Текст книги "The Spectral Blaze"

Автор книги: Richard Lee Byers

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

FOUR

10-14 E LEASIS, THE Y EAR OF THE A GELESS O NE

An inn that specialized in catering to those who traveled on the backs of flying steeds, the Eagle’s Idyll resembled a stone beehive floating in midair, with only three arcing bridges connecting it to other bits of Airspur. The open-air tavern on top was famous for its cuisine, and Gaedynn was a man who appreciated fine food. Still, he looked down at the broiled spiced shrimp, wild rice, green beans, and roll on the octagonal plate before him and realized he wasn’t hungry.

“Curse it,” he said. “For a moment, I thought I had the queen on my hook.”

“Why did you say we brought our information hoping for a reward?” Cera asked. With her blonde curls and gold-trimmed yellow vestments gleaming on the bright, summer day, she looked like a proper agent of the god she worshiped, except that there was nothing sunny about her scowl. “After you blurted it out, Aoth and I had no choice but to follow your lead.”

“I didn’t ‘blurt,’ ” Gaedynn replied. “I weighed the options, then told the queen and her deputies we were behaving exactly as people expect knavish sellswords to behave. It was something they could understand. Did you really want to claim that we were here because Amaunator sent us? Reveal that we revived Alasklerbanbastos? Maybe call the gruesome brute into the royal presence to vouch for us?”

“Yes!” Cera said. “Because it’s the truth, and it might have worked. Your way didn’t.”

Gaedynn smiled crookedly. “I admit, you have me there.” He turned to Aoth. “What do you think?”

Aoth shook his head. “It’s possible the genasi just hate the dragonborn too much and that plans for the war have progressed too far for our arguments to have prevailed no matter what we said. It’s even possible that Tradrem-or Lehaya or Myxofin-opposed us because he’s secretly in league with one of the dragons. After all, Nicos Corynian-our own original employer, may the Black Flame help us-took bribes to advance Skuthosin’s schemes.”

Gaedynn took a sip of chilled green tea. “I’m getting tired of feeling like somebody’s always a move ahead of us. Or worse, that we still aren’t really players at all, but merely pawns. It’s injurious to my pride.”

Aoth snorted. “I suspect it will withstand the blow.”

“We can only hope. So what’s the plan now? I don’t suppose it’s simply to give up, fight in Tchazzar’s new war and profit thereby like sensible sellswords, and then clear out of Chessenta as soon as it’s practical?”

“Sorry,” said Aoth.

“Then how about this? I’ll fly back to Threskel and fetch a few dozen of our fellow griffon riders to accompany us on a dragon hunt.”

“No,” said Aoth. “Someone would likely notice the absence of so many and send word to Tchazzar or Halonya. We three are already taking a big risk just by being gone ourselves.”

“Hunting Vairshekellabex and his wyrmkeepers and whatnot all by ourselves strikes me as a fair-sized risk as well.”

“We have Alasklerbanbastos,” Cera said, chicken, mushrooms, and chucks of red pepper impaled on the skewer in her hand. “Our own wyrm to pit against the other.”

“Right up until the instant he sees a chance to turn on us,” Gaedynn said. “Excuse me. I meant, turn on us again. I realize that if we go ahead with this, we probably have no choice but to use him as a weapon, but-”

Aoth leaned sideways. Gaedynn realized it was so he could look past him. “Company,” the warmage said.

Gaedynn turned. Well dressed in a wine red taffeta jacket and cambric shirt, a firesoul was striding across the terrace with its scatter of round tables, mosaic floor, and low parapet. The pattern of golden lines on his face was asymmetrical, with more on the right than the left. Gaedynn wondered if it was the genasi equivalent of a birthmark. Whatever it was, the fellow was handsome enough otherwise, with an aristocratic self-assurance to his expression and a swagger in his walk.

Aoth rose and offered his hand. “I believe we met some comrades of yours on our journey to Airspur. The patrol led by Yarel-karn.”

