The Spectral Blaze botg-3

by Richard Lee Byers

But then he noticed that Hasos had stepped to the side to whisper with a middle-aged woman possessed of a plain, pock-marked face, a shaved head, and two concentric circles painted on her brow. For a moment, the lack of hair made Gaedynn mistake her for a Thayan. Then he realized from the painted rings that she more likely hailed from Gheldaneth, the last surviving city of Mulhorand, which had been subsumed into the Imaskari empire.

  When he’d heard what she had to say, Hasos approached the throne and all but stood at attention. His posture made it clear that he wanted to be recognized.

  “What is it?” Tchazzar asked.

  “Goodwife Nanpret there was one of Your Majesty’s spies in High Imaskar,” Hasos said. “She’s brought us news, and it isn’t good. The incursions from the Plains of Purple Dust have stopped, or at least the empress believes so. If we attack the dragonborn, she’ll send wizards and soldiers to help them.”

  I don’t believe it, Gaedynn thought. Finally some luck we didn’t have to make ourselves.

  Or had they? He looked to Jhesrhi, and she gave him the same sort of nearly imperceptible nod he’d earlier given her. Evidently they all had their stories to trade if they made it out of Tchazzar’s presence alive.

  The war hero glowered at the spy. “How can this be?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Majesty,” Goodwife Nanpret replied. “I didn’t linger to dig for all the details. I summoned a winged demon and made it carry me here to warn you as fast as it could fly.” She hesitated. “It cost me. It cost me dearly.”

  If she expected a promise of reward or at least a word of thanks, Tchazzar disappointed her. He was intent on other matters. “Gestanius,” he whispered, “you treacherous piece of dung.”

  Hasos peered up at him. “What, Your Majesty? I don’t understand.”

  “Nothing!” the war hero snapped. “And this news changes nothing!”

  “Majesty,” Aoth said, “I have to say that in my judgment the two pieces of news you’ve received today, taken together, change the strategic picture significantly.”

  “If I were some puny mortal warlord, perhaps,” the Red Dragon said. “But I’m a god!”

  “Fair enough,” said Aoth. “But you and I have already been to war together. And I’ve seen that even you can lose a battle when the odds are insurmountable.”

  “And do you think they’re insurmountable now?”

  “I think it might be prudent to let your forces fully recover from one war before leading them into another. I think it’s already late in the year to start a new-”

  “Because you dawdled in Threskel while I waited for you here!”

  “Someone had to secure the north, or it would have been stupid to march south. But the fact remains, it’s already late to begin a new campaign. Your people will go hungry if no one harvests the crops. Cold and sickness will decimate your troops if we’re still in the field come winter. And without the genasi to support us, and with the Imaskari coming to oppose us, we will be.”

  Aoth took a breath. “I’m not saying we can’t win. I am saying that some victories can be as ruinous as defeat.”

  “I understand,” Tchazzar said, “that you’ve giving your honest professional opinion. But you don’t understand how High Lady Halonya will channel the power of the children’s faith to make me invincible.”

  Gaedynn didn’t really know what that meant either, but it suddenly came to him that he might know what to say about it. “It’s not all bad, then,” he murmured, softly enough that it might seem he was talking to himself but loudly enough for Halonya to overhear. “Because if you don’t turn out to be invincible, at least you’ll know exactly who to blame.”

  Halonya twitched as if he’d jabbed her with a pin. She hesitated for a heartbeat or two then said, “Majesty.”

  “What?” Tchazzar snapped.

  “I… I’ll be honest,” the high priestess said. “The lesser clerics and I might benefit from having more time to practice. To meditate and study. I… don’t want to disappoint you like Daelric did.”

  Tchazzar shook his head. “I don’t know whether to laugh or rain down fire on you all. Does no one believe in me?”

  Jhesrhi stepped up onto the dais. That could be viewed as an affront to Tchazzar’s royal dignity, but if he saw it that way, perhaps she mitigated the offense by kneeling and taking his hands in hers. Gaedynn’s own guts twisted as he imagined how that contact must sicken her.

