The Captive Flame: Brotherhood of the Griffon • Book 1, Page 3

  Aoth snorted. “You thought the local mages’ plight would appeal to my sympathies? My lord, I’m a professional. I’d persecute them myself if the price was right.”

  Nicos looked slightly taken aback. “Well, the fact is, we need someone to keep order and protect them. Even the war hero, who in large measure shares the common bias against them, agrees. And we can’t depend on the city guards to do it, because they hate wizards too. So I offered to hire the Brotherhood of the Griffon at my own expense.”

  “To take up the slack for the watch? My lord, we’re soldiers!”

  “I understand that.”

  “Actually, this would be worse than simply filling in for the watch in normal times. Our job would be to stand between the mob and the people they hate. It wouldn’t be long before they hated us too.”

  “You have my word that this isn’t the only reason I brought you to Chessenta, although frankly—in light of your arcane abilities and dubious reputation—it is the only task Shala Karanok is willing to entrust to you. But if you prove yourself, that will change. Once the city calms down, she’ll give me permission to send you to the border or the coast. Where you’ll find your work more congenial and, no doubt, with ample opportunities for plunder.”

  “Just as soon as I live down my ‘dubious reputation,’ ” Aoth said bitterly.

  Not long before, it had been as bright as that of any sellsword commander in the East. But then the previous year, he’d broken a contract for the first time ever and fought his former employers, the Simbarchs of Aglarond. Then he’d spearheaded the forces of the Wizards’ Reach in a costly and seemingly failed invasion of Thay, losing many of his own men in the process. And then—

  “You have to admit,” Nicos said, his tone mild, “what happened in Impiltur doesn’t inspire confidence.”

  “What happened in Impiltur,” Aoth said, gritting his teeth, “was not my fault or the fault of anyone under my command. There was a band of demon worshipers marauding in the north. More a rabble of madmen than a proper army or even a proper gang of brigands, but there were a lot of them, they had actual demons fighting among them, and they were doing a great deal of harm. The Brotherhood marched out to hunt them, and so did Baron Kremphras with his household troops. He and I agreed that whoever found the enemy first would notify the other, and then we’d trap the bastards together.

  “Well, my scouts found them first, and learned they meant to massacre a nearby farming village at the dark of the moon. I sent a messenger to let Kremphras know there was just enough time to intercept them, and that if he brought his force to a certain position, we could catch the advancing cultists between us. He sent back word that he would.”

  “So what happened?” Nicos asked.

  Aoth laughed without mirth. “You’ve probably guessed. The demon worshipers came, and the count didn’t. We Brothers of the Griffon had to fight them by ourselves, and it cost us dearly. Still, I think we would have won anyway, except that creatures came out of nowhere to attack our flank.”

  “What sort of creatures?”

  “In the dark and the confusion, it was hard to tell. Some, I think, were drakes, and others kobolds. There may even have been a true dragon spitting some sort of caustic slime. Whatever they were, I had the feeling the cultists were as surprised to see them as we were. But they were happy to accept their aid, and once they did, we couldn’t hold. We had to retreat or we all would have died.”

  “It sounds like you were lucky you were even able to retreat.”

  “I still don’t understand why the enemy allowed it. But once we opened up the path to the village, the reptiles and such simply melted back into the night, and the cultists rushed on in to butcher the farmers.” Aoth recalled the screams and the inhuman laughter, the leaping flames and the smell of burning flesh, and a pang of nausea twisted his guts.

  “And how did it fall out,” Nicos asked, “that you bore the blame?”

  “Kremphras claimed he marched to the wrong spot because my message wasn’t clear. That makes sense, doesn’t it? After all, I’ve only been a soldier for a hundred years. Scarcely time enough to learn how to give simple instructions. But he’s a peer of the realm, and I’m just a renegade Thayan who came to Impiltur with an already tarnished name. So the Grand Council believed him. They blamed the massacre on my incompetence and terminated my contract.”

  “Their foolishness was my good fortune.”

