The masked witches botg-4, Page 3

  Meaning? Aoth replied.

  You already have griffons of your own, yet you ve come to steal this flock? No, that can t be the proper term. This pride away from me, said Bez,

  And not content with the company of one beauty, you arrive with two. Ladies. He reached for Jhesrhi s hand, leering. To bow over it and kiss it, she surmised.

  She allowed the fire inside her to leap out and set her hand ablaze. Bez snatched his fingers back.

  Sorry, she said, without bothering to try to sound like she meant it. I m just not fond of being touched.

  But I am, Cera purred, proffering her own hand, and sure enough, the sellsword gave it a kiss that lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary. She gave Aoth an impish grin over the top of the other mercenary s head, and he grunted in return.

  All right, said Aoth once Bez had straightened up. Let s talk business. I need new griffons, and my men and I know how to train them. You have a skyship, and I suspect you don t know how to break a griffon to the saddle, or even how to care for one or ride one.

  I can learn, Bez answered. Would you and the ladies like some firewine? Rashemen is where it comes from, and one thing I ve learned during my stay is that the locals hold the best of it back for themselves. He waved the newcomers toward a table with bottles and cups on top of it.

  Aoth picked up an open bottle, filled pewter goblets with the dark red wine, and handed them to Cera and Jhesrhi. But why undertake such a complicated enterprise? he asked. Why empty your coffers paying what s bound to be a high price, given the number of bidders? How about if I pay you to climb back aboard the Storm and fly away?

  The sellsword shook his head. Sorry, can t do it, he said. You know that my crew and I comprise one of the Five Companies of Yaulazna?

  Yes, replied Aoth. Yaulazna was an earthmote, an island in the sky, afloat over the Great Sea far to the south. Five sellsword bands, each possessed of a skyship, shared it as their base of operations.

  Well, said Bez. It seems to me that the Five Companies could improve their fortunes by merging into one under the command of their ablest captain.

  And your thought, Cera said, is that a company of griffonriders will help prove you are that captain.

  Bez smiled. I might have expected a sunlady to prove as insightful as she is lovely, he replied.

  Not bothering with a cup, Aoth swigged from the neck of the bottle in his hand. All right, he said. If I can t bribe you to go away, how about any of these others? Have you tried?

  No, replied Bez. Because as it turns out, all of us who traveled so long and so hard through the winter cold to get here were laboring under a misconception. This affair isn t a simple matter of bidding and dickering.

  Then what is it? asked Aoth.

  It s a sacred matter, a new voice growled.

  Surprised, Jhesrhi turned, tensing. Sensitive to anyone approaching too near, she generally felt it when someone came up behind her. But the room was so boisterous and crowded that she d missed it that time.

  The voice belonged to a Rashemi warrior, half a head taller than many of his comrades, with a square, clenched jaw and glaring brown eyes. He was wearing some sort of multicolored beadwork regalia, every piece of it sporting a griffon motif. Rearing processions of the beasts ran around his headband and armbands, while one big one leaped from the mountain scene on the front of his vest.

  Jhesrhi wondered why he looked so angry.

  This is Vandar Cherlinka, said Bez. I expect you ll meet any number of hospitable Rashemi during your stay. He s not one of them.

  Vandar scowled at the gibe, and Jhesrhi thought she knew why it had hit the mark. As she understood it, the Rashemi held hospitality sacrosanct.

  And what is your story? asked Aoth, addressing himself to the newcomer.

  Perhaps surprised by the other man s mild, reasonable tone, Vandar blinked. But the Rashemi s voice remained as gruff as before. The griffons are a miracle of the Three, he said. Never in memory have they bred in such numbers. I lead the Griffon Lodge, and I helped bring the beasts down from the mountains. Nothing could be plainer than that the spirits mean for my brothers and me to ride them in Rashemen s defense. They surely don t intend for the Iron Lord to barter them away to outlanders for mere coin. Especially for filthy Bane-worshipping Thayans to turn against us!