For a moment, Gaedynn wondered how Aoth knew the genasi belonged to the Firestorm Cabal. Then he noticed the rectangular gold ring on the middle finger, with its dusting of tiny garnets. Some of the riders in the red-coated patrol had worn similar ones, and even at a distance, Aoth’s spellscarred eyes had spotted it.

The firesoul blinked. “Really? How are they faring?”

Gaedynn grinned. “Not so badly, thanks to us.”

“Then you’ll have to tell me the story. But first I’d like to discuss something else.” He glanced at an empty chair. “May I?”

“Certainly.” Aoth sat back down in his own chair. “Maybe you should start with your name.”

“And how you knew to come looking for us,” Gaedynn added, “when we’ve only been in the city half a day.”

“Of course,” said the firesoul. “My name is Mardiz-sul. I’m a Bright Sword in the Cabal.” Gaedynn surmised that was a position of authority. “And I knew you were in Airspur because our fellowship has more friends that most people realize, including some close to the throne.”

In other words, Gaedynn thought, Arathane’s court was as rotten with intrigue as Tchazzar’s.

“Then I assume,” said Aoth, “that you know what was said in our ‘private’ audience with the queen.”

“I do,” said Mardiz-sul.

“And you believe us?” Cera asked.

“Well, sunlady,” the firesoul said, “I’m inclined to. We firestormers flatter ourselves that we know the lands where the attacks occurred better than the army does. And although our scouts and trackers have searched, we haven’t found the hidden trail the dragonborn allegedly used to sneak all the way north from Tymanther and then back home again. But we have heard rumors of a gray dragon. And if it’s really there, I imagine it’s powerful and malicious enough to get up to all sorts of tricks.”

Cera smiled at him. “If you’re leading up to telling us you’ll give us the help we need, then Amaunator bless you today and forevermore.”

Her warmth appeared to make Mardiz-sul uncomfortable. “Ah, thank you, sunlady, truly. But nothing’s decided yet. I believe that Captain Fezim asked for fifty men-at-arms, with the implication being that he would be in command.”

Aoth frowned. “That’s right.”

“I mean no insult, but that’s unacceptable. Firestormers expect to be led by one of their own. I can’t ask them to follow a Thayan with a dubious reputation.”

Gaedynn grinned at Aoth. “Imagine if he had meant to insult you.”

Aoth shot him an irritated glance then turned his luminous blue gaze back on the genasi. “I respect your honesty. I trust you’ll respect mine if I talk to you in the same way.”

Mardiz-sul hesitated. “I suppose.”

“Can I assume Yarel-karn is well regarded within the Cabal? The rest of you don’t think of him as incompetent, a simpleton, or anything like that?”

“No!” said Mardiz-sul. “Of course not.” Flame flowed along one of the golden lines on his hand, stopping just short of the ring.

“Well, as Gaedynn mentioned, we helped him and his men. They needed it because he made a mistake no competent professional soldier would make.”

“Anyone can make an error,” Mardiz-sul replied.

“Anyone who lacks training and experience,” said Aoth. “Does that describe you? I ask because I suspect you mean to command the expedition to kill Vairshekellabex, with the three of us tagging along as guides and advisers.”

“I come from a noble family,” the genasi said, glowering. “My forefathers were warriors remembered to this day. Naturally my education encompassed the martial arts.”

“But I’ve got a hunch you’ve never had to apply what you studied,” said Aoth. “Not until the army abandoned the settlers in the hinterlands, and that so bothered you that you felt called to join the firestormers.”

“And as long as we’re talking about training and experience,” said Gaedynn, “let’s not limit the conversation to you and Yarel-karn. I assume the fellows who would accompany us are the firestormers you can gather quickly, the ones here in Airspur as opposed to those already making themselves useful out in the borderlands. Who are they, new recruits? The rawest of the raw and the greenest of the green?”