  “Everyone believes in you,” she said. “Especially Halonya and me. But it’s like I told you before: you don’t have to do this.”

  “But I want to,” Tchazzar said, and for that moment, despite the menace he embodied, his manner reminded Gaedynn of a sulking child.

  “Think of statecraft as a game,” Jhesrhi said. “Right now, you’re far ahead. You came back from a century of absence, reclaimed your throne, and conquered Threskel, all in the span of a few months. Is it time to make yet another big move and risk everything you’ve gained so far, or would it be shrewder to consolidate your position?”

  Gaedynn tensed. She was trying to make Tchazzar think about xorvintaal without letting on that she knew of its existence. But if he sensed she did know-

  Fortunately the Red Dragon let out a long sigh that surely signaled resignation, not wrath. “All right,” he growled. “You can all have it your way. The dragonborn can keep their miserable lives for a little longer.”

  Gaedynn had to struggle to keep his mouth from stretching into a grin. Who would have believed it? Aoth’s mad scheme had actually worked. They’d prevented the war without openly defying Tchazzar or otherwise provoking him into a murderous rage.

  Of course, that wasn’t the end of it. But, confirmed pessimist though he was, Gaedynn was willing to entertain the possibility that the worst might actually be over.

  *****

  A provincial lord had brought his daughters to court to witness the splendors of the Red Dragon’s reign. Tchazzar hadn’t bothered to retain the fellow’s name or those of the girls either. But the latter were pretty, so he’d ordered them to his bed. Naked, trembling, their thighs bloody, they lay there and struggled not to flinch or cry out as he popped their blisters one by one with the fingernail he’d lengthened into a claw.

  Like the deflorations that had preceded it, the pricking was amusement of a sort. But ultimately it failed to brighten his mood.

  Nor did it help to remind himself, as Jhesrhi had, that he was a god, a monarch, and a conqueror, safe once more in the heart of his dominions. It was still maddening that his plan to invade Tymanther had fallen apart so quickly and completely. He felt like a dullard bewildered by some mountebank’s sleight of hand.

  A white beeswax taper in one of the golden candelabra went out, and while twenty others still burned, that irked him too. Of late, he’d realized he preferred having his bed ringed with light and fire even when he slept, perhaps especially when he slept.

  He sat up, relit the candle with the slightest whisper of fiery breath, and turned back to his companions. But the trick failed to elicit the expressions of wonder and admiration he was expecting. It only made the girls shiver all the more.

  That annoyed him but aroused him too, as did the memory of their father’s helpless, stricken face. He bent down to kiss the younger daughter, the one with the chestnut hair and the freckles, and two more candles burned out.

  That wasn’t right. The candles had melted only a fraction of the way down, and Tchazzar hadn’t felt a draft. He peered around.

  More candles died in quick succession, and the shadows in the corners deepened even faster than the loss of the flames could explain. A chill and a rotten stink oozed through the air. The older, thinner, darker-haired daughter let out a whimper.

  Tchazzar could only assume that Aoth Fezim and his company of incompetents hadn’t really eliminated the threat from Threskel after all. Fine; he’d attend to the chore himself. Vowing he wouldn’t freeze or falter-not in his own palace, curse it-heart pounding, he rolled out of bed. He grabbe
d the broadsword he’d left amid the torn and tangled garments on the floor, drew it, called flame into his throat, and armored himself in scales. They itched for an instant as they erupted from quasi-human skin.

  Then a portion of one wall flickered with a ghostly phosphorescence, like heat lightning, and the smell of a rising storm mingled with the stink of decay. One of the humans sobbed.

  And Tchazzar faltered after all, albeit for only an instant, because his intuition told him what was about to happen.

  Speaking Draconic, Alasklerbanbastos’s voice whispered out of the inconstant glow. “I’m glad to see you getting over that childish fear of the dark.”