  Aoth snorted. You think I m Szass Tam s emissary? he asked. How would that work, exactly, at a court where any such agent could only expect to be killed on sight? It s true, I was born in Thay, but I renounced that allegiance a long time ago, and the lich would have me tortured and killed if I ever fell into his hands. Now, if the spirits are supposed to decide who gets the griffons, how s that going to happen?

  What it really means, said Bez, is that the hathrans will decide whose offer to accept. The Iron Lord is just their intermediary in the matter. Rumor has it that they re waiting for a sign.

  I assume, said Aoth to Vandar, that the Wychlaran have their own seat of power somewhere in town.

  The Rashemi s eyes narrowed. Yes. The Witches Hall, he replied.

  Then I don t know why all of you are loitering here when you could be making pests of yourselves there instead, said Aoth. Cera, Jhes, drink up, and we ll pay them a call.

  Bez laughed. They won t see you, he said.

  They ll only mark you down as impudent and impious.

  Aoth grinned. Maybe they wouldn t see you, he retorted, but I had the foresight to bring a female priestess and a wizard to Immilmar along with me. We ll improvise some masks for them if we have to.

  This might work, Jhesrhi said. She willed a caul of flame to spring forth from her face.

  Vandar recoiled a half step before catching himself with a scowl. Evidently a lodge chieftain wasn t supposed to show fear. Jovial until that moment, Bez narrowed his dark, somewhat bloodshot eyes as though he suddenly believed that Aoth might well succeed in claiming the griffons.

  The door in the far wall banged open, and a dozen men, including the guard who d escorted Jhesrhi and her companions to the hall, swept through. The one in the lead was as tall and as muscular as Vandar, but older, with a sprinkling of white in his close-cropped beard. He wore an iron circlet on his head, a fine leather doublet with an intricate design hammered in, and deerskin boots that cross-laced up to his knees.

  He was almost certainly Mangan Uruk, the Iron Lord. A smallish Shou in a long green gold-trimmed coat and an Aglarondan officer headed straight for him. Ignoring them and Aoth, Cera, and even Jhesrhi with her mask of fire he strode straight up to Bez, who tried not to look as surprised by it as everyone else was.

  Bez bowed. Highness he began.

  Your ship, Mangan rapped. How soon can it take flight?

  As soon as I give the order, Bez replied. He was plainly exaggerating, but Jhesrhi suspected only by a little. Is something wrong?

  Yes, the warlord said. How badly wrong remains to be seen. A sparrow that brought word died while it was still trying to explain. Either it strained its heart struggling to reach us, or something poisoned it.

  A sparrow that brought word, Jhesrhi thought, marvelling. According to travelers tales, Rashemen was supposedly as full of talking animals as it was of Nature spirits. Maybe the stories were true.

  Well, said Bez, don t you worry. I ll soon have you there to see for yourself. He raised his voice to a shout. Storm of Vengeance! Get up, you lazy bastards! His Highness needs us!

  Even the more inebriated sellswords scurried to attend their captain. At a shout from the scar-faced half-elf who had to be their commander, the Aglarondans made haste to bestir themselves as well. Though the Iron Lord hadn t asked them for transport, they plainly meant to accompany him anyway, in the hope of finding a way to ingratiate themselves. Lacking his own means of flying, the Shou in the green and gold coat pleaded with Bez and then the half-elf for a ride. Both ignored him.

  Aoth turned to Jhesrhi. Can you make the wind carry all three of us as you did that night in Luthcheq? he asked.

  Of course, s
he replied, frowning.

  Good, Aoth said. It seems Bez and the Aglarondans mean to make themselves useful and ingratiate themselves with the Iron Lord and thus, I assume, the witches, too. We need to fly along with them and do our part. People were already streaming out of the chamber. Come on.

  Take me, too! Vandar said.

  Sorry, said Aoth. It would be stupid of me to help a rival.

  All you outlanders are jumping at the chance to serve, Vandar called. But there are a lot of sellswords in Bez s crew, a lot of Aglarondans, and only three of you. How can you expect to accomplish anything the others can t do better, unless you have a companion who knows this land to help you?

  Aoth hesitated. There s no way of knowing if that will make a difference, he said.

