Miestri smiled and flashed him a sultry grin. “Oh, my memory is very good, General. I will join you in the Kingshadow as soon as I am able. It has been very dull in the Vale recently. Wars can be amusing.”
Dairron nodded and slid his arms into the harness fittings. He touched a glass orb at the saddle’s pommel and the Dragonshrike rose on its legs, its huge razor-like wings unfolding as it flexed its shoulder muscles. The plumage was dark on the back, like a crow’s.
Dujahn squinted, staring up at the looming silhouette. He was perfectly still.
“Do you think the spy has heard enough?” Dairron stated. “The one over by that bush.”
“I’ve let him listen in on us,” the Sorian replied. “Venay shaye nu!“ Miestri ordered crisply in Silvan. Her two escorts whirled around, their longbows pulled tightly and arrows aiming straight for Dujahn.
He cringed in the mud, not daring to move. From the mist came a whisper of cloth and Miestri appeared in her flowing black robes. He stared at her midnight eyes. She was going to kill him. She was going to rip out his entrails.
“An early morning stroll for the Gray Legion spy…Dujahn, isn’t it?” Dairron asked, folding his arms casually and leaning forward in the saddle harness. “Or can you think up another inane excuse that’s more convincing?”
“I came…I came to seek you out, General,” Dujahn spluttered. “The Gray Legion can help you. We want you to rule Dos-Aralon. The other nations fear it more than anything.”
Miestri reached into her robes and withdrew a sphere of red glass. Something twitched inside of it, an orange smoky light that hungered to reach out and snap at him. Dujahn watched it, mesmerized – terrified.
“I came to help you!” he insisted. “By Achrolese, I swear it! I have information about Folkes. About don Rion and the Shae!”
“I know,” Miestri replied. “And you will.”
VIII
Dawn broke into the little camp by the river over a haze of fog. Thealos had noticed it getting thicker each morning the further south they went. The day began as it typically did, with Tomn trying to coax the ashes back to life with fresh wood and a snapping flint-stone. Tannon was always one of the first up, sharpening the brace of knives he wore with a slow methodical ring from a whetstone. Not that the knives needed it, but the sound was nearly impossible to sleep through. Beck and Hoth came awake more slowly, each stumbling a few paces into the surrounding glen to relieve themselves against a tree. Thealos writhed in disgust.
“You look tired,” Tannon mumbled to the cook between the ringing strokes on the whetstone.
“Didn’t sleep well,” Tomn replied with a shrug, casting a surreptitious glance at Thealos.
Sitting in the grass, Thealos rubbed his ankles. “How far are we from the woods where you found the Wolfsman?” he asked Tannon.
“Another day’s walk at least. About half-way to the Shoreland.”
Thealos had already guessed that. He knew the Trident River followed the western borders of the Shae kingdom until it split into three tributaries and dumped into the sea. There was a human city down at the base of the nearest one, a trading port called Sol. To the east, further away, was Jan-Lee, a Shae watchpost.
“I’ve been thinking, Tannon,” Thealos continued with a purposeful voice. “If the Sinew dragon did kill the Wolfsman, it might still be guarding its clutch. You never found the dragon’s body, so it could be waiting for us. Have you thought about that?”
Tannon nodded and sheathed another dagger into his belt. “We can handle a Sinew dragon, boy. It’s the clutch we were looking for and couldn’t find.”
“I don’t doubt it. But at what cost?”
“You scared of it?”
“A wise man would be,” Thealos replied with an even tone. “Is anyone in your band an archer?” The way he had seen pock-faced Jurrow handle the short bow he had stolen, he didn’t think so.
“A Flaming Arrow?” Tannon groaned. He chuckled. “We don’t need any of those.”
Flaming Arrow? Thealos had no idea what that meant, but he shrugged. “Just a suggestion. I’m a pretty good aim, despite what you may think. Maybe I’d be useful in a fight, that’s all.” He let it go, let the idea seed and sprout in Tannon’s mind. He continued to massage his ankles.