  Aoth grunted. “I still lie awake nights wondering why it happened. Kremphras wasn’t an imbecile to misunderstand a simple dispatch, and I didn’t take him for a coward who’d shirk battle. Was he a demon worshiper himself, out to sabotage the campaign? And what was the other force that attacked us?” Suddenly he felt tired. “At this point, I don’t suppose I’ll ever know.”

  “Probably not. So you’d be wise to focus on your new opportunity.”

  “With respect, my lord, if your emissary had been clear as to precisely what that opportunity was, I might well have passed.”

  Nicos’s mouth tightened. “No, you wouldn’t. You needed a new source of coin, you needed to get out of a realm where you’d become unwelcome, and who else was offering to hire sellswords in the dead of winter? Look, I’ve indulged you. I’ve listened to your grumbling. Now tell me whether you mean to pledge to me or not. If not, I suppose the cogs are still docked where you left them. Just don’t expect me to pay your passage this time around.”

  Aoth took a deep breath. “I won’t consent to having my palm tattooed. Nor will Jhesrhi, my wizard.” His sole remaining wizard. Two of her assistants had survived the desperate foray into Thay only to perish in Impiltur.

  “I can understand that,” the nobleman replied. “In fact, I anticipated it. The war hero is willing to agree to a temporary dye.”

  “Well, I’m not. I can’t exert authority wearing the mark of a pariah. You’re a leader yourself. You know it’s so.”

  Nicos grimaced. “All right. I’ll persuade her somehow.”

  “In that case, my lord, the Brotherhood of the Griffon is at your service.”

  * * * * *

  Jhesrhi Coldcreek wrapped herself in her charcoal-colored cloak, pulled up the cowl, reached for the door handle … and froze.

  She silently cursed herself for her timidity. This isn’t even where it happened, she thought. But this was where it had begun.

  She jerked the handle and yanked the door open. Gaedynn and Khouryn Skulldark were just coming up the night-darkened street.

  The lanky, foppish redhead carried his longbow, and the burly, black-bearded dwarf had his urgrosh—a battle-axe with a spike projecting from the butt—slung over his back. But neither wore armor or the scarlet tabards proclaiming them auxiliary members of the watch. That was because the three of them had decided to take a closer look at Luthcheq, and they were apt to see more if the inhabitants didn’t realize who they were.

  Khouryn smiled at her. “No staff?” he asked.

  “No point proclaiming she’s a wizard,” Gaedynn said, “not when we’re just supposed to be three friends out for a ramble. Actually, I was thinking of putting you on stilts. Some Chessentans don’t care for dwarves either. They suspect you of practicing earth magic, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

  Khouryn spat. “I can’t believe this wretched job is the only one the captain could find. We beat Szass Tam himself! Well, sort of. We saved the East!”

  “But alas,” Gaedynn said, “most people haven’t heard the story and wouldn’t believe it if they did. Anyway, this might not be so bad. Think of all the satisfaction you’ll derive from breaking the knees of the dwarf-haters.” He waved a hand to the narrow, unpaved street. “Shall we?”

  They started walking. Gaedynn put himself on Jhesrhi’s left, and Khouryn stationed himself on her right. Both knew her quirks and kept far enough away to ensure they wouldn’t accidentally brush up against her.

  The night was cold, and the houses looming to either side were dark and quiet, closed up tight. They
reminded Jhesrhi of cities besieged by plague.

  “Generally,” Khouryn said, “when a town has a wizards’ quarter, it’s full of interesting things to see. Of course, the wizards usually don’t live in mortal fear of provoking the neighbors. Are you sure you don’t mind being billeted here? We could find you someplace cheerier.”

  “It’s fine,” Jhesrhi rapped. “One of us should sleep here in case something happens late at night.”

  “Buttercup,” said Gaedynn, sounding less flippant than usual, “bide a moment and look at me.”

  Reluctantly, she turned and met his gaze.

  “Are you all right?” the archer asked. “You seem strange.”

  Everyone already thought her strange. She didn’t want to give them additional reason, or to have her friends regard her with pity. Gaedynn’s solicitude would make her especially uncomfortable.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  He studied her for another moment, then said, “I rejoice to hear it. Plainly there’s nothing to learn hereabouts, and I’ve always heard that for all their appalling bigotry, Chessentans know how to enjoy themselves. Let’s find a tavern and drink the chill out of our bones.”

