The Captive Flame: Brotherhood of the Griffon • Book 1 Page 19

  Meanwhile, the same forefoot grabbed Jhesrhi around the middle and shoved her to the floor. Jaxanaedegor’s scaly hide was as cold as his servants’ skin, and his weight squashed the breath out of her.

  She wheezed a word of power. The wyrm glared down at her. The force of his will stabbed into her head and made it throb, but failed to paralyze her. She forced out the next word of her incantation, and he shifted his stance to make her take a fraction more of his weight.

  “All I have to do is bear down,” he said, “to crush you into jelly.”

  She left the rest of the spell unspoken. The stillborn magic dispersed with a crackling sound.

  Gaedynn jumped up and started toward Jaxanaedegor. The dragon’s head whipped in his direction. Wisps of yellow-green vapor fumed from the creature’s nostrils and between his fangs. Jhesrhi caught a whiff of it. It seared her nose and throat and made her cough.

  Gaedynn stopped.

  “That’s better,” Jaxanaedegor said.

  “Let her up,” the archer said.

  “Are you done lying?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d better be.” The wyrm picked up his foot.

  Jhesrhi sucked in a breath, then rose and scurried to stand with Gaedynn. She realized that putting a few paces between the dragon and herself meant absolutely nothing in terms of making her safer. But it felt better than lingering within arm’s reach.

  “If I may ask,” Gaedynn said, “how is it that you know us?”

  “For obvious reasons,” Jaxanaedegor said, “we in the north take an interest in the soldiers the war hero sends against us.” His breath weapon had stopped leaking into the air, though the little that had escaped was enough to fill the cave with an eye-watering haze. “I have an observer in Soolabax, and when he lost track of you, I told my people throughout Threskel to keep an eye out. Because you had to be going somewhere.”

  To Jhesrhi it seemed, if not a false explanation, certainly an incomplete one. She could understand a lord of Threskel monitoring the Brotherhood of the Griffon as a whole, or its captain for that matter. But it still surprised her that the wyrm had taken such a close interest that he knew two lesser officers by name.

  “Well,” Gaedynn said, “we’re honored to have snagged the attention of the terror of Mount Thulbane.”

  “It could work out to your advantage,” Jaxanaedegor said. “You could attain eternal life.”

  “As an eternal menial eternally creeping around in a hole in the ground, like these?” Gaedynn waved a hand to indicate the undead standing at the mouth of the tunnel.

  “Servants with minor talents,” the dragon said, “must content themselves with minor roles. But you’re a skilled warrior, and your companion is versed in elemental sorcery. I might consider giving you the true Dark Gift of the Undying. To make you master vampires and knights of the realm.”

  Jhesrhi took a breath. “We had an undead comrade named Bareris Anskuld. We saw what his condition made of him. We’re not interested.”

  “You assume you have a choice.”

  “I don’t assume I could hurt you or fend you off for any length of time. But I do think I could raise enough fire to burn Gaedynn and me to ash.”

  Actually, probably not—not without her staff. But it was possible that despite his cunning, Jaxanaedegor couldn’t tell that.

  The dragon grunted. “Well, don’t set yourself ablaze quite yet. I’m still deciding what to do with you. Tell the truth, and I might show more mercy than a spy deserves. What were you looking for in Mourktar?”

  Gaedynn cocked his head. “Didn’t your own spy tell you?”

  “He reported you were asking about rumors of a dragon somewhere in the Sky Riders. I want to know why.”

  “The stories suggest the wyrm in question is inconvenienced in some way. We hoped that would make it possible for us to pilfer from its horde.”

  “And how would that help Chessenta?”

  “It wouldn’t. Jhesrhi and I have parted company with the Brotherhood of the Griffon. Deserted, if you want to put it unkindly. We just want to get our hands on enough coin to keep us in comfort for the rest of our days.”

  “I find that difficult to believe. By all accounts, both you and the wizard have been loyal members of Aoth Fezim’s company for several years.”

