Jaxanaedegor pounced as he had before. Only this time, it was Jhesrhi he flicked through the air and Gaedynn he pressed beneath his forefoot.
As Jhesrhi clambered to her feet, the dragon glared at her. “Your friend is nearly as glib as a dragon,” he said. “Unfortunately for him, I am a dragon, and my instincts tell me he’s still lying. Perhaps you’d care to speak the truth.”
“Gaedynn already did,” she replied.
“I don’t think I want him as any sort of servant,” Jaxanaedegor said. “I suspect that even bound to my will, he’d find a way of getting into mischief. But that’s the point of taking the heads off-so they don’t rise.” He opened his mouth, and two of the upper fangs lengthened.
“Don’t!” Jhesrhi cried. “I’ll tell you. Nicos Corynian, the Brotherhood’s employer, believes the dragon in the hills is Tchazzar.”
“Tchazzar!” Jaxanaedegor said. “Why in the Dark Lady’s name would he think that?”
“I’m not sure we know, entirely. Lord Nicos may have held something back. But the last anyone in Chessenta saw of Tchazzar, he was headed into Threskel. And the wyrm in the hills is supposedly a fire-breather.”
“And if it is Tchazzar, you’re supposed to bring him back to fight for Chessenta in her time of need.”
“Gaedynn and I are just supposed to investigate and report. But if it did turn out to be Tchazzar, I suppose someone would try to retrieve him. Now, please, I’ve given you what you wanted. Let Gaedynn up.”
“I suppose I might as well,” the dragon answered. “I’ve already drunk well tonight. It makes sense to save the two of you until I’m thirsty again.”
The lesser vampires started toward Jhesrhi. She cried to the stone surrounding her, raised one hand high, closed her fingers like she was clutching something, and whipped her arm down. Chunks of granite rained from the high domed ceiling.
But only enough to smash down on top of one of the undead. The others broke into a run that brought them into striking distance an instant later. One lashed her across the face with the back of his hand, and the blow knocked all the strength and much of the sense out of her. The world suddenly seemed a distant and meaningless place, and that kept her from resisting any further as the dragon’s minions hauled her and Gaedynn back into the dark.
Cera Eurthos waved her hand, and sunlight pushed back the night to reveal shrubs and blueleaf trees putting forth new growth, pebbled paths, a marble bench, and what Aoth supposed was the inevitable sundial.
“Do you like it?” Cera asked.
“Yes,” he said, and he didn’t bother to mention that his fire-touched eyes had seen the temple garden clearly even before her magic illuminated it.
The golden glow faded and night returned. “I’m afraid I don’t tend my personal patch of it very diligently. Just when the mood takes me.”
They sat down on the bench. He noticed she didn’t leave much space between them, and set his spear on the dewy grass. He wasn’t sure how the rest of the evening would unfold, but it wouldn’t hurt to put the weapon where it was out of the way.
“How did you think the banquet went?” he asked.
“You were the very model of a courtly gentleman soldier,” she said.
He smiled a crooked smile. “If so, it didn’t keep them from making signs to ward off evil when they thought I wasn’t looking.”
“Not all of them.”
“Well, I hope not.”
“Trust me. You won some of them over.”
“But probably not the one who sent an assassin to kill me at the gate.”
She frowned. “Do you really believe one of the town elders was responsible?”
“Truthfully? Who knows? Hasos resents me for taking away part of his authority and showing him up. Others may think I’ll somehow bring disaster just because I’m a war-mage. But there are other possibilities. You can pretty much count on it that Threskel has an agent or two living in town. Even if they don’t, how hard would it be to sneak an assassin in with the honest farmers and travelers whenever the gates are open? Especially one who knows some sorcery.”
“You don’t seem very worried about it.”
He shrugged. “I won’t say I’m used to it exactly, but sometimes assassination attempts are just a part of war.”
“Well, I think you’re brave. To say nothing of observant. I would have fallen through those stairs if you hadn’t been with me.”
He could have pointed out that if she hadn’t been with him, the steps would have been undamaged, but given his hopes, that seemed counterproductive. He stroked her cheek. A bit tentatively, for she was, after all, a high priestess, and a part of him was still the Mulan who’d spent his childhood being reminded over and over that he looked like a lowly, ugly Rashemi.
She smiled and slid closer, and then he was sure they wanted the same thing. He kissed her. Her lips warmed him like sunlight.
Before long, they grew impatient with the hard narrow bench and lay together on the ground. He unhooked the top of her yellow vestment and slipped his hand inside to caress her through her shift.
Then, for just a heartbeat, he caught a whiff of something nasty and stinging through the mingled scents of the vegetation, the wet rich soil, and her lilac perfume.
He started to lift himself up to look around, and she tugged to pull him back down. He almost yielded, but then realized the new odor had smelled exactly like the acid the dragonborn had spat at him in Luthcheq.
He jerked himself out of Cera’s embrace, and she gave a startled little cry of protest. Clad in hooded robes and cloaks, dragonborn were stalking toward him and his companion. A flicker of magic outlined their forms. Most likely it meant they were more or less invisible. Not to him, of course, but with his attention fixed on Cera, they’d managed to sneak up on him just fine.
The two nearest sucked in deep breaths.
Kneeling, he snatched for his spear, aimed it, and snarled a word of command to discharge one of the spells stored inside. A cloud of greenish vapor materialized around the dragonborn. They reeled and retched inside it, unable to spew their breath weapons-for the moment, anyway.
Unfortunately, there were plenty more outside the fog, and Aoth didn’t even have his mail. You didn’t wear armor to a banquet.
He scrambled to his feet. So did Cera. In circumstances like these, he was sometimes uncertain how much people with ordinary eyes could see. Judging from her expression and stance, she perceived some indication of the threat, maybe shadowy figures flickering in and out of view.
“I can call back Amaunator’s light-,” she began.
“I can already see them,” Aoth snapped. “I’m also armed. You aren’t. Get help!”
She turned and ran toward the arched yellow door that led back into the Keeper’s house. Dragonborn darted after her. Aoth lunged to intercept them.
The reptile in the lead swung a sword down at his head. He caught the stroke on the shaft of his spear, spun the weapon, and thrust it into his opponent’s throat. As he yanked it back, he saw another dragonborn spitting vitriol at him.
There was no time left to close the distance or try to deter the reptile with a spell. He could only dodge, and some of the spray splashed his left arm and shoulder anyway. Smoking and sizzling, the liquid burned like Kossuth’s anger.
But he couldn’t let that slow him down, or his assailants would overwhelm him for certain. He invoked the magic of a tattoo to dampen the pain and struck back with a thunderous blast of sound. The magic knocked the dragonborn off his feet, and shattered bones and ruptured organs if Aoth was lucky.
He couldn’t wait and watch to see if he was. He had to pivot and blast another pair of dragonborn with an explosion of crimson flame.