“Jhesrhi?” he asked.
Her chains clinked. “Now maybe you understand.”
“I do.”
“Not about the kobolds and all that. About before, and you and me. I thought that if it could be good with anyone, it would be good with you. But when we tried, all I could think about was the ogres. They were so ugly and rough and big, and I was so little. Just the stink of them…” She drew a ragged breath.
Guilt twisted Gaedynn’s insides. Which was completely unfair, since he hadn’t known about the magi and certainly hadn’t intended to put her through an ordeal, but the feeling persisted nonetheless. “I’m sorry.”
“No. I am.”
“Don’t be. At least we stayed friends, and I finally understand I shouldn’t take your revulsion personally. As for the rest, I can get that in any festhall.” He faltered. “I didn’t mean that the way it may have sounded.”
She laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that, and it was strange to hear it sounding from the darkness of their prison, especially considering the torments she’d just revealed. “Now I know why you generally avoid saying how you truly feel. You’re terrible at it.”
A retort sprang to mind. But before he could voice it, a cold hand gripped his shoulder.
The apartments of Clan Daardendrien were high up the south wall of the pyramid, which meant Khouryn and his fellow sellswords had a long climb up stairs and ramps to get there. But the supper of roast pheasant was worth it. So was the tart white wine.
Afterward, pleasantly replete and a little tipsy, with full goblets in hand and a fresh bottle awaiting their pleasure, he, Medrash, and Balasar lounged on the balcony overlooking the atrium. The magical illumination had dimmed to match the night outside. Across the empty space, the lamps in other dragonborn homes glowed like stars. Somewhere, a lutenist plucked out an air in a minor key.
Balasar sipped from his cup. “Do you like the view?”
“Yes,” Khouryn said. “Now that the light’s faded, this feels very much like certain portions of East Rift.”
Speaking the name of his home brought a pang of melancholy.
Evidently Medrash sensed it. “There must be some way to get you there,” he said.
“It doesn’t seem like it,” Khouryn said. He emptied his cup and reached for the new bottle. “Your war has closed the Dustroad. Somehow, it’s even stopped boat traffic on the lakes, even though I’m told the giants never bothered it before.”
Balasar shrugged. “If you took control of the narrows where Lanee Lake flows into Ash Lake, it wouldn’t be that hard to do.”
“Apparently not,” Khouryn sighed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try going the long way around?”
“Through the Shaar Desolation? I like to think I could survive the trek, but traveling through a desert would take a lot longer than using the road. And I can’t stay gone from the Brotherhood forever, not with Chessenta and Threskel preparing for war. Truly, the only solution I can imagine would be for the vanquisher to lend me one of those bats. And you say that despite the warm welcome he gave me, he won’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Medrash said. “The bats are the steeds of the Lance Defenders, the core of our army. I’ve never heard of anyone else being entrusted with one under any circumstances. In wartime, it’s all but inconceivable.” He sipped from his cup.
“Unless we stole one,” Balasar said.
Medrash choked and sputtered.
“Easy,” Balasar said, laughter in his voice. “I didn’t say we should, or that I would. I was speaking hypothetically.”
The paladin wiped his mouth with the back of a scaly hand. “That’s good, since such a theft would amount to treason.”
“And I wouldn’t be a party to it anyway,” Khouryn said. “I’ll just have to resign myself to not seeing my lass this time around.”
Out in the darkness, the lutenist finished his song, paused, then started another just as sad.
After a while, Balasar said, “It seems like a cheerless world all of a sudden. Bad things happening everywhere you look.” Khouryn noticed that when dragonborn drank to excess, they started to slur just like dwarves and men.
“I hate sensing the pattern,” Medrash said, “yet not being able to see it. That’s the thing that keeps us helpless.”
“Everything doesn’t have to be connected,” Balasar said. “Not in the way you mean. Maybe the stars are just in a bad configuration or something.”
“No, there’s a better reason than that. If the Loyal Fury would guide me again, maybe I could figure it out. But given my failure in Luthcheq, perhaps he’s decided to look for a more capable agent.”
“Please,” Balasar groaned. “I’m begging you by the tree and the stone, don’t start babbling that nonsense again.”
Khouryn decided to change the subject. “What will the two of you do now that Perra doesn’t need your services anymore?”
Balasar grinned, the gleam of his pointed teeth perceptible even in the dark. “You’re looking at it. Strong drink and a soft chair. Throw in an amorous female or two and I’m set.”
Medrash gave him an irritated glance. “It isn’t only active Lance Defenders fighting the giants. Every clan has sent or will send its own troops. I’m going, and I know that whatever he pretends, this clown wouldn’t think of staying behind.”
“Oh, I’d think about it,” Balasar said.
“How soon will you leave?” Khouryn asked.
Balasar chuckled. “I have a terrible premonition that the prig here won’t even give me time for my hangover to run its course.”
“In that case, I’ll tag along if you’ll have me. Just me. I need to send the other sellswords back to Aoth.”
“Of course we’ll have you,” Medrash said. “But why are you doing this?”
“If Tymora smiles, maybe it won’t take you dragonborn long to win a decisive victory. Then the Dustroad will open up again, and I’ll be in the right place to take advantage of it.”
That really was the main reason. But it was also true that Medrash’s murky talk of a pattern had struck a chord with him.
Could the paladin possibly be right? Was there a common underlying cause for all the tribulations afflicting the realms around the Alamber? If so, then it could only benefit the Brotherhood to understand it. And maybe if Khouryn stuck with Medrash and Balasar and learned more about Tymanther’s problems, he’d gain some insight.
More likely not. But all things considered, it was worth an extra tenday or two just in case.
From their icy touch, and the fact that they had no trouble moving around in the dark, Jhesrhi inferred that the captors gripping her forearms and marching her along were vampires. Once she realized that, she found their touch even more repulsive than that of the living, but all she could do was steel herself and bear it as they marched her along. They’d removed the shackles that suppressed her magic, but it was unlikely her powers could help her while she was blind and two such formidable creatures were holding on to her.
“Are you still all right, buttercup?” asked Gaedynn from somewhere behind her. Despite their predicament, his tone was no longer grave and gentle as it had been before the vampires came for them. Now it was as jaunty as usual.
“I’m well,” she answered.
Light appeared ahead of them, revealing the dimensions of the tunnel they were traversing. She could tell it was magical illumination, silvery and soft, but after her time in the dark it made her squint like the glare of a summer sun.
As her eyes adjusted, her pale, gaunt guards marched her and Gaedynn into a broad, high-ceilinged chamber where glowing white balls floated in the air and slowly drifted from one point to another. Their light gleamed on the treasure below. Gold and silver coins filled open coffers or simply lay in heaps and drifts on the floor. Emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, water stars, and red tears lay scattered among the rounds of precious metal-some loose, some set in necklaces, rings, and brooches.