  Gaedynn grinned. “I don’t know what accounts you’ve heard, but I’ve never been loyal to much of anything but my own self-interest. Now, Jhesrhi—I admit—is somewhat more prone to that particular weakness. But not to the point of stupidity. Captain Fezim led us to near ruin in Thay and again in Impiltur. Now he’s dragged us to a kingdom where mages like her are pariahs. She doesn’t trust him anymore, and wants out just like me.”

  Jaxanaedegor pounced as he had before. Only this time, it was Jhesrhi he flicked through the air and Gaedynn he pressed beneath his forefoot.

  As Jhesrhi clambered to her feet, the dragon glared at her. “Your friend is nearly as glib as a dragon,” he said. “Unfortunately for him, I am a dragon, and my instincts tell me he’s still lying. Perhaps you’d care to speak the truth.”

  “Gaedynn already did,” she replied.

  “I don’t think I want him as any sort of servant,” Jaxanaedegor said. “I suspect that even bound to my will, he’d find a way of getting into mischief. But that’s the point of taking the heads off—so they don’t rise.” He opened his mouth, and two of the upper fangs lengthened.

  “Don’t!” Jhesrhi cried. “I’ll tell you. Nicos Corynian, the Brotherhood’s employer, believes the dragon in the hills is Tchazzar.”

  “Tchazzar!” Jaxanaedegor said. “Why in the Dark Lady’s name would he think that?”

  “I’m not sure we know, entirely. Lord Nicos may have held something back. But the last anyone in Chessenta saw of Tchazzar, he was headed into Threskel. And the wyrm in the hills is supposedly a fire-breather.”

  “And if it is Tchazzar, you’re supposed to bring him back to fight for Chessenta in her time of need.”

  “Gaedynn and I are just supposed to investigate and report. But if it did turn out to be Tchazzar, I suppose someone would try to retrieve him. Now, please, I’ve given you what you wanted. Let Gaedynn up.”

  “I suppose I might as well,” the dragon answered. “I’ve already drunk well tonight. It makes sense to save the two of you until I’m thirsty again.”

  The lesser vampires started toward Jhesrhi. She cried to the stone surrounding her, raised one hand high, closed her fingers like she was clutching something, and whipped her arm down. Chunks of granite rained from the high domed ceiling.

  But only enough to smash down on top of one of the undead. The others broke into a run that brought them into striking distance an instant later. One lashed her across the face with the back of his hand, and the blow knocked all the strength and much of the sense out of her. The world suddenly seemed a distant and meaningless place, and that kept her from resisting any further as the dragon’s minions hauled her and Gaedynn back into the dark.

  * * * * *

  Cera Eurthos waved her hand, and sunlight pushed back the night to reveal shrubs and blueleaf trees putting forth new growth, pebbled paths, a marble bench, and what Aoth supposed was the inevitable sundial.

  “Do you like it?” Cera asked.

  “Yes,” he said, and he didn’t bother to mention that his fire-touched eyes had seen the temple garden clearly even before her magic illuminated it.

  The golden glow faded and night returned. “I’m afraid I don’t tend my personal patch of it very diligently. Just when the mood takes me.”

  They sat down on the bench. He noticed she didn’t leave much space between them, and set his spear on the dewy grass. He wasn’t sure how the rest of the evening would unfold, but it wouldn’t hurt to put the weapon where it was out of the way.

  “How did you think the banquet went?” he asked.

  “You were the very model of a courtly gentleman soldier,” she said.

  He smiled a crooke
d smile. “If so, it didn’t keep them from making signs to ward off evil when they thought I wasn’t looking.”

  “Not all of them.”

  “Well, I hope not.”

  “Trust me. You won some of them over.”

  “But probably not the one who sent an assassin to kill me at the gate.”

  She frowned. “Do you really believe one of the town elders was responsible?”

  “Truthfully? Who knows? Hasos resents me for taking away part of his authority and showing him up. Others may think I’ll somehow bring disaster just because I’m a war-mage. But there are other possibilities. You can pretty much count on it that Threskel has an agent or two living in town. Even if they don’t, how hard would it be to sneak an assassin in with the honest farmers and travelers whenever the gates are open? Especially one who knows some sorcery.”