  But it might, Vandar replied. Are you afraid that one Rashemi berserker will outshine all you sophisticated southerners?

  Aoth chuckled. When you put it that way, I don t suppose I am, he said. Ever flown before?

  No, Vandar answered.

  Then I should bring you along, said Aoth.

  Afterward, you may not even want the griffons.

  TWO

  Jet hadn t seen any of his own kind since departing Luthcheq, and the prospect of doing so pleased him. Although to give them their due, humans made for decent company. Indeed, he shared things with them that he never could with his less intelligent kin. But he also possessed nonhuman feelings and perspectives that even Aoth, with their psychic link, could only partly understand.

  Spiraling out from Immilmar, Jet found a pride of griffons quickly enough, in a snowy field just north of town. But he also found the soldiers who were tending the beasts; their tents and the banner of Aglarond were planted in the frozen ground. Jet inferred that the simbarchs had dispatched an envoy and his escort to try to buy the wild griffons, and those folk had left their winged mounts just far enough out of town to spare them the constant temptation of horseflesh on the hoof.

  As usual, Jet reflected sourly, Aoth had landed them in a situation that was proving to be more complicated than expected. He considered advising the war mage of his discovery, then decided that Aoth had probably already found out this particular bit of bad news for himself.

  So Jet simply and mischievously screeched a greeting as he flew overhead. Griffons below cried in response and restlessly shook out their wings. Their keepers scurried about, calming them and making sure they wouldn t try to take flight and join their fellow in the sky.

  Jet found the feral but ensorcelled griffons, the ones the Rashemi presumably meant to sell, prowling on the white hillsides farther to the east, or soaring and circling above them. His eyes widened at their numbers. It was astonishing that they d bred or been captured in such profusion, and he had little doubt that wizardry or the whim of a god was involved.

  In any case, magic was surely responsible for holding them where they were. As Jet flew nearer, a kind of crackling rawness in the air prickled across his body, while colors brightened or dimmed from moment to moment. A human female in a green robe strolled fearlessly among the huge beasts on the ground. She lifted her masked face to watch his approach. Perhaps it was her task to renew the enchantment and keep it strong.

  Jet wondered if he should turn around lest the spell snare him, too. But he didn t feel any compulsion trying to squirm into his mind. And besides, if the magic did take him prisoner, Aoth would surely set him free. He flew on for a closer look.

  The witch didn t try to stop him. But one griffon gave a rasping scream, lashed his wings, and leaped up from the ground.

  Thanks to Aoth s benign enchantments shaping him from the moment of conception, Jet was different than any normal creature of his kind. Not only was he more intelligent and capable of speech, he was bigger and stronger, with gleaming black feathers and fur and crimson eyes.

  For the first time, Jet was looking at a griffon as extraordinary as himself. In fact, the other beast was even larger, with gold-striped wings and brilliant blue eyes instead of the usual yellow.

  Since the Rashemi had just taken the beasts from the wild, Jet doubted that a spellcaster had altered the creature. Rather, the magic of that strange northern land itself where animals talked, and every creek, bush, and tree supposedly housed a guardian spirit must have shaped him into the superior being he was.

  A superior being who didn t like Jet. Climbing to the same altitude, the gold griffon screamed again, and the rage and challenge in his cry were unmistakable.

  Jet understood why. In the wild, griffons were often solitary except when mating or raising cubs. But in areas where game was plentiful, they sometimes formed prides. And of course when they served as mounts for aerial cavalry, they were obliged to live in groups.

  In such situations, one griffon generally rose to dominance. And evidently the blue-eyed creature saw Jet the newcomer as a potential threat to his ascendancy.

  Jet considered how best to respond. He was still pondering when Aoth spoke to him mind to mind.

  We re flying east out of Immilmar, his master said. Come join us.

  Stay in my head, said Jet, wheeling. Guide me to you.

  I will, Aoth answered with a hint of humor, but I don t think you can miss us. It s quite a procession.

  As Jet finished turning, the blue-eyed griffon screamed at what no doubt resembled a display of fear. Other beasts gave vent to their own rasping, scornful cries. Their wings snapped as they flew after him.