“You have no right to jeer at us!” said Mardiz-sul. “The Cabal has saved hundreds of lives since it began!”

“I believe it,” said Aoth, his tone conciliatory. “Yarel-karn and his men fought bravely. I’m sure you and the warriors who follow you do the same. My point is simply that you’re not seasoned professionals, and we’re talking about going after a dragon and its servants. To have a fighting chance, you need to let the two fellows who are professionals apply their skills to best advantage. That means letting me command with Gaedynn as my lieutenant.”

“Please,” Cera said. “You referred to Aoth’s ‘dubious reputation.’ But if you’ve heard reports of the war in Threskel, then surely you realize that he and his company were instrumental in Tchazzar’s triumph.”

Mardiz-sul sighed. “I have heard, sunlady. Those reports, and your holy office, are why I take your story seriously. But still, to entrust my command…” He turned back to Aoth. “If you’re so certain it would be suicide to follow me, will you simply tell me where to look for Vairshekellabex? Then we firestormers can go fight him by-”

Gaedynn heard a soft scratching sound. “Shut up,” he said.

Mardiz-sul gaped as if no one had ever spoken to him so rudely. His stunned silence enabled Gaedynn to be sure of what he was hearing.

Wishing he were wearing his brigandine, he sprang up from his chair, slung his quiver over his back, and restrung his bow. Instantly following his lead, Aoth jumped up and grabbed his spear. A greenish glimmer flowed along the razor edges of the head.

Cera took only a heartbeat longer to stand up and grip her gilded mace. She was learning.

Meanwhile, Mardiz-sul gawked at them with all the other diners, tipplers, and servers on the terrace. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Something’s climbing up the outside of the building,” Gaedynn said. “Probably because it isn’t kindly disposed-”

A creature swarmed over the parapet.

Gaedynn had noticed various species of domesticated drakes since coming to Akanul, but this reptile seemed different. Something about it reminded him of the beasts that had fought alongside Alasklerbanbastos’s troops, the diverse but always ferocious creatures called dragonspawn.

Whatever it was, it was even bigger than a griffon, with gray scales that gleamed like metal in the sun. It also had a dragon’s shape, including the batlike wings. Apparently it had flown in low, below its intended victims’ lines of sight, then climbed up the wall in the hope of surprising them.

I’m afraid that didn’t work, Gaedynn thought. He nocked, drew, and released, and the shaft plunged into the dragonspawn’s serpentine neck.

As he’d expected, that first wound wasn’t enough to stop it. Its chest swelled and it cocked its head back, revealing its intention to spit some sort of breath weapon. Gaedynn poised himself to dodge, then noticed Mardiz-sul’s situation. Slow with astonishment, the self-important firestormer was still getting up. Which meant that he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to evade the incoming blast.

It occurred to Gaedynn that it might not be entirely bad if he didn’t. Maybe the next firestormer to come along would be more amenable to reason. But even as the thought flickered through his head, he jumped up onto the table and scrambled across it. He sprang at Mardiz-sul and hurled both the genasi and his seat backward.

He and the firesoul slammed down in a heap, the chair shattering beneath them. At the same instant, the dragonspawn’s head shot forward, and its jaws snapped open.

Whatever streamed out was invisible. But it smashed the table to splinters and the crockery to bits and sent the wreckage flying the length of the terrace.

Gaedynn jumped up off Mardiz-sul, reached for another arrow, and pivoted to put the dragonspawn in front of his bow again. The rooftop was chaos as screaming genasi ran back and forth, either trying to reach the stairs that led down into the inn or simply to put distance between themselves and the beast. Windsouls leaped into the air and flew toward safety.

Gaedynn wished the cursed dragonspawn would fly too because he was having trouble lining up a shot through the frantic crowd. But the beast stayed on its feet and plowed straight through the genasi, brushing them aside like a top knocking over pins on a game board. Maybe the creature was cunning enough to know they were providing it with cover.

