Whisper of Venom

“If he knew,” Nicos said, “there were easier ways to steer the city guards in the right direction.”

“Well, possibly,” Aoth said. “You truly have no idea why he wants what he wants? What his ultimate purpose is?”

“No.”

“Or if he’s even let Tchazzar know he’s still alive?”

“No. Are you going to denounce me?”

Aoth scratched his chin, and his fingertips rasped in the beard stubble. Nicos had the wholly irrelevant thought that he would have heard the exact same little sound if the Thayan had scratched his shaved scalp.

“I don’t especially want to,” Aoth said after a moment. “You didn’t cause the debacle in Impiltur, and I haven’t known many lords who weren’t involved in secret dirty dealings of one kind or another. I’d rather stay your friend and do what you and the Crown are paying me to do. But it’s not going to be that easy unless I find Cera. And nothing you’ve said so far points me in the right direction.”

“I told you, I don’t know what happened to her!”

“But you’re the damned spy and the damned courtier too. You keep track of everything that happens in the War College and the city at large. Think of something.”

Nicos did. He thought that if he called for help, the servants might respond quickly. And if they all attacked Aoth together, they might conceivably overwhelm him.

But when he took another look at the man on the other side of the low little table, the hopeful fantasy withered. At the moment the Thayan might not have his enchanted spear or his griffon either, but even so it was impossible to doubt that he could handle anything his unwilling host could throw at him.

Then a more useful thought occurred to Nicos. He sat up straighter, and Aoth said, “What?”

“The Church of Tchazzar,” Nicos said.

“What about it?”

“Tchazzar promised Halonya that a priesthood would form around her, and it did with remarkable speed. You’d think it would be mostly the same commoners who marched with her in the streets, seeking to rise along with her. But quite a few of them aren’t. Before the coronation she’d never even seen them before, and they seem at home in their new roles. Like educated men accustomed to ritual and protocol.”

“And Halonya doesn’t think it odd that these strangers came out of nowhere to attend her?”

“Halonya is a half-mad pauper moving through a dream of pomp and glory. Everything that’s happening seems miraculous, and so nothing seems peculiar. But here’s my point. At one time Tchazzar was widely regarded as Tiamat’s champion or even her avatar. So, if trained priests have come to officiate at his altar, who do you think they might be?”

“Wyrmkeepers,” said Aoth. “And there are wyrmkeepers all through this tangle. Gaedy

“If Cera Eurthos knew that, and if she made the same guess we just made, then that’s where she might have gone for answers.”

Oraxes had the urge to pace. Instead he and his fellow mages were expected to stand still and at least pretend to listen while Gaedy

The archer’s coppery hair was gray under the night sky, and he’d traded his usual bright, foppish attire for a black brigandine and clothes to match. “I know it will be difficult to cast a veil over so many,” he said. “But you only have to hide the skirmishers. We’re moving up in advance of the rest. And the dark should help.”

Meralaine-a diminutive, snub-nosed girl whose pixielike appearance belied a considerable talent for the sinister art of necromancy-nodded and said, “It will. And we’re good at concealment spells. The way Luthcheq treated us, we had to be.”

“When I give the word,” Gaedy

“Right,” said Meralaine. It seemed like she was trying to impress Gaedy

“As soon as you can,” Gaedy

“We understand!” Oraxes snapped. “We understood the first time. You’d do better giving us a moment of peace to clear our heads.”

Gaedy

Oraxes sneered. “Then maybe Hasos should be in charge.”

“Maybe,” Gaedy

“We trust you,” said Meralaine, sycophantic bitch that she was.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Gaedy

Said positions were at intervals among the vanguard of bowmen, all members of Aoth and Gaedy

He surveyed his work and felt a twinge of pride. He’d like to see Meralaine’s necromancy do better than that.

He somehow missed the signal that started his neighbors moving, and had to trot a couple of paces to catch up. As the archers advanced, he wished he could skulk as quietly as they did. He was an accomplished sneak thief, but that was on floors and cobbles. He couldn’t match the sellswords on grass and mud.

Gaedy

The vague black mass that was the enemy camp and the east wall of Soolabax rising behind it swam out of the murk. Gaedy

Gaedy

Oraxes swallowed away a sudden dryness in his mouth. He tried to call the words of a spell to mind. For one horrible moment they wouldn’t come, but then he had them. He whispered the rhyme, building to a crescendo even so, and thrust out his left hand. A spark leaped from his fingertips and streaked over the ground.

Gaedy

Besides, Oraxes had a yen to show those hardened professional warriors, those Brothers of the Griffon, that he was as dangerous as any of them. And certainly the most dangerous of the spellcasters they’d recruited in Luthcheq. Even if it was the first time he’d ever used magic in such a blatant, savage way.

The spark exploded into a blast that engulfed and ignited two tents. Silhouetted against the yellow blaze, bodies tumbled and flew to pieces. For a heartbeat the destruction amazed Oraxes, like he hadn’t had anything to do with it. Then he felt sick to his stomach.

But excited too.

Off to the right, another blast set fire to a different part of the camp. Less bloodthirsty, creative, or ambitious, the remaining mages contented themselves with conjuring pools of phosphorescence, one amber and one a sickly green.