  A wave of fury swept through Jet. He longed to turn again and prove his strength and courage by tearing the griffon with the gold-streaked wings to shreds. He could savage the whole pride if necessary, until the bloodied survivors cowered before him.

  But that was a beast s impulse. Jet was more than a beast, and Aoth needed him. He raced onward. Unable to leave the confines of their invisible cage, the wild griffons soon gave up the chase.

  Cera had grown accustomed to riding on Jet, but soaring along across the sky with only the wind supporting her was unsettling. Her body kept tensing, certain she was about to fall.

  Her mind knew better, of course. Jhesrhi, who had at some point extinguished her mask of fire, might be a morose and taciturn companion and never more so than in recent weeks but she was still a faithful friend and a true adept at elemental magic. She wasn t going to drop anybody.

  Cera tried to distract herself by looking around. Aoth was scowling, although probably not because he was worried about a fall. He had magic bound in a tattoo that would ensure a soft landing even if that happened. He just didn t like not being in control.

  Vandar s beadwork vest fluttered and clinked faintly in the breeze. He had a clenched look that suggested he was afraid but determined not to show it. Or maybe he just didn t want to shudder and have his teeth chatter in the cold. For various reasons, his three companions were either impervious to winter s chill or could at least render themselves resistant. But the berserker had no such advantage. Cera murmured a prayer to the Keeper to warm him.

  Farther away, the Storm of Vengeance swept along under sail, including the folding winglike constructions of canvas and wood now projecting from the sides of her hull. The skyship creaked and groaned like a common vessel at sea, and crewmen clambered as nimble as squirrels in her rigging. Mangan Uruk peered ahead from the bow, with Mario Bez at his side.

  All around, to the right and left and above and below, twenty or so Aglarondans urged their griffons onward, with shouts and light taps from the butts of their lances.

  By the Yellow Sun, it all made for a glorious spectacle. Cera didn t only love Aoth because her association with him had led her to wonders and excitement that, as a priestess in a quiet market town, she had never imagined she might experience. But she suspected that was a part of it, even though the wonders and excitement had a nasty habit of turning into terrifying danger.

  Could she give all that up? Give him up? She didn t want to, but, because of the part she d played in destroying Tchazzar and driving out the wyrmkeepers, her peers mig
ht well seek to proclaim her sunlady of all Chessenta. That honor would tie her to the realm for the rest of her life, while the day was bound to come when Aoth and the Brotherhood of the Griffon would move on.

  And if she was offered poor Daelric Apathos s office, what else could she think but that it was Amaunator s will? And such being the case, how could she justify turning her back on the god s plan for her?

  Cera had agreed to accompany Aoth to Rashemen partly because she hoped the journey would somehow help her see her path clearly. And if not, at least it was another chance to be with him, to make memories she could cherish during what might be lonely years to come.

  There! Aoth said, jarring her from her reverie. He pointed with his spear.

  To the south stood a snow-shrouded stand of oaks and pines, like a detached bit of the great forest Ashenwood, visible as a distant dark mass. A couple of huts stood among the trees, and that was about as much detail as Cera could make out. She surmised, though, that Aoth had spotted signs of trouble, and that was why he was certain that was their destination.

  Jhesrhi spoke words in what Cera assumed to be the language of the wind, and they swooped over the grove for a closer look. Flying felt even more like falling. But it only gave Cera a momentary twinge of fear, probably because she was too busy peering for actual danger.

  Though she didn t see any, she did spot three witches and an enormous fox sprawled motionless in the cleared area in front of the huts. One of the women wore a white robe and a mask with a single horn jutting from the brow. She d apparently pledged herself to the goddess Mielikki, the Forest Queen. Another had on brown and green, and a circlet of little red rosebuds that must have flowered for her in the midst of winter to crown her as a hathran of Chauntea, the Earthmother. The last witch lay cloaked in black and silver and was likely a priestess of Sel ne, the Moonmaiden.

  Cera at first thought that the fox had been one of the attackers, but she saw that it was facing away from the witches. Such being the case, it seemed more likely that the animal had come to harm trying to protect them.