. Gaedynn gave him a stare, and he retreated into the darkness. But as soon as the supposed Thayans passed by, the guard shouted something in the language of his kind. Gaedynn didn’t speak it, but assumed the echoing call pertained to Jhesrhi and himself.
Other voices replied, and footsteps scurried. Five other orcs emerged from openings up ahead, then gathered together to form a single group.
It didn’t look like they meant to attack. Not yet anyway. But they evidently didn’t intend to let the strangers pass without a word or two of explanation either.
Still, it didn’t seem all that dire a situation until the light floated close enough to show them clearly. Then Gaedynn saw that while four were warriors, one wore a voluminous robe and carried a staff. He was some sort of sorcerer or shaman, and likely more cunning and difficult to bluff than his fellows.
Oh well. Gaedynn would just have to strive for words that flew as true as Keen-Eye’s arrows.
When Jhesrhi and he came close enough to converse without difficulty, he gave a brusque nod. “We’ll return to our accommodations now.”
“Accommodations?” the shaman asked. He spoke Chessentan without an accent, and although his staff was carved of shadow-wood rather than blackwood and the rune-engraved rings that banded it at intervals were made of some exotic red metal instead of gold, it appeared as handsomely crafted and civilized an artifact as the one Jhesrhi had lost in Mourktar.
“The quarters Lord Jaxanaedegor assigned to Lady Azhir,” Gaedynn said.
One of the soldier orcs turned to mutter in the sorcerer’s pointed ear. In the process, he gave Gaedynn a better look at the longbow he carried on his back. It was as superbly made as the staff, and to Gaedynn as enticing as the smell of the roasting meat.
“We understand,” the sorcerer said. “But how did you get into the cell?”
Gaedynn sneered like it was a stupid question. “My lady doesn’t need to move around as common people do.” And let’s not dwell on the fact that no wizard in her right mind would shift herself around blindly in an unfamiliar tunnel system without a compelling reason.
“But why go to the cell at all?” the shaman persisted. “I wouldn’t ask, but the prisoners are my responsibility.”
“We didn’t hurt them,” Gaedynn said. “When Lord Jaxanaedegor mentioned them, my lady thought she detected a resemblance to a pair of sellswords who caused trouble in Thay last year. She was curious to see if these were the same two knaves. It turns out they’re not. Now, orc, have I satisfied your curiosity, or will you keep us here until the dragon starts wondering what busybody is detaining his guests?”
“You’re free to go, of course,” the sorcerer said, “and I’m sorry if I gave offense.” He and the other orcs shifted to the sides of the passage.
As Jhesrhi and Gaedynn strode forward, he glimpsed motion at the per
iphery of his vision. Trying not to be obvious about it, he glanced in that direction.
An eyeless black rat crawled out of the sorcerer’s collar and perched on his shoulder. Where it sniffed repeatedly like a bloodhound.
Would Jhesrhi’s disguises deceive the nose as they did the eyes? Gaedynn had no idea.
He drew the scimitar, pivoted, and cut. The sorcerer fell backward with blood gushing from his throat. The familiar tumbled from his shoulder.
Gaedynn turned, slashed, and dropped another orc. So much for the easy part. The other three had their weapons ready.
They drove in, and he gave ground before them. Jhesrhi slashed her hand from right to left and raked them with a flare of flame. One caught fire and reeled. Though barely singed, the other two faltered. Taking advantage of their distraction, Gaedynn pounced at them and cut them down.
The burning orc dropped too. Gaedynn turned to give Jhesrhi a smile. Facing back the way they’d come, she rattled off words of power and thrust out her hand. Darts of yellow light shot from her fingertips. They plunged into the torso of the orc who’d called to the others. The one that Gaedynn had to admit, to himself if never to Jhesrhi, he’d forgotten all about.
The orc pitched forward. His finger still pulled the trigger of his crossbow, but the bolt merely hit the floor a pace or two in front of him.
“I thought we were trying to trick our way through,” Jhesrhi said. “It still might have worked.”
“Maybe,” Gaedynn said, “but I didn’t feel like giving up the advantage of surprise to find out. Besides, you need a staff, and I a bow. We both need some of that meat.”
Which turned out to be goat. It was still half raw, but they didn’t have time to linger and turn the spit. They gobbled their fill and moved on.
In time they found their way to a broad shelf where the ceiling rose high enough to permit a huddle of stone buildings and stubby towers. Beyond was a gray sky.
The sight of any sky would have excited Gaedynn, but this one all but elated him. Because it was a daytime sky, and not so shrouded in fumes from the volcano as to mask every trace of the sun. No vampire could pursue fugitives under such a sky, and even living but nocturnal creatures like orcs might find it inconvenient.
“What’s the plan?” Jhesrhi allowed her floating light to blink out of existence. “Try to walk out like we have every right to?”
Gaedynn grinned. “Why not? We’re bound to fool somebody, eventually.”
They headed into the cluster of buildings. Gaedynn tried to look like a haughty Thayan warrior having a casual look at the area and finding it contemptible. As opposed to a twitchy escapee, his nerves frayed to rags by fumbling his way through a dark maze of tunnels.
A stooped, dirty man stepped into the sellswords’ path, noticed them, hesitated as though trying to decide whether they were close enough that he needed to bow or kneel, and then settled for scurrying on his way. A sentry, also human, watched their progress from the battlements atop one of the towers, but not with any show of suspicion or even much curiosity.
Beyond the edge of the shelf, the mountainside fell away in a slope shallow enough to permit cultivation. Slaves bent in freshly plowed fields, planting peas or beans in the furrows and grain on the ridges. Overseers with whips sauntered among them.