Retreating, Gaedynn managed to drive one arrow into its chest despite the living obstacles in the way. Then he had his back against the parapet, and the dragonspawn was closing fast. Curse it, where was Aoth? Gaedynn snatched for one of his enchanted shafts-

Then he happened to look into the dragonspawn’s dull blue, slit-pupil eyes. A shock ran through him, except that, paradoxically, it was a jolt of dullness and lethargy. He still knew that his only chance was to shoot instantly, yet suddenly his thoughts were muddled, and his hands, numb and slow. He couldn’t line up the nock with the string.

The dragonspawn opened its jaws, exposing double rows of jagged fangs. But as it started to reach for him it faltered, then spun around.

The motion revealed Mardiz-sul standing behind it. He’d just cut the dragonspawn’s hindquarters with his sword, distracting it, and the blade was still stuck in the wound. As the creature whirled to retaliate, it yanked the hilt from his grip.

It was the genasi’s turn to make a frantic retreat. He thrust out his arms, and his hands burst into flame and burned like torches, but that didn’t deter the dragonspawn. It lunged after him anyway.

Fortunately, once the creature had averted its gaze, Gaedynn’s half-stupor fell away from him. He drew the arrow back and loosed.

The enchanted shaft hit the reptile at the base of its tail, just to the right of the spot where Mardiz-sul’s lost sword was bouncing around. The arrow stabbed all the way into the gray creature’s body and disappeared. According to Jhesrhi, who’d evaluated its properties, it should burrow relentlessly onward until it reached a vital spot.

And maybe it did, because after another instant the dragonspawn faltered, flailed, and screeched. But then it darted after Mardiz-sul again. Even if it was mortally wounded, it wasn’t ready to flop down and die just yet.

Gaedynn drove another shaft into its rump and yelled in an effort to distract it. It spun around widdershins, and he scrambled in the same direction, keeping ahead of its fangs and claws. He nocked another arrow.

Then Eider plunged down on its back. Gaedynn surmised that Aoth had used his psychic link to call to Jet, and the familiar had brought the other griffon out of their rented roost along with him.

Eider’s talons dug into the dragonspawn’s scales. Her beak snapped shut on its neck, and blood spurted around the edges of the bite. The reptile thrashed, trying to shake her off or at least get her into a position where it could bring its natural weapons to bear. Then it collapsed as one or another of its hurts finally caught up with it.

“Good girl!” Gaedynn called to Eider, meanwhile turning and looking for other threats. They weren’t hard to find, even though the tunnel vision that often overtook a man fighting for his life had kept him from spotting them until that moment. Aoth, Cera, and Jet hadn’t come to his aid because they were fighting two dragonspawn of their own.

One of the creatures was twice as big as the one Gaedynn, Eider, and Mardiz-sul had just slain, and Aoth was battling that one by himself. Likely finding it difficult to throw proper spells at close quarters, he simply kept destructive power flowing through his spear, and it flared and crackled whenever he thrust it into his adversary’s flesh. Yet despite the punishment he inflicted thereby, the reptile struck at him relentlessly, like a living storm of snapping jaws, raking claws, and hammering wings.

Then it spit its invisible breath weapon, and Aoth jumped aside, but not quite far enough. Gaedynn winced as the stream of power caught the edge of his commander’s body and spun him staggering around.

The dragonspawn instantly raised a forefoot high to follow up. Aoth kept turning until he was facing his foe again then dropped to one knee and braced the spear. When the reptile lashed its extremity down, it impaled it on the weapon’s point, which punched completely through. The steel triangle blazed. The blood on it bubbled and smoked, and the dragonspawn howled.

Probably because Aoth had told him to, Jet stood between Cera and the smaller of the dragonspawn. He lunged and bit, retreated and ducked, reared on his leonine hind legs and snatched with his talons, fighting savagely. But a griffon was less agile on the ground than in the air, and despite the flying mace the priestess had conjured to battle alongside him, he had fresh blood on his head and wing where the enormous reptile had clawed him.

