Whisper of Venom

He sprang, struck, and his axe crunched into the saurian warrior’s skull. He sensed a threat on his flank, wrenched his weapon free, and pivoted. But he needn’t have bothered.

Like all the preeminent folk in Tymanther, Tarhun mostly fought with a greatsword. It was a symbol of his rank. It was also a weapon that was damnably hard to ready quickly when a warrior wore it sheathed across his back. Yet somehow the vanquisher had managed to draw it, and he cut into the last saurian’s torso with one precise little chop.

A moment of silence followed.

Kriv said, “That was … regrettable. But one has to allow for a degree of error when testing new magic.”

Tarhun gri

Khouryn said, “I take it you can call the saurians, but not control them.”

“Correct,” the wizard said. “Since we decided the best tactic is to suppress the summoning, analyzing the other aspect of the talisman’s power didn’t seem as crucial.”

“Fair enough,” Tarhun said. He gave his sword a one-handed shake and flicked gore from the blade. “So let’s see you do it.”

“Of course, Majesty. I’m, uh, reasonably confident I can center the effect in the pit this time around.”

He raised the globe and recited as before. But after a moment, one of his fellows started chanting too. Then another joined in, and then another, their voices weaving a complex contrapuntal pattern.

A whine sounded beneath the measured insistence of the voices. Khouryn felt momentarily dizzy. Two more stunted reptilian warriors flickered in and out of view at the bottom of the hole, present one moment, gone the next.

Then Kriv cried out, dropped the orb, and reeled backward. Khouryn grabbed him and kept him from falling on his rump.

“Uh, thank you.” Kriv clumsily tried to get his feet back underneath him. Khouryn held onto him until he succeeded. “I’m all right now.”

Tarhun peered at him. “Are you certain, my friend? You have a nosebleed.”

Kriv brushed his hand across his snout, bumping his piercing in the process, then peered at the streak of blood on his index finger. “So I see. I have a pounding headache too.”

“Then I insist you see my personal healers.”

Kriv smiled at the implicit honor the vanquisher had shown him. “Thank you, Majesty. I will. But after we’re finished here.”

Khouryn said, “You’ve already shown us plenty. If your countermagic will give the giant adepts a kick in the head, it’s even more useful than you promised. We’re going to crush the bastards.”

“I hope that’s so,” said a female voice. “But you need to understand that our foes have other cards to play.”

Khouryn looked around. The speaker had snow-white scales, a color Khouryn hadn’t seen before, and several silver skewers pierced into the edges of her face. They ran into and out of little pinches of hide, with most of their gleaming lengths extending out the backs.

“Please explain,” Tarhun said.

“I was one of Kriv’s more imaginative colleagues,” she said. Her crimson eyes shot the summoner a sardonic glance. “Perhaps because of that, once we verified that his idea was correct, he wasn’t very interested in my help. And possibly that was for the best, because it gave me time to study the papers Nala left behind.”

The vanquisher frowned. “I assumed you scholars had already made a thorough examination.”

“We had,” said Kriv.

“Within limits,” the albino mage replied. “The fact of the matter is, Nala wrote in what I would describe as an esoteric, liturgical form of Draconic. Whereas we’re arcanists, not clerics. In addition, she was writing for herself and felt no need to explain every aspect of the plan to herself. Thus, certain facts only emerge by implication.”

“What are they?” Tarhun asked.

“Last century, when this land was Unther, Skuthosiin was a lord. He wants to be one again. To that end, he united the ash giant tribes.”

Khouryn fingered his scraggly beard. “You all told me it would take someone powerful to make the barbarians set aside their feuds.”

“I see how it was meant to work,” Tarhun said. “If Tymanther prevailed, but only through the efforts of dragon-worshipers, that would ultimately provide an entry for a dragon to claim a place of honor among us. And if the giants won, it would make him master of the realm.”

“Since the first possibility has fallen through,” Khouryn said, “he’ll put everything he has into the second. He’ll finally come out of hiding to lead the giants into battle himself.”

“And not just him,” the white-scaled wizard said. “He evidently has lesser wyrms serving him, although I wasn’t able to discover their names or much else about them.”

Tarhun looked down at Khouryn. “What do you think?”

“It’s not the best possible news. Especially considering the casualties we’ve already taken. But we finally won and pushed the whoresons back. We need to press the advantage. And at least we now know who we have to kill to break the giants’ alliance.”

Tarhun smiled. “I agree. And you’ll see that nothing brings out the best in dragonborn like the chance to slay true dragons.” He turned his smile on the mages. “Thank you all for the fine work you’ve done. And the fine work you’re going to do when we face the foe on Black Ash Plain.”

Her voluminous, bejeweled sleeves sliding down her ski

Which seemed nonsensical to Jhesrhi. Halonya was performing the divination on Tchazzar’s behalf. If it would only yield insights the war hero already possessed, what was the point?

Not that there was much point in any case. Jhesrhi had met seers who could glimpse the future. She was certain Halonya wasn’t one of them.

But watching intently, Tchazzar plainly thought otherwise. He’d proclaimed Halonya his high priestess, and to his mind, that sufficed to invest her with sacred Power.

Halonya dumped the ivory tiles onto the ground, rattling and pattering from the basket. Jhesrhi suppressed a smile when the priestess peered at them, stooped, peered again, and then with obvious reluctance got down on her knees. She likely thought the position undignified for one of her elevated status and probably didn’t want to risk soiling her ornate robes. But in the darkened pavilion, with only the wavering yellow glow of two hanging lanterns to see by, she couldn’t make out the etched symbols unless she got up close.

Jhesrhi wished Gaedy

Halonya picked up a tile. “Here is fire. Pure and noble. Light and salvation for all who follow it. But there are some so evil that they only wish to put it out.”

Tchazzar frowned. “Go on.”

The priestess ran her eyes over the scattered tiles, then picked up another. “Here is the evildoer known to all-the serpent. The dead thing in the north. But the fire will fight death with death and cast it down.”

Since Tchazzar had told Halonya he’d made a pact with a vampire to destroy a lich, she surely hadn’t had to overtax her imagination to come up with that particular prognostication. Jhesrhi supposed she should be glad the priestess hadn’t said anything to shake the war hero’s confidence in the plan. Because, with Alasklerbanbastos rapidly advancing, it was too late for second thoughts.

“In the long run,” Halonya continued, “the greater danger will come from enemies in hiding.” She pointed to a tile. “Here’s the mask. The pretense of faithfulness and friendship. And look who’s hiding behind it.” She jabbed her finger at a different ivory rectangle. “The sun, jealous because fire shines brighter.” She pointed again. “The spear, always ready to stab anyone for coin.” And again. “The leper, flinching from every touch so people won’t find out she’s full of poison.”