The Spectral Blaze botg-3

by Richard Lee Byers

  “You’d think,” Gaedynn said, “that if Jhesrhi wanted to settle down anywhere, it would be here, not Luthcheq.”

  “Our childhood homes keep a hold on us,” Cera said. “And I suspect that if you were an unhappy child, the hold can be all the stronger.”

  Gaedynn grinned. “Speak for yourself. I’d sooner take another run at Szass Tam than return to my father’s castle.” He turned back to Aoth. “I’m still vague on our strategy. Exactly how much are we going to tell them?”

  “You’re vague because I’m vague,” said Aoth. “This is potentially dangerous. I’ll need to read Arathane’s reactions and make decisions as we go.”

  “Thanks for clarifying. I feel so much more confident.”

  Cera frowned. “The Keeper of the Yellow Sun teaches us to cast the light of truth as widely and brightly as we can.”

  “Is that why you’ve been doing things behind your high priest’s back ever since this craziness started?” Aoth replied.

  She tried to look at him sternly, but humor tugged at the corners of her mouth, and after a moment, she gave it up. “Perhaps I am trying to put the milk back into the cow.”

  The door behind them clicked open, and they turned to see the same green-skinned watersoul servant as before. Her tabard bore a pentagram emblem that symbolized the five subraces of the genasi people, although after his experiences of late, Aoth found it unpleasantly reminiscent of the wyrmkeepers’ sigils and regalia.

  “Please follow me,” the watersoul said.

  They did and she soon led them up additional flights of stairs. Arathane’s throne room was at the very top of the spindly tower. The arrangement probably wasn’t convenient for anybody, but anyone reaching the round chamber would likely admit it provided an air of grandeur. With glass on every side, Aoth could see all of Airspur, as well as the brown, snow-capped Akanapeaks to the west, and the expanses of blue water to the north and east.

  Supporting the small keeps that belonged to the individual stewards, the four “thronemotes” floated in a ring, almost but not quite as high above the city as the chamber. Bridges like the spokes of a wheel joined them to the central spire.

  Arathane sat in a massive, silver chair resting on a dais floating two feet above the floor. The usual gaggle of courtiers and attendants clustered around it. The queen was young and slender, with delicate features and a pointed chin, and had only a couple of silvery lines running down her purple face from scalp to chin; unlike some genasi, she didn’t look as if she were wearing a filigree mask. One of her maids had affixed dozens of tiny sapphires to the crystalline spikes that took the place of hair. The jewels matched the ones in her necklace and rings.

  “Welcome, Captain Fezim,” she said in a clear, soprano voice. “My mother told me stories about you.”

  Aoth sensed Gaedynn and Cera glancing at him in surprise. He hadn’t bothered to tell them the tale because it hadn’t seemed relevant. He hadn’t thought it likely that the Akanulans would remember something that had happened thirty years before.

  “She was a great lady,” he replied.

  “Who would have lost her throne and probably her life if not for you and your company,” Arathane said. “So I’m happy to welcome you and your companions. Happy but also perplexed, for reasons I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, Majesty,” said Aoth. “You wonder why I’m not in Chessenta helping Tchazzar prepare to invade Tymanther.”

  “Something like that,” Arathane said.

  “It’s because my companions and I have learned something you ought to know. You’re going to war over a misunderstanding. The dragonborn didn’t raid your villages. The servants of a gray wyrm named Vairshekellabex, a creature native to your own kingdom, did it.”

  The queen turned her head. “Can this be true?”

  A barrel-chested, square-jawed earthsoul-Tradrem Kethrod, Aoth surmised-looked back at her. His brown leather garments nearly matched the color of his skin, as their golden ornaments matched the pattern of parallel lines and right angles that ran through it. It made him look disconcertingly like a terra cotta statue come to life.

  “No, Majesty,” said the Steward of the Earth. “As you will recall, a handful of witnesses saw the raiders and lived to tell the tale. The perpetrators were unquestionably dragonborn.”

  “With respect, my lord,” Cera said, “your witnesses were mistaken through no fault of their own. Vairshekellabex has wyrmkeepers in his service. They know magic to summon fiends called abishais from the Hells, then disguise them to look like dragonborn. I swear by the Keeper’s light that Captain Fezim and I have seen it for ourselves.”