“Get your sword,” Gaedynn snapped, “then help kill this one.” He showed which one he meant by shooting the smaller dragonspawn in the flank. The wound made it falter, and Jet slashed it across the snout with his beak.

Mardiz-sul scurried to retrieve his blade. “The other one’s bigger!” he called.

“Trust me!” Gaedynn loosed another shaft then, with a pang of reluctance, set down his bow, reached across his body with both arms, and drew his short swords because it would be too dangerous to keep shooting at the dragonspawn with Jet, Cera, Mardiz-sul, and Eider all scurrying or flying around it. He was too likely to hit one of them instead.

He and Mardiz-sul charged the dragonspawn together while Eider swooped in overhead. Then Gaedynn fought as Khouryn taught squads of warriors to tackle a big opponent, attacking the reptile whenever its attention was elsewhere and defending whenever it oriented on him. That took focus, but he tried to keep an eye on the firesoul too.

Mardiz-sul had sense enough to evade when he realized the reptile was about to attack him. But he had trouble keeping track of all its natural weapons. At one point Gaedynn had to bellow, “Left!” The firestormer looked in that direction, saw the tail whipping at him, and dropped low just in time to avoid a broken neck or skull.

Cera’s flying mace blinked out of existence. Chanting, she swept the similar but fully corporeal weapon in her hand over her head in an arc, then, on the final word of her prayer, thrust it at the dragonspawn. Even though Gaedynn wasn’t the target of the spell, he felt a fleeting twinge of fear. The reptile recoiled in sudden panic.

That meant it dropped its guard relative to its other foes, who seized the chance that afforded them. Gaedynn thrust with one sword, then the other. Eider plunged down on top of the dragonspawn. Her momentum slammed it down on its belly, audibly snapped bones, and left its legs splayed out flat at unnatural angles. Jet pounced and bit away a big piece of its neck.

The reptile was clearly finished, so Gaedynn and Jet both pivoted immediately, orienting on the other fight. At some point, Aoth had evidently managed to cast an actual spell or two because his dragonspawn had burns down the length of its scaly body. It was also thrashing and straining in an effort to break free of the grip of a dozen black tentacles that grew from the mosaic flooring underneath it.

Aoth didn’t give it a chance to get loose. He shouted words of power that made Gaedynn’s ears ache and spun his spear over his head. The twirl looked like the sort of unnecessary flourish that got fools killed in melee, but since Aoth wasn’t a fool-at least where combat was concerned-it was no doubt a part of the spell. He drove the spear in behind the dragonspawn’s shoulder, and magic rotted its body to nothing in a heartbeat. The tentacles melted away along with it.

Aoth immediately lowered his left arm. Gaedynn realized it was the same one the dragonspawn’s breath had caught. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I think it’s out of the socket,” Aoth replied.

“I wish I’d realized. I thought you had things under control.”

“I did. I used a tattoo to mask the pain.” Aoth looked around. “How’s everyone else?”

“How do I look?” Jet rasped. Mardiz-sul jumped. He might have seen griffons up close before, but he’d almost certainly never heard one talk. Jet was unique.

“Scratched,” Aoth replied unsympathetically. “Cera, will you attend to the poor maimed chick? Since there’s no else who needs it worse.”

Gaedynn looked around and saw that it was true. There were no dead or grievously injured bystanders littering the terrace. It was a final bit of proof that the dragonspawn had been targeting Aoth, Cera, and him, not that he’d had any doubt of it before.

“Well,” he said, “now we know that Vairshekellabex has a spy at Arathane’s court too.”

“Apparently,” said Aoth. He turned his gaze on a dragonspawn carcass. “I suppose I’d call those scales gray. But they’re a shiny kind of gray.”

“Whatever they are,” Cera said, “won’t this convince the queen that we’re telling the truth?”

