Until, breathing harder, Bez realized there was at least a slim chance that hewas the one who was going to slow down first. Time for more magic, then, specifically, the trick that had never failed him.
He allowed Cherlinka to beat his blade out of line. Clearly not suspecting a trap, perhaps no longer even cognizant of the main gauche his adversary hadn’t used since the duel began, the Rashemi sprang and cut at Bez’s chest.
Bez retreated and spun the dagger in a circular parry. At the same time, a murmured word set it ablaze with lightning. When the blades met, the power would leap from one to the other and on into Cherlinka’s arm.
Steel clanged, and magic flashed and crackled. But the red sword went flying, and Cherlinka kept driving in. Bez just had time to realize the barbarian must have let go of the sword an instant before the two blades came into contact. Then Cherlinka slammed into him, and they fell together.
With the rapier useless at such close quarters, Bez angled the main gauche for a thrust at Cherlinka’s side. But before he could deliver it, the Rashemi punched him in the jaw.
The blow jolted Bez and made him falter. Cherlinka heaved him over so he was facedown, scrambled on top of him, and gripped his throat.
Pinned, his air cut off and his mouth clogged with snow, Bez could neither wield his blades to any effect nor recite an incantation. But there had to be something he could do! Unfortunately, as he flailed blindly and futilely, and his desperation dulled to numb passivity, that cunning tactic never came to him.
The Rashemi cheered when Vandar finished strangling the life out of Bez. Aoth observed that, understandably, the Halruaan commander’s men didn’t share in the general jubilation. But they had better sense than to do anything that would draw attention to their displeasure.
Vandar struggled to rise and then, keeping his weight on his good leg, stood swaying over the corpse. When a man came out of a berserker rage, he always felt weak and sick to one degree or another, but Aoth suspected the Rashemi’s current debility stemmed from more than that. Vandar had suffered a broken knee, a knock to the head, and frostbite during the battle with the undead and dark fey, and Bez had just torn him up all over again.
Aoth glanced down to tell Cera they should go help him, but her expression informed him she’d already decided the same thing. They hurried forward, and so did Yhelbruna.
So did a number of others, likewise wanting to help or simply to congratulate Vandar on his victory. Aoth wondered if he should try to stop them, lest the resulting press make it difficult for Cera and Yhelbruna to do their work.
Then, screeching, Jet and the golden griffon plunged down from the sky to land to either side of Vandar and glare at the crowd. Except for Yhelbruna, the oncoming Rashemi stopped short.
The two priestesses murmured prayers to their deities and touched Vandar’s new wounds with hands glowing gold or green. One at a time, the berserker’s gashes closed, his gaze sharpened, and eventually, he scooped up a handful of snow to wash the blood from his face.
“ Nowour war is over,” he said.
“Yes,” Aoth replied, “and congratulations on a fight well fought. But the matter that brought Cera, Jet, Jhes, and me to Rashemen remains. Who gets the wild griffons?”
“You do,” Vandar said.
Aoth cocked his head. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“You were able to lead them into battle-”
“You mean, Iwas,” Jet rasped.
Vandar smiled a tiny fleeting smile. “Sorry, my friend. Youwere. But either way, it means something.”
Aoth snorted. “Maybe. But I’m not much for signs and destinies, and you did plenty to help our side win. So how about this? I’ll settle for half the griffons. You take the rest, including the telthor.”
“Why, when I no longer have a use for them? My lodge is gone.”
“Rebuild it. Isn’t that what your brothers would want, especially at a time when Rashemen needs every warrior it can muster? Young warriors will come running for the chance to be griffon riders.”
Vandar hesitated. “But … am I the man to lead them?”
Aoth scowled. “It wasn’t you to blame for the destruction of your lodge. It was this treacherous turd lying at our feet. So whatever mistakes you made, learn from them and move on. Any other course is stupid.”
“Captain Fezim is right,” Yhelbruna said. “The spirit griffon came to you when you needed him, and thatmeans something too.” Her tone gentled in a way Aoth hadn’t heard before. “And if even that isn’t enough to persuade you, know that Isee goodness and the seeds of wisdom in you.” For just a moment, she touched Vandar’s cheek, and this time, not to heal him.
The berserker looked as surprised as Aoth felt, but then he smiled and drew himself up straighter. “Very well, hathran. If I can count on you to help me, I say yes. And thank you. Thank you, both.”
Cera gave Aoth’s forearm a squeeze and whispered, “Another lecherous hundred-year-old preying on a naive young innocent.”
“Maybe she and I can start a fashion.”
Yhelbruna turned in a rustle of robes, and for an instant, Aoth thought she’d overheard and taken offense at the levity. But, stern and formal once more, she said, “Thank you for your service, Captain, and for your generosity as well.”
Aoth grinned. “I’m not thatgenerous. Watch.” He turned and tramped through the snow to where he could address Bez’s sellswords without shouting. His companions trailed along behind him.
“As even my rival Vandar concedes,” he told the Halruaans, “I earned the wild griffons. Because I’m only taking half of them, I’m collecting the rest of my pay in another form: the Storm of Vengeance.”
The sellswords stared back at him in consternation. Then the wizened, bitter-looking old wizard who was one of Bez’s surviving officers said, “You promised that if we helped fight the undead, we’d go free.”
“I didn’t promise to return the ship.”
“Do you know how to fly her?”
“No,” Aoth replied, “so I’ll make you an offer. You men can swear allegiance to the Brotherhood of the Griffon and crew the Stormfor me as you did for Bez. My sergeant Orgurth will come aboard as my eyes and voice, at least until such time as you’ve earned my trust.”
Glowering, a plump man with a scraggy, goatish beard and a bronze sickle hanging at his side asked, “What if we say no?”
“Then I’ll burn the cursed ship and leave you stranded in a country where folk despise you.”
The elderly wizard gave a grim little chuckle. “In that case, Captain, I gladly pledge my fealty.”
Glowering, his comrades mumbled to the same effect.
Yhelbruna said, “In the Wychlaran’s name, Captain, I invite you and yours back to Immilmar to partake of our hospitality. Even these scoundrels, now that they’ve proclaimed you their leader.”
Aoth smiled. “Thank you, learned sister. I’m sure they’ll prefer it to sleeping out in the cold, and I won’t mind a couple days of warm beds and good food either.”
“Only ‘a couple days’? You’re welcome to bide until spring if you like.”
“Thank you, but I have to check on the rest of my men. Cera needs to prepare for a grand conclave of Amaunator’s clergy.” He glanced at Jhesrhi standing alone, her war boots and the butt of her staff planted in a puddle of melted snow. “And we all have a problem to solve.”