  Tradrem frowned. “You’ve seen for yourselves that this Vairshekellabex has wyrmkeepers working for him and that they’re playing this particular trick?”

  Cera hesitated. “Well… no. Not that… exactly.”

  “Have you ever even seen Vairshekellabex?”

  The priestess sighed. “Again, no.”

  “Then how can you be certain of any of this?”

  Aoth considered then dismissed the idea of admitting that he and his comrades had, on their own initiative, reanimated a creature who was both their employer’s greatest enemy and one of the terrors of the East. Maybe the moment would come, but he wasn’t there yet. “By mystical means,” he said.

  “Well, then,” Tradrem said, “with respect to all of you, divination has its uses, but there are a number of ways it can mislead or yield the wrong intelligence entirely. That’s why I put my trust in people reporting what they’ve observed with their own eyes.”

  “And yet,” Arathane said, “there are rumors of a gray dragon lairing in the wasteland. You brought me the accounts yourself.”

  “True enough,” Tradrem said, “but that alone scarcely makes Captain Fezim’s case. Especially considering that, even if he’s right, it’s far from clear why he would rush here to give us the information.” He pivoted back to Aoth. “Or am I mistaken? Did you confer with Tchazzar first, and did he excuse you from your normal duties to pay us a call?”

  “No,” said Aoth. “When we learned the truth, we were in Threskel, completing the pacification of the province. Tchazzar was already back in Luthcheq. I thought it would save time to fly straight here.”

  “But why did you want to?” Tradrem persisted. “Why bring news to Tchazzar’s allies that could persuade us to forsake him?”

  “For coin,” Gaedynn said. “Aoth and I are sellswords, after all, and surely this information is worth a little something.”

  Arathane frowned. “Worth betraying the sovereign to whom you pledged your service?”

  “The Brotherhood of the Griffon fought hard to conquer Threskel,” the archer said, “and then Tchazzar forbade us to plunder the place. That curdled our loyalty a little.”

  “Majesty,” said Aoth, “whatever you think of our motives, the fact remains that Vairshekellabex is slaughtering your subjects and casting the blame on the dragonborn so he can keep doing it with impunity. And I’m not asking you to take my word for it. I’m asking for the chance to put an end to it.”

  Arathane cocked her head. “How?”

  “I know where to look for Vairshekellabex’s lair. Lend me some warriors. I’ll go kill him and bring back proof of all we’ve told you.”

  Gaedynn smiled. “What do you have to lose?”

  “Quite a bit,” Tradrem said. “Most of the army has marched south. The portion that remains is already stretched thin to protect Airspur and the northern parts of the realm from the aboleths.”

  “Surely you can spare someone,” Cera said.

  “Even if we could,” Tradrem said, “we’d need more convincing because it makes perfect sense that the dragonborn would raid our lands. They’ve always been our enemies, for as far back as anyone can remember.”

  “I picked up a little history when I lived with the elves,” Gaedynn said. “Mainly I learned that if you go back far enough, you find out that at one point or another, everybody’s ancestor
s pissed on everybody else’s. And that’s convenient if you enjoy holding a grudge, but you can’t let it blind you to what’s happening here and now.”

  Tradrem’s mouth tightened. “Thank you, sellsword. I’m sure we’ll all cherish that nugget of moral instruction. But it doesn’t alter the fact that Her Majesty’s ambassador in Luthcheq reported that you and your comrades showed bias toward the dragonborn almost from the moment you arrived in the city.”

  Aoth sighed. “That’s a… skewed interpretation of events. We simply kept the peace as we were charged to do and counseled Shala Karanok to the best of our ability.”

  Tradrem turned to the queen. “Majesty, I think it likely that these folk are in the pay of Tymanther and have come here to perpetrate a hoax, the object being to keep Akanul from retaliating against its enemies as justice and prudence both demand.”

  Arathane frowned. Sparks crawled and popped on the web of silvery lines on her throat and hands. “It’s hard to imagine the champion from my mother’s tales doing such a thing.”

  “If I’m not mistaken,” the earthsoul said, “the man in the late queen’s reminiscences served her for coin, not out of nobility of spirit. And even if he did demonstrate some finer qualities, as Sir Gaedynn was just kind enough to remind us, the past doesn’t provide an infallible guide to the present. People change.”