  The prospect held little appeal for a woman who detested crowds. But the best way to gauge the mood of the town was to mingle with its inhabitants, and so she offered no objection.

  The wizards’ quarter was home not only to full-fledged mages but also to any citizen with the bad judgment to reveal even a smattering of arcane ability. Yet it wasn’t especially large. Jhesrhi and her comrades only had to stroll a little farther to reach a district graced with cobbled streets and the occasional lamppost. Voices clamored from the tavern on the corner, almost drowning out the music of a mandolin, songhorn, and hand drum. The establishment had a sprawling, ramshackle appearance, as if diverse hands had haphazardly slapped on additions over a period of decades. The sign hanging above the entrance displayed a red dragon wearing a jeweled crown.

  “Perfect!” Gaedynn said. Jhesrhi gathered her resolve to endure the place as best she could.

  If anything, the tavern proved to be even more crowded and raucous than it had sounded from outside. Gamblers crowed and groaned over clattering dice. A dog in a ring caught rats and broke their backs with a toss of its head. Whores with bare limbs and midriffs flirted, trying to lure men upstairs.

  But it wasn’t all bad. No one seemed to take any special notice of Khouryn, and the newcomers found a vacant table in the corner, where Jhesrhi could sit without people jostling her and rubbing past her.

  Gaedynn waved to a barmaid and made attracting her attention look easy. Maybe it was, if a man was handsome in Gaedynn’s smug, preening sort of way and dressed like he had more coin than sense.

  “Once I get a beer,” Khouryn said, “I’ll join the lads throwing knives.”

  Gaedynn turned to Jhesrhi. “I wouldn’t mind sticking here and sipping wine with you.”

  Apparently she hadn’t really convinced him she was all right. “Don’t be stupid. I can eavesdrop from here. But if you try, you won’t hear anything.”

  “All right,” he said. “Just don’t get caught reciting charms.” And before long, he and Khouryn were on the other end of the common room.

  Almost immediately, a fat man with a plumed cap tried to take one of the vacant seats, but she dissuaded him with a level stare. Her basilisk stare, Gaedynn called it. Maybe the pudgy man found her amber eyes unsettling. Some people did.

  Next she whispered a spell, and the wind—or the memory and potential of wind, caged for the moment in the indoor space—answered. Wherever she directed her gaze, she heard the sounds from that quarter clearly, while the rest of the ambient noise faded to a nearly inaudible hum.

  A carpenter with big, grimy hands, whose wooden box of tools rested at the foot on his chair, said, “You get a snakeskin. One molted off natural-like. You keep it with you. Then no filthy wizard can hurt you.”

  “Why would that work?” asked a youthful companion, quite possibly his apprentice.

  “I don’t know, but that’s what I heard.”

  Jhesrhi looked elsewhere.

  A squinting mouse of a man whined, “I promise to pay you triple next time.”

  A half-naked woman with a magenta streak in her brunette hair shook her head. “Sorry, darling.”

  “It’s just that the ship is late—the cloth hasn’t come yet, and until it does, there isn’t any work.”

  “Maybe the pirates got it, and it’s never going to come.”

  “You know I’m good for the coin! I visit you every tenday!” But the woman was already turning away.

  Jhesrhi did the same.

  “It’s wonderful,” said a smirking man. “The wife doesn’t know they raised my pay.”

  Jhesrhi looked elsewhere.

  “This ham is good, but have you ever had it with cherry sauce?” Elsewhere.

  “Nobody dared to cross Chessenta when the Red Dragon was king. They say he’ll come again. I don’t know if it’s true, but wouldn’t it be grand!”

  Elsewhere.

  “I did too swim the Adder. When I was younger. And I can still outswim you any way you care to race. Any stroke, any distance …”

  Elsewhere.

  “… boy asks, do the gods have gods that they worship? Where does he get …”

  Elsewhere.