Gaedynn grinned. “Don’t count on it. Remember, we just finished a war where we fought dragons, many of which might well be holding a grudge. If I wanted to discredit us, I’d simply suggest that our recent troubles followed us to Akanul.”

Mardiz-sul shivered. He’d fought courageously once he got going, but since the threat was past, the fear that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before was nibbling at him. “This is what it’s like to fight dragons,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Jet answered anyway, with a screeching laugh. “This is what it’s like to fight dragonspawn. True wyrms are far more dangerous.”

The firestormer swallowed. “Captain, I… suppose we could talk further about how the expedition should be led.”

*****

Tchazzar claimed Jhesrhi’s gift was a surprise, and so he chattered about everything but the gift as he led her through the War College. He rattled on about his plans to sculpt every remaining natural exterior surface of the fortress into a huge bas-relief celebrating his reign, the preparations for the invasion, salacious stories about Sune and other deities, and a dozen other subjects.

Perhaps he meant it to distract her. But she soon realized they were heading for the dungeons, and a chill crawled up her spine. Did he still suspect her of helping Khouryn to escape? Was he taking her back to the scene of the offense in the hope that she’d do something incriminating? Or had he already made up his mind that she was guilty and decided to punish her in the same place where she’d betrayed him?

Her fingers tightened on her staff, and the presence inside it stirred at the prospect of a fight, idiotically so, for the fire in which it delighted would be useless against a red dragon, whose own nature partook of flame. Even if Tchazzar were a wyrm of a different breed, it would be insanely optimistic to think that she could prevail against such a creature by herself.

The war hero spoke the password that Shala had taught her, then led her down the stairs. The door swung open before them, seemingly of its own accord, and the guards in their alcove leaped up and saluted when their sovereign came into view. In his haste, one overturned his chair, and it clattered on the floor.

Instead of conducting Jhesrhi down the next flight of stairs, to the level where she’d found Khouryn and fought the wyrmkeepers, Tchazzar ushered her into the stench and muddled noise of the cells crammed full of prisoners. She felt some of the tension quiver out of her muscles and tried not to let her relief show in her face.

The captives fell silent as they spotted Tchazzar and her. “Do you know who these wretches are?” he asked.

As was often the case when she responded to him, she tried to frame an answer warily but quickly, so he wouldn’t notice any hesitation. “Folk accused of crimes against either the Crown or your Church. Against you either way.”

Tchazzar grinned. “Mostly right but not completely. One is accused of crimes against you.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’ll see.” He waved her down a branching corridor. The cells along the sides were dark and empty, except for one halfway down on the left.

The wavering yellow light of the torch burning in a wall sconce revealed a pale, flabby, white-haired man lying facedown in dirty straw. Someone had torn away most of his clothing, the better to flog his back to scabby ribbons oozing pus.

“Show your face,” Tchazzar said. “Quickly! Or I’ll order the inquisitors to slice away something else.”

Cringing, the old man lifted his head, and Jhesrhi understood what the dragon meant. Like his back, the prisoner’s mouth and chin were filthy with dried blood, and his jaws and neck were swollen with infection. Someone had cut out his tongue. Despite all the wounds and brutality she’d seen on the battlefield, Jhesrhi felt a little queasy.

Tchazzar studied her face then, sounding slightly irritated, asked, “Don’t you recognize him?”

“No,” Jhesrhi said. “Should I?”

“Most people would think so. He’s your father.”

She caught her breath. “What?”

“Your father,” the dragon repeated. “The coward who mistreated his own helpless child for years and then finally gave her to the elemental mages to save his worthless life.”

Back in Impiltur, Jhesrhi had dreaded the prospect of returning to Chessenta, but not because she’d expected to encounter her parents. For some reason, perhaps simply because it was easier to assume it, she’d imagined that they must be dead. She studied the prisoner’s bloody face and still couldn’t recognize the merchant who’d been ashamed of her arcane gifts and beaten her whenever he caught her experimenting with them. But maybe she shouldn’t expect to, not when she’d struggled for years to forget him, and age, dread, and suffering had altered him. He looked back at her with wide, bewildered eyes.