  “Majesty,” said Cera, “please, listen to your heart.”

  “By all means,” Tradrem said, “but listen to your ministers as well. My lords, what do you say?”

  The first to answer was a watersoul with a leaping dolphin emblem on his buttons and belt buckle and black smears on his gray velvet doublet. It appeared he was in the habit of absentmindedly wiping his inky fingers on it. Aoth assumed that he was Myxofin, the Steward of the Sea, also called the Lord of Coin.

  “Meaning no offense to Captain Fezim, his lieutenant, nor certainly to a sunlady,” he said, “I have to agree with Lord Tradrem. Your Majesty already made her decision. Your army is already on its way to Chessenta. We’ve already spent a great deal of treasure to equip and provision them. And this story is just too strange.”

  When he finished, everyone looked to a female windsoul with the silver skin and blue patterning of her kind. Despite the urging implicit in their regard, she still stood, frowned, and deliberated for a couple moments longer. She was evidently Lehaya, the Steward of the Sky and Akanul’s Lawgiver.

  “Majesty,” she said when she was ready, “you no doubt remember that from the start, I had misgivings over going to war.” Aoth felt a pang of hope. “Still, I must agree with my fellow stewards.”

  Curse it! “Just give me fifty men,” he said. “Fifty to rid your realm of a horror.”

  Now it was Arathane’s turn to hesitate. She looked out over them all with troubled eyes.

  “Majesty,” Tradrem said, “pardon me for bringing this up. But you know that, by your mother’s decree, if the Four Stewards stand united in opposition to the queen, it’s our will that prevails. And I believe we all know how Magnol would vote if he were here.”

  “But he isn’t,” Gaedynn said. “He’s marching south at the head of Akanul’s army. So Your Majesty can do whatever you want. And where’s the fun in wearing a crown if you don’t make an unpopular decision once in a while and then make everybody eat it?”

  Inwardly Aoth winced but Arathane surprised him by chuckling. “You’re not shy about speaking your mind, are you?” she said.

  Gaedynn grinned. “It’s merely one of my many endearing qualities.”

  “I’m sure. Still… gentlemen, sunlady, you’re welcome in Akanul for as long as you care to stay. And you needn’t worry that anyone will inform Tchazzar of what you said to me. But I truly don’t know what to make of it, so I’ll abide by the advice of my counselors. Vairshekellabex, if indeed he exists, will have to wait until the war is over.”

  FOUR

  10-14 E LEASIS, THE Y EAR OF THE A GELESS O NE

  An inn that specialized in catering to those who traveled on the backs of flying steeds, the Eagle’s Idyll resembled a stone beehive floating in midair, with only three arcing bridges connecting it to other bits of Airspur. The open-air tavern on top was famous for its cuisine, and Gaedynn was a man who appreciated fine food. Still, he looked down at the broiled spiced shrimp, wild rice, green beans, and roll on the octagonal plate before him and realized he wasn’t hungry.

  “Curse it,” he said. “For a moment, I thought I had the queen on my hook.”

  “Why did you say we brought our information hoping for a reward?” Cera asked. With her blonde curls and gold-trimmed yellow vestments gleaming on the bright, summer day, she looked like a proper agent of the god she worshiped, except that there was nothing sunny about her scowl. “After you blurted it out, Aoth and I had no choice but to follow your lead.”

  “I didn’t ‘blurt,’ ” Gaedynn replied. “I weighed the options, then told the queen and her deputies we were behaving exactly as people expect knavish sellswords to behave. It was something they could understand. Did you really want to claim that we were here because Amaunator sent us? Reveal that we revived Alasklerbanbastos? Maybe call the gruesome brute into the royal presence to vouch for us?”

  “Yes!” Cera said. “Because it’s the truth, and it might have worked. Your way didn’t.”

  Gaedynn smiled crookedly. “I admit, you have me there.” He turned to Aoth. “What do you think?”

  Aoth shook his head. “It’s possible the genasi just hate the dragonborn too much and that plans for the war have progressed too far for our arguments to have prevailed no matter what we said. It’s even possible that Tradrem-or Lehaya or Myxofin-opposed us because he’s secretly in league with one of the dragons. After all, Nicos Corynian-our own original employer, may the Black Flame help us-took bribes to advance Skuthosin’s schemes.”