  “… came back different, all cold and dead and thirsty for blood. I have kin on the border. I wish they’d move to Luthcheq, but how would they live if they did? Farming’s all they …”

  Elsewhere. Specifically, to a pair of dragonborn occupying a little round table like her own, pewter goblets and an uncorked jug before them. They were sitting just inside one of the extensions that ran away from the central space like the legs of a flattened spider, which was probably why Jhesrhi hadn’t noticed them right away.

  Curious, she leaned forward. She’d encountered dragonborn a time or two, but not often. A century after their sudden arrival in Faerûn, they were still a rarity outside Tymanther, Chessenta, and High Imaskar.

  The six bone or ivory studs pierced into the left profile of each indicated they belonged to the same clan, although she had no idea what clan that was. Their broadswords denoted esquire status or higher. Dragonborn of lesser rank would perforce have carried either blunt arms or weapons with a shorter cutting edge.

  The larger of the pair had rust-colored scales and wore a steel medallion in the shape of a gauntlet around his neck. It was the most common emblem of Torm. She’d heard that dragonborn didn’t worship the gods, but apparently this one was an exception. “We should get back out into the streets,” he said.

  His ocher-scaled companion, a runt by dragonborn standards, no taller or heavier than the average man, sighed. “I’ll be stuck and roasted if I see why.”

  “Because the Loyal Fury prompted me to take a hand in this affair, and because I’m still the only one who’s seen the murderer and lived.”

  Now even more interested, wishing she had a better idea how to read their expressions, Jhesrhi studied the dragonborn’s faces. She assumed they were talking about the Green Hand killer, and no one had informed her that anyone had actually seen him.

  “Maybe so,” said the smaller Tymantheran, “but has this god of yours spoken to you since?”

  “No.”

  “And when you say you saw the murderer, was it anything more than just a sense of motion in the dark?”

  “Not really.”

  “So when it comes to hunting him, you don’t actually have any special advantage over anybody else?”

  “No.”

  “On top of which, you understand it isn’t our job to catch the wretch. We came to Luthcheq to serve the ambassador. Despite that, I’ve spent night after cold, weary night prowling the city with you. We’ve had plenty of time to spear a fish if it was going to happen, and now there’s no disgrace in giving up.”

  “I can’t. A paladin has to answer the call to duty no matter wha
t form it takes, and no matter the difficulties. But if you don’t want to accompany me anymore, I understand.”

  The smaller dragonborn showed his fangs in what might have been a reptilian grin. “Right. When reason fails, break out the guilt. Well, it’s not going to work this time. I …” His voice faded out as he craned, peering past his companion.

  Jhesrhi followed his gaze. Several genasi were coming through the door, each marked by the elemental force with which he shared a kinship. The one in front was a windsoul with silvery skin crisscrossed by glowing blue lines and jagged gray crystals in place of hair. The one behind him was an earthsoul. His head was bald, and a mesh of gleaming golden lines etched his deep brown flesh.

  They caught sight of the dragonborn, froze for a moment, then headed for their table.

  “Akanûlans,” said the smaller dragonborn. “If not for bad luck, we’d have none at all.”

  “Are you sure they’re looking for trouble?” asked the paladin.

  “For a fellow who pretends to have mystical insights, you’re not much good at perceiving a danger right in front of your nose.” The ocher-scaled warrior scooted his chair back from the table, no doubt so he could get out of it quickly. His companion looked around at the advancing genasi, then did the same.

  The procession fetched up in front of the dragonborn. “Having a drink?” growled the windsoul in the lead.

  “As you see,” said the paladin.

  “No doubt toasting your realm’s most recent victory,” said the windsoul, a little louder. Recognizing the belligerence in his tone and stance, nearby folk started edging away.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “When you sneak into another realm, butcher defenseless villagers, and then run back across the border before anyone who knows how to fight can catch you, why, that’s what Tymantherans consider a glorious triumph, isn’t it?”

  The ocher-skinned dragonborn started to rise. His friend gripped his forearm and held him in his chair.

  “If you’ve had news that someone slaughtered some of your countrymen,” said the paladin, “you have my condolences. Also my word that my countrymen aren’t to blame.”