“What about my mother?” she asked.

“Dead,” Tchazzar said. “But at least this one lived long enough to face retribution.” He snapped his fingers, and the cell door unlocked itself and swung open. “Crawl out,” he told her father. “Kiss the feet of the daughter you betrayed.”

During her years of slavery, Jhesrhi had sometimes fantasized about subjecting that man to the same tortures her hulking captors used on travelers who fell into her hands. But as she stood there, the thought of his groveling before her made her sick to her stomach. “That isn’t necessary,” she said.

“Of course,” Tchazzar said. He looked back to the old man. “She doesn’t want your filthy lips on her. But you will crawl.”

“Please, no,” she said. “Truly, none of it is necessary.”

Tchazzar frowned at her. “I thought this would delight you.”

She took a breath, trying to compose herself and respond in a way that would appease him. “I know you did, Majesty, and I’m grateful. It’s just that this is… well, a shock.”

“I suppose so,” Tchazzar said. “But we agreed that in some cases, giving justice to those with arcane abilities requires more than reparations. Those who raped, maimed, and murdered them must suffer in their turns. So why not start with the creature who wronged the foremost wizard in the realm?”

Jhesrhi shook her head. “I… envisioned it being done in the usual way. With courts and trials.”

“Flame and blood, woman, you told me the truth, didn’t you? And is the lord god of Chessenta obliged to seek permission from a magistrate or a jury before taking action?”

“No, Majesty. Of course not.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so. So deal with this piece of dung. At the very least, you must want to berate him, spit on him, or give him a kick.”

She supposed that maybe a part of her did, and even if not, some token abuse might placate Tchazzar and bring the dizzying, surreal moment to an end. She stepped into the cell doorway.

“How could you do it?” she asked. “Even if you were terrified that the giants would kill you, Mother, and everybody else in the caravan, even if you were certain I was tainted, I was your daughter and I loved you!”

He tried to answer, but she couldn’t understand the gurgling, croaking sounds that came from his ruined mouth.

Then she realized how odd it was that Tchazzar had deprived the old man of the power of speech and so denied her the chance to have a true conversation with him and understand his pleas for mercy. In fact, she could only think of one reason he would have done it. She scrutinized the prisoner’s face again, and then she was certain.

She turned. “Majesty, this isn’t my father.” She knew even as she spoke that she shouldn’t say it, but Tchazzar’s ruse had so roiled her emotions that she couldn’t hold back.

He frowned. “Of course it is. Do you think your god could be mistaken?”

Upset as she still was, she made more effort to choose her next words carefully. “No, but Your Majesty has fallible mortal servants. I assume you gave one of them the task of finding my father.”

“Well, yes,” Tchazzar said. “Shala Karanok. Apparently I can’t trust the ugly sow with even the simplest task.” Jhesrhi felt sure that Shala had had nothing to do with it. “But I can correct her mistake.”

With that, the Red Dragon narrowed his slanted, amber eyes and pressed his fingertips to his temples. Jhesrhi didn’t know if he was actually attempting some sort of mystical feat or merely pretending to, but since she didn’t sense any telltale stirring of magical energy, she suspected the latter.

Tchazzar held the pose for a few heartbeats then let out a breath and smiled. “There,” he said and paused.

He was clearly waiting for Jhesrhi to ask, “ ‘There’ what?” So she did.

“Your father was dead. But I fished his soul out of the Nine Hells and placed it in this cringing carcass before us. Now you can deal with him as you see fit.”

Jhesrhi wondered if Tchazzar truly expected her to believe his bizarre assertion. She wondered if he truly believed it himself.

Whether he did or not, she couldn’t abuse the prisoner, whoever he was, any further. It just wasn’t in her. She took a breath and said, “In that case, Majesty, I pardon him.”