  Gaedynn took a sip of chilled green tea. “I’m getting tired of feeling like somebody’s always a move ahead of us. Or worse, that we still aren’t really players at all, but merely pawns. It’s injurious to my pride.”

  Aoth snorted. “I suspect it will withstand the blow.”

  “We can only hope. So what’s the plan now? I don’t suppose it’s simply to give up, fight in Tchazzar’s new war and profit thereby like sensible sellswords, and then clear out of Chessenta as soon as it’s practical?”

  “Sorry,” said Aoth.

  “Then how about this? I’ll fly back to Threskel and fetch a few dozen of our fellow griffon riders to accompany us on a dragon hunt.”

  “No,” said Aoth. “Someone would likely notice the absence of so many and send word to Tchazzar or Halonya. We three are already taking a big risk just by being gone ourselves.”

  “Hunting Vairshekellabex and his wyrmkeepers and whatnot all by ourselves strikes me as a fair-sized risk as well.”

  “We have Alasklerbanbastos,” Cera said, chicken, mushrooms, and chucks of red pepper impaled on the skewer in her hand. “Our own wyrm to pit against the other.”

  “Right up until the instant he sees a chance to turn on us,” Gaedynn said. “Excuse me. I meant, turn on us again. I realize that if we go ahead with this, we probably have no choice but to use him as a weapon, but-”

  Aoth leaned sideways. Gaedynn realized it was so he could look past him. “Company,” the warmage said.

  Gaedynn turned. Well dressed in a wine red taffeta jacket and cambric shirt, a firesoul was striding across the terrace with its scatter of round tables, mosaic floor, and low parapet. The pattern of golden lines on his face was asymmetrical, with more on the right than the left. Gaedynn wondered if it was the genasi equivalent of a birthmark. Whatever it was, the fellow was handsome enough otherwise, with an aristocratic self-assurance to his expression and a swagger in his walk.

  Aoth rose and offered his hand. “I believe we met some comrades of yours on our journey to Airspur. The patrol led by Yarel-karn.”

  For a moment, Gaedynn wondered how Aoth knew the genasi belonged t
o the Firestorm Cabal. Then he noticed the rectangular gold ring on the middle finger, with its dusting of tiny garnets. Some of the riders in the red-coated patrol had worn similar ones, and even at a distance, Aoth’s spellscarred eyes had spotted it.

  The firesoul blinked. “Really? How are they faring?”

  Gaedynn grinned. “Not so badly, thanks to us.”

  “Then you’ll have to tell me the story. But first I’d like to discuss something else.” He glanced at an empty chair. “May I?”

  “Certainly.” Aoth sat back down in his own chair. “Maybe you should start with your name.”

  “And how you knew to come looking for us,” Gaedynn added, “when we’ve only been in the city half a day.”

  “Of course,” said the firesoul. “My name is Mardiz-sul. I’m a Bright Sword in the Cabal.” Gaedynn surmised that was a position of authority. “And I knew you were in Airspur because our fellowship has more friends that most people realize, including some close to the throne.”

  In other words, Gaedynn thought, Arathane’s court was as rotten with intrigue as Tchazzar’s.

  “Then I assume,” said Aoth, “that you know what was said in our ‘private’ audience with the queen.”

  “I do,” said Mardiz-sul.

  “And you believe us?” Cera asked.

  “Well, sunlady,” the firesoul said, “I’m inclined to. We firestormers flatter ourselves that we know the lands where the attacks occurred better than the army does. And although our scouts and trackers have searched, we haven’t found the hidden trail the dragonborn allegedly used to sneak all the way north from Tymanther and then back home again. But we have heard rumors of a gray dragon. And if it’s really there, I imagine it’s powerful and malicious enough to get up to all sorts of tricks.”

  Cera smiled at him. “If you’re leading up to telling us you’ll give us the help we need, then Amaunator bless you today and forevermore.”

  Her warmth appeared to make Mardiz-sul uncomfortable. “Ah, thank you, sunlady, truly. But nothing’s decided yet. I believe that Captain Fezim asked for fifty men-at-arms, with the implication being that he would be in command.”