  “You don’t seem very worried about it.”

  He shrugged. “I won’t say I’m used to it exactly, but sometimes assassination attempts are just a part of war.”

  “Well, I think you’re brave. To say nothing of observant. I would have fallen through those stairs if you hadn’t been with me.”

  He could have pointed out that if she hadn’t been with him, the steps would have been undamaged, but given his hopes, that seemed counterproductive. He stroked her cheek. A bit tentatively, for she was, after all, a high priestess, and a part of him was still the Mulan who’d spent his childhood being reminded over and over that he looked like a lowly, ugly Rashemi.

  She smiled and slid closer, and then he was sure they wanted the same thing. He kissed her. Her lips warmed him like sunlight.

  Before long, they grew impatient with the hard narrow bench and lay together on the ground. He unhooked the top of her yellow vestment and slipped his hand inside to caress her through her shift.

  Then, for just a heartbeat, he caught a whiff of something nasty and stinging through the mingled scents of the vegetation, the wet rich soil, and her lilac perfume.

  He started to lift himself up to look around, and she tugged to pull him back down. He almost yielded, but then realized the new odor had smelled exactly like the acid the dragonborn had spat at him in Luthcheq.

  He jerked himself out of Cera’s embrace, and she gave a startled little cry of protest. Clad in hooded robes and cloaks, dragonborn were stalking toward him and his companion. A flicker of magic outlined their forms. Most likely it meant they were more or less invisible. Not to him, of course, but with his attention fixed on Cera, they’d managed to sneak up on him just fine.

  The two nearest sucked in deep breaths.

  Kneeling, he snatched for his spear, aimed it, and snarled a word of command to discharge one of the spells stored inside. A cloud of greenish vapor materialized around the dragonborn. They reeled and retched inside it, unable to spew their breath weapons—for the moment, anyway.

  Unfortunately, there were plenty more outside the fog, and Aoth didn’t even have his mail. You didn’t wear armor to a banquet.

  He scrambled to his feet. So did Cera. In circumstances like these, he was sometimes uncertain how much people with ordinary eyes could see. Judging from her expression and stance, she perceived some indication of the threat, maybe shadowy figures flickering in and out of view.

  “I can call back Amaunator’s light—,” she began.

  “I can already see them,” Aoth snapped. “I’m also armed. You aren’t. Get help!”

  She turned and ran toward the arched yellow door that led back into the Keeper’s house. Dragonborn darted after her. Aoth lunged to intercept them.

  The reptile in the lead swung a sword down at his head. He caught the stroke on the shaft of his spear, spun the weapon, and thrust it into his opponent’s throat. As he yanked it back, he saw another dragonborn spitting vitriol at him.

  There was no time left to close the distance or try to deter the reptile with a spell. He could only dodge, and some of the spray splashed his left arm and shoulder anyway. Smoking and sizzling, the liquid burned like Kossuth’s anger.

  But he couldn’t let that slow him down, or his assailants would overwhelm him for certain. He invoked the magic of a tattoo to dampen the pain and struck back with a thunderous blast of sound. The magic knocked the dragonborn off his feet, and shattered bones and ruptured organs if Aoth was lucky.

  He couldn’t wait and watch to see if he was. He had to pivot and blast another pair of dragonborn with an explosion of crimson flame.

  Pain seared his back. Once again he invoked the magic of the numbing tattoo. It worked, but not as well as before. He turned, rattled off words of power, and crumbled the foe who’d just spat on him into a spill of dust.

  Individually the dragonborn were no match for him, but there were a lot of them, they weren’t attacking individually, and they weren’t stupid enough to bunch up so he could catch several at once with a spell devised to smite multiple opponents. Gradually, and despite his best efforts, they surrounded him.

  More acid caught him in the back. He cried out and lurched forward. Dragonborn lunged to hack and stab while he was off balance.

  Then he felt a presence enter his mind and avail itself of his eyes. A shape as black as the night sky overhead plunged out of it to pierce reptiles with its talons and smash them under its hurtling weight. Jet twisted his head and decapitated another dragonborn with a snap of his beak. Startled, the rest recoiled.

