And we re here to see the Iron Lord, said Aoth, arching his back to stretch muscles stiff from the saddle. The action made his mail coat clink. Immediately, if possible.

To Jhesrhi s surprise, one of the spearmen flanking the door that led inside the castle smirked.

Aoth noticed it, too. Did I say something funny? he asked.

I m sorry, Captain, the guard replied.

It s just that all of you are in such a hurry when you arrive, and then well, it s not my place to explain it. You ll find out soon enough for yourself. Come with me, and I ll see what I can do for you.

Thanks, Aoth said. He turned back to Jet.

Fly around and find out where they re keeping the griffons. See how many they really have, and what kind of shape they re in.

Right, Jet replied. With his scarlet eyes burning in his black-feathered head, the familiar turned, trotted several paces with the uneven stride of his kind, lashed his wings, and leaped into the air. A woman with a bucket in her hand let out a little squawk, even though Jet wasn t springing in her direction or threatening anyone at all.

Aoth looked back to the soldier who d offered to conduct them all inside. We re ready, he said.

The inside of the castle was somewhat less forbidding than the outside. The Rashemi had softened its stark lines and cavernous gloom with wood carvings, murals mostly innocent of perspective, and hunting trophies. Unimpressed, Jhesrhi cast about for graven sigils, an altar, or some other relic of ancient Nar demonbinding. But she couldn t find any. Maybe the Rashemi had deliberately expunged all such disquieting traces of their predecessors.

But if they had, it wasn t because they were like Chessentans, fearful of any manifestation of the arcane. Periodically, as the sentry led Jhesrhi and her companions deeper into the castle, they encountered women masked in stiff, lacquered cloth, leather, wood, glazed ceramic, copper, or silver. For the most part, the ladies the famous hathrans, Jhesrhi assumed carried staves like her own, or wands, orbs, or other implements of the mystic arts. As often as not, they gave her and Cera looks of cool appraisal. They seemed less interested in Aoth, even though he appeared to be the strangest and was at least as formidable a spellcaster as either of his companions.

After one such meeting, Cera elbowed the war mage in the ribs.

See? she whispered. It s like I ve always heard. The women run things, and the men know their place. I should have come here a long time ago.

Aoth snorted. I don t see you being happy anyplace where you have to cover that pretty face, he retorted.

Hm. Should I take that as a compliment on my looks or a criticism of my vanity? she replied.

Listening to them banter, Jhesrhi pictured Gaedynn s crooked grin, and something twisted in her chest. She clamped down on the feelings that were trying to flower inside her and squeezed them until there was nothing left.

As she attended to that, voices echoed up ahead. Steel rang on steel.

Jhesrhi and her companions entered a spacious, high-ceilinged chamber, lit and warmed by a crackling hearth at either end and filled with a miscellany of folk. There were almond-eyed Shou clad in flowing silk garments and armed with oddly curved blades and halberds. Others, dark-haired, ruddy-skinned humans and slender half-elves, wore the trappings of Aglarond s griffonriders, including winged pewter brooches, and dangling straps that would buckle to their saddles. In contrast to the other groups uniformity, Bez s sellswords sported whatever clothing, armor, and weapons suited them, although each displayed the red and yellow of the skyship s flag somewhere about their persons. The stocky Rashemi seemed poorly equipped compared to the rest, with only boiled leather vests for armor, but they had plenty of spears, axes, war hammers, and even a fair number of swords.

The clanging came from two fellows practicing cuts and parries using live blades. Swordsmen with more bravado than sense, thought Jhesrhi. Bone dice clattered, and an empty bottle crashed against the wall. A circle of listeners groaned and jeered at the end of a joke or story, and a couple of men even lay snoring on the floor.

Jhesrhi knew little about Rashemen and even less about Thesk. Yet despite the exotic armor, weapons, and styles of clothing on display, and the oddly accented speech that filled her ears, the scene seemed familiar enough to make her feel at home. During her years as a mercenary, she d often watched soldiers-at-arms lounging around trying to fend off boredom while they were waiting to fight, march, or perform some other task.

By the looks of it, some folk had been stuck in the keep long enough for a degree of friendly feeling to develop among the groups. One of the fencers was a Shou, and the other, a sellsword. Other mercenaries were gambling with griffonriders. Only the Rashemi appeared to be keeping wholly to themselves while glowering from the quadrant they d claimed as their own.

By the Black Flame, said Aoth, his tone disgusted.

Wait here, the escort said. I ll ask the Iron Lord if he ll see you. He headed for a door in the far wall that had its own rather bored-looking sentry.

Fezim! called a jovial bass voice. Jhesrhi turned to see Mario Bez rising from the circle of dice players squatting on the floor.

Bez was a strapping middle-aged man who would have been handsome if not for a bumpy beak of a nose. He wore his long graying hair tied back in a ponytail. The rapier and dagger hanging on his hips had arcane sigils both incised in the pommels and guards, and running down the scabbards. Jhesrhi suspected that, like Aoth s spear, they served both as weapons of the mundane sort and mystical foci.

It s grand to see you, said Bez, strutting closer. Although it s sad that you re still as greedy as when we squabbled over loot down in Turmish.

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.