Nearby was a barn, and horses standing in a paddock. Gaedynn led Jhesrhi in that direction. “Grooms!” he shouted.
Two thralls scrambled into view. They had the same cringing demeanor as the man back on the shelf, and sets of scabby double puncture wounds on their throats.
“The lady and I are going for a ride,” Gaedynn said. “Saddle two horses.”
The men hesitated. Then one said, “The countryside can be dangerous. I can ask the soldiers in the towers to-”
“Now!” Gaedynn snapped.
The slaves flinched, then hurried to obey. He could see they were hurrying, even if the task seemed to drag on endlessly. But finally he and Jhesrhi were in the saddle and, moments later, trotting down the trail that meandered among the fields.
Jhesrhi shook her head. “Strange.”
“What?” Gaedynn asked.
“I wouldn’t have said it while we were doing it, but now that we’re out, escaping almost seemed too easy.”
He laughed. “By my estimation, we have about half an afternoon to put distance between Mount Thulbane and ourselves. Before you make up your mind how easy it was, let’s see how we fare come nightfall.”
SEVEN
GREENGRASS-7 MIRTUL THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
The scent of flowers filled the air. The prayers of druids and sunlords made it possible to grow them in time for the spring festival. Usually they went to decorate public places, or to worshipers to use as offerings, but Cera had diverted two bouquets to fill the vases in her bedroom.
At present, she lay on her stomach with the tangled covers concealing her from the small of her bare back down. Aoth studied her, and she reassured him that she truly was asleep by giving a soft buzz of a snore.
Moving carefully, he stood up, put on the clothes he’d left strewn on the floor, and picked up his spear where it leaned against a chair. She kept snoring.
So far, so good. Now what?
He could rummage through her personal effects, but it would be unfortunate if she woke and caught him. And it seemed likely that if what he was looking for was there at all, he could find some sign of it elsewhere.
He prowled through the rest of her apartments and peeked out into the corridor beyond. It pleased him that some thrifty soul had extinguished the oil lamp. The gloom would obscure him without hindering his own vision.
He skulked on past the chambers of Cera’s subordinates. Moans sounded from one and a rhythmic slap-slap-slap from another. For a moment he smiled. When he was young, the priests of Lathander had been a famously amorous lot, and although Amaunator was supposed to be a more staid and dignified god, perhaps their successors had inherited the same proclivity.
Or maybe it was just Greengrass sparking carnal urges in one and all.
He slipped from the cloister into the sanctuary, where it wasn’t quite as dark. Votive flames burned in one place and another, and the moon and stars shone through the skylights. He didn’t know a great deal about Amaunatori customs, and-concerned that he might encounter a priest performing some late-night ritual, or perhaps a ceremonial guard-he crept even more warily. But there didn’t appear to be anyone else around.
He trusted his fire-touched eyes to reveal the presence of concealed doors and the like, but there didn’t seem to be any of those either. Just stone stairs in plain sight descending into the floor. He headed down and came to a door in the form of a wrought-iron grille. He tried it, and it was locked.
He scowled. Jhesrhi could likely have opened the lock without breaking it. Gaedynn might have found a way as well. Both were better suited to spying than their commander, which was why Aoth had sent them into Threskel. But he regretted their absence now.
Well, he’d just have to proceed as best he could. He slipped the point of his spear into the crack above the latch, then pried, releasing a bit of the power stored inside the weapon to make the action more forceful. The grille lurched open with a snap.
He swung it shut again behind him. With luck, no one would notice the damage before morning at the earliest. He climbed down the remaining steps.
Which put him in a musty-smelling room with brick walls and a few old boxes scattered around. He stalked through an arch into a second rectangular space like the first.
Another grille separated the second room from a third. On the other side were coffers, jars, urns, and icons, some of the latter depictions of the Morninglord and thus no longer suitable for veneration. The wealth of the temple, locked away for safekeeping.
Aoth broke open the new barrier and explored the repository. No matter how intently he peered at the contents, and at the ceiling, walls, and floor, he still couldn’t find any trace of what he sough
t. And there was nowhere else to look, not down here anyway.
Warm golden light bloomed at his back. As he pivoted toward the doorway, it brightened. By the time he faced it, it was like looking directly at the sun.
Unfortunately, glare was one thing that could still impair his vision. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he leveled the spear with the other. “Stop what you’re doing. I don’t have to see you to hurt you.”
“I vouched for you,” Cera said, from inside the dazzling light or beyond it. “I told everyone you were honorable and came here to protect us. And you get up out of my bed and slink down here to steal Amaunator’s treasure!”
He wondered if she truly believed that. “You’re wrong. That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then drop your spear and surrender, and afterward we’ll sort it out.”
“I can’t do that.” She might kill him once she had him disarmed.
“Then this is your own fault.”
The blaze in the doorway seemed to leap at him, engulf him, and pain seared him. He willed a tattoo to life, and its enchantment dulled the agony. Maybe it even kept him from bursting into flame.
He growled a word of power, and a thunderclap boomed through the cellar. Hoping it had at least staggered Cera, he charged the doorway. And slammed into the grille. He’d left it open, so the priestess must have closed it and the glare kept him from noticing.
He rebounded and fell on his rump. The grille squeaked on its hinges and clanked against the wall. Footsteps pattered in his direction.
Cera evidently hoped the impact had left him dazed or disoriented, but though his head throbbed, it hadn’t. He could judge where she was, and he raised the spear to spit her. Then he flung himself to the side instead. Something, likely her golden mace, banged against the floor.
He scrambled, turned, and then he was facing her with his back to the glare. He was still half blind with floating smears of afterimage, but at least he could make out her silhouette and see that she had indeed armed herself with her mace and targe.
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