  Aoth tried the tattoo again and found there was still a little analgesic virtue left in it. “Were you spying on me?” he gasped.

  “No,” Jet replied. “I was just taking some exercise and happened to fly overhead. But I probably should have been. Why is it you can never mate without it turning into a situation?”

  A dragonborn recovered his nerve and charged. Aoth ducked the swing of his axe and drove his spear into the creature’s guts. Then the rest of the enemy surged forward, and there was no more time or breath to spare for talk. Not until every reptile lay torn, blackened and smoldering, encrusted with frost, or otherwise slain on the ground.

  “Curse it,” Aoth growled. “We really could have used a prisoner to question.”

  Jet grunted. “And here I thought I was doing well just to save your hide.”

  “Believe me, I’m grateful. It’s just that it’s unfortunate.” Aoth studied the bodies.

  “I see it too,” the griffon said. “No piercings, just like in Luthcheq.”

  “You’re right,” said Aoth, “but this time I’m noticing something more. Dragonborn come in a variety of colors, but every one of these is black. What are the odds?”

  “Not bad, if they belong to some sect or cadre that only takes black ones.”

  “All right. But they all spat acid at us, just like all black dragons spew acid. Even though the color of a dragonborn’s scales has no relation to the nature of his breath weapon. So what are the chances of that?”

  “Maybe not as good. But what does it mean?”

  Aoth sighed. “I have no idea.” His burns throbbed, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

  Then the yellow door flew open, and Cera rushed out with a mace and targe that were either made of gold or, more likely, simply looked like it. The priests and guards scrambling behind her were similarly equipped. They all stopped short at the sight of the carnage.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” said Jet.

  Cera gave Aoth an apologetic look. “It’s only been a few moments. I brought the others as fast as I could.”

  “I know,” said Aoth, “and you’re not too late to help us. We’re both burned. It hurts quite a lot, actually.”

  She dropped her weapon and shield and came to inspect his wounds. She murmured a prayer and gently touched her hands to the burned spots, and a soothing warmth began to ease the pain.

  “Did you know there were this many dragonborn in Soolabax?” asked Aoth.

  Cera shook her head. “That’s what I can’t understand. There aren’t any.”

  “Well,” sa
id Jet as her fellow sunlords—moving gingerly in proximity to such a formidable beast with such a gory beak and bloody claws—began to tend his burns, “maybe not anymore.”

  * * * * *

  Gaedynn banged his shackles on the floor. It jolted his wrists and soon made them sore, but he kept at it anyway. He’d already tried and failed to squeeze his fingers together and slip a hand free, or to grip a chain and pull it free of its moorings in the wall. He didn’t know what else to do.

  On his left, Jhesrhi recited one incantation after another. Sometimes it sounded like she was giving commands, sometimes like she was coaxing, and sometimes growling threats. But however she tried it, she never produced more than a puff of displaced air or a momentary bitter taste on his tongue.

  Finally he stopped pounding to catch his breath. That inspired her to pause as well. The darkness felt even darker without their noise to fill it.

  He examined his shackles by touch. If his efforts were damaging the lock or knocking loose the hinges, he certainly couldn’t tell it. He cursed.

  “I’m not getting anywhere either,” Jhesrhi said.

  He tried to speak with his customary self-assurance. “Ah well, the chains are just a temporary inconvenience. Our escorts will remove them to take us back to Jaxanaedegor. Then your powers will return and you’ll set one of the wretches on fire. The light will enable me to strike down the others.”

  She hesitated, then said, “Yes, I’m sure that’s just how it will go. But just in case it doesn’t …”

  “Yes?”

  Another hesitation. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t think like that anyway. We have to believe there will be something we can do.” Footsteps padded in the blackness.

  Jhesrhi sucked in a startled breath. Gaedynn felt his muscles tighten, and exhaled to blow the tension out.

  He only heard one person approaching. And he’d never heard the vampires at all until they laid hands on him. Was it possible that he and Jhesrhi really did have a chance?

  The footsteps halted in front of him. Then something clicked against the floor.