“Yes, milord,” the wyrmkeeper said. “Unfortunately, a spy loyal to one of your brothers discovered us at our work. But he won’t tell anyone what he saw.”
“That’s all right, then. Tie the prisoners to my back.”
Jhesrhi felt a pang of dread and tried to shake it off. To take comfort in the fact that at least the dragon didn’t mean to torture or kill her and Gaedynn on the spot.
Someone produced a long coil of rope, and the worshipers of the Nemesis of the Gods proceeded to obey the wyrm’s command. Meanwhile, Jhesrhi noticed, although she hadn’t been able to tell it from the street, that most of the derelict building was open to the sky. A creature with wings wouldn’t have much trouble entering from above.
Or exiting in the same manner-as the blue dragon proved by lashing its own batlike wings and carrying Gaedynn and Jhesrhi aloft. In a hundred heartbeats or so, Mourktar was left behind.
SIX
29 TARSAKH-GREENGRASS THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Fires burned in the southwest. Khouryn couldn’t see the flames, but no one could miss the columns of black smoke, even against a gray sky.
He clucked and urged his dappled mare forward. The dragonborn bred big, powerful horses to bear their weight, and though his was the smallest Perra had to offer, she was still an enormous steed for a dwarf. But he’d ridden all sorts of mounts since leaving East Rift, and he managed well enough.
He caught up with Medrash and Balasar, who sat silently contemplating the smoke like everyone else. “What is it?” he asked.
“War,” Medrash said.
Wonderful, Khouryn thought sourly. Because his wife and home were on the far side of that war, and with Vigilant gone he couldn’t just fly over it, now could he?
“Pick up the pace!” Perra called. Evidently the sight of the smoke made it seem even more urgent that she confer with her master as soon as possible.
So they rode or marched faster, and by the end of the morning, Djerad Thymar came into view. For some time afterward, Khouryn kept squinting at it. He was sure some trick of perspective was making the place look bigger than it really was.
But it wasn’t so. The closer they approached, the more obvious it became that the dragonborn had built themselves a veritable mountain of a city. The structure rested on a colossal block of granite. On top of that, hundreds of gigantic pillars supported a kind of pyramid with a flattened apex. In its totality, the edifice towered more than a thousand feet high.
Since sighting the smoke, the ambassador and her retainers had been taciturn. But now Balasar noticed Khouryn staring, and grinned a fierce-looking reptilian grin. “Impressed?”
“I’d have to say yes,” Khouryn replied.
“I hear you dwarves build things just as grand.”
“We do. But we start with caverns and dig and carve. To begin in the open air with nothing more than a piece of ground, quarry all those big, heavy pieces of stone, haul them cross-country, set them one on top of another, layer on layer…” Khouryn shook his head. “Your ancestors must have been out of their minds.”
Medrash looked over his shoulder. “Keep up,” he said.
The paladin’s curt manner reminded Khouryn that grim times had come to Tymanther, not that he needed reminding. There were numerous indications as the company crossed the fields surrounding the city. Though he couldn’t quite make out what sort of beasts they were riding, he spotted several aerial cavalry patrols taking off from the platform at the top of the truncated pyramid. Meanwhile, drums thumped out a somber cadence from the open, colonnaded space underneath the bottom. He inferred the sound was a call to arms, a funerary observance, or both.
A wide ramp led up the outside of the slab. Farmers, soldiers, and other folk drew to the edges to let the ambassador’s party by. At the top, Khouryn and his companions passed into shadow. The pyramid perched above them blocked out much of the sky.
Before them was an agora with rings of shops around it. The travelers proceeded along the edge of the commercial area, between the outermost mercantile establishments and a row of pillars, until they reached a rectangular structure that clearly served as a stable and likely performed other functions as well.
Grooms marked with the jade-ring piercings of Clan Ophinshtalajiir hurried to take charge of the horses and to clamor greetings. Perra responded cordially, but also with a briskness that made it clear she didn’t have time for chitchat.
As everyone dismounted, Khouryn said, “I suppose I can stick here for the time being.”
“Please don’t,” Perra said. “You were in the thick of it, just like Medrash and Balasar. The vanquisher may wish to question you.”
“Whatever you want,” Khouryn said.
She led the three warriors past the stalls into a tack room that smelled of leather and the oil that kept it supple. “Since we’re in a hurry, I’m about to trust the three of you with a secret of my clan. Just a little one, but I expect you to keep it.” Using a claw tip, she traced a right triangle on a bare section of wall.
The world seemed to flash and lurch, and then they were standing in a different room. Khouryn realized magic had shifted them through space. Up into the pyramid, he assumed.
They strode on through what proved to be a handsomely appointed residence, where other dragonborn bearing jade rings hailed Perra with even greater surprise. As before, she didn’t let anyone delay her for more than a moment or two, and when she’d shaken off the last of her well-wishers, she swept through an arch, between a pair of sentries, and into a passage that was plainly a public thoroughfare.
That in turn led to a plaza, an atrium that rose from the pyramid’s floor all the way to its ceiling, where huge bats hung wrapped in their folded wings. Catwalks crisscrossed among them, a clue that the beasts weren’t vermin, but rather the flying mounts Khouryn had seen swooping and fluttering across the sky outside.
Countless balconies jutted from the walls, and-rather to his surprise-beds of flowering plants flourished on the floor, suffusing the air with the scent of verdure. Evidently the magical glow illuminating the space nourished them as well as sunlight would.
“Don’t stop and gawk,” Medrash said. Then, possibly realizing how harsh he’d sounded, he softened his tone. “I understand the urge. I was the same way when I first got to Luthcheq. But Balasar and I will show you around later.”
They marched on into a succession of chambers that-by virtue of their spaciousness and general magnificence, and the number of guards and bustling servants in evidence-Khouryn took to be the residence of the vanquisher. Perra spoke to a functionary who then hurried away, hurried back shortly thereafter, and conducted the newcomers into an audience chamber.
Khouryn’s first impression was that like Shala Karanok’s, the Tymantheran monarch’s hall celebrated war. But here, suits of armor on stands took the place of the sculptures, and the cracked, faded frescos all depicted heroic struggles against dragons. There were wyrm heads mounted on the walls too, and old yellowed claws the size of short swords on display in trophy cases.
Tarhun, the vanquisher himself, was as hulking a dragonborn as Khouryn had yet seen, with a greatsword cradled in his hands to serve as a symbol of office. Square bits of gold studded the green hide under his eyes like teardrops. “Perra!” he boomed, as soon as she and her companions entered. “What does this mean?”
Perra, Medrash, and Balasar all bowed while sinuously sweeping their hands outward. Khouryn copied the salute as best he could.
“The war hero expelled us from Chessenta,” Perra replied. “I take full responsibility.”
Tarhun grunted. “Before we go assigning blame, maybe you should explain exactly how it happened.”
“Yes, Majesty.” Perra gave him the story as clearly and concisely as, Khouryn suspected, such a bewildering mess could be related.