  Tchazzar took a breath then answered in the same sibilant, polysyllabic language. “I didn’t realize you could make contact with the outside world while imprisoned in the phylactery.”

  “I can’t,” said the undead blue. “But I’m out of the stone. I have been for a while. Your sellsword captain and his lieutenants released me.”

  Tchazzar snorted. “That lie doesn’t even make sense. They risked their lives to put you in.”

  “But along the way,” Alasklerbanbastos said, “they somehow guessed there was a dimension to our conflict hidden from human eyes. They resurrected me so I could reveal it to them.”

  “And did you tell them about xorvintaal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ve betrayed all dragonkind!”

  “Don’t talk like an imbecile. They had my phylactery. Fezim’s sunlady figured out how to use it to cause me unbearable pain. Anyone would have told. The important thing now is for us to deal with the situation.”

  “ ‘Us’?”

  “Just listen to me. After they learned about the Great Game, the humans decided we shouldn’t be allowed to manipulate our pawns into war. The idea offended them. The sun priestess claimed it offended her god. So in effect, Aoth Fezim started playing the game himself, with the ultimate goal of dismantling it. He and his allies delayed your march south while they convinced Queen Arathane to withdraw her support and the Imaskari to come to the aid of the dragonborn. Along the way, they killed Vairshekellabex and Gestanius.”

  The younger daughter started scratching her breasts with her nails, breaking more of the blisters and drawing more blood. Alasklerbanbastos wasn’t even physically present. He was using a spell to speak from a distance. But just his voice and the mere intimation of his malice and unnaturalness were enough to madden the girl into a sort of slow, deliberate, self-mutilating frenzy.

  “I don’t believe you,” said Tchazzar to the lich.

  “I realize you’re demented,” Alasklerbanbastos replied, “but try to think. Do you have one whit of actual evidence that any Threskelan wanted to avenge my downfall? Or that it was an undead who freed Khouryn Skulldark?”

  Tchazzar hesitated. “Strange things have happened,” he said. “And Halonya kept warning me I was bestowing my trust where I shouldn’t. But no… I can’t believe-”

  “At least believe that Gestanius and Vairshekellabex are dead! I’ve seen their corpses in Brimstone’s scrying mirror.”

  “You’ve been to Brimstone?”

  “Right after I recovered the phylactery and my freedom. And he agrees with me that Aoth Fezim and every other human who knows about the game must die immediately, before they can disseminate the secret any further. That’s why I’m on my way to Luthcheq. I figured I’d better warn you that I’m not coming to rekindle our feud.”

  “And what if I rekindle it?”

  “Then that will prove you really are deranged, not just partly but through and through. Nothing is more important than preserving the game. If we don’t, we’re throwing away the key to mastery of Faerun. And offending Tiamat, who gave it to us.”

  “I can protect the secret without allowing you in my realm.”

  “Are you sure? You have a court full of traitors, and they’ve outwitted you at every turn. They’ve also destroyed other old, powerful dragons, including me in my previous incarnation.”

  “I destroyed you.”

  “Fine. I won’t quibble. My point is simply that you can’t underestimate Aoth Fezim, especially now that he has his mercenary band there in the city. Let me help you deal with him. I’m bringing several of the Murghoman dragons with me. Enough to be certain of killing the Thayan and all his allies too.”

  “How can I be sure they won’t turn on me?”

  “Because they fear the Father of Chessenta, onetime Chosen of the Dark Lady, a wyrm so mighty he’s returned from the dead repeatedly and might actually be a god. Because they’re prudent enough to focus on one battle at a time. Because you have your own loyal troops in Luthcheq to fight them if necessary. And because I no longer want you dead.”

  Tchazzar laughed. “I almost believed you until you said that.”

  “But I don’t want to kill you. Not tonight, anyway. The Spellplague swept the old world away. Why not let our conflict die along with it? Think how we can dominate the Great Game and the new world it will create if we join forces! And if we find we still despise one another after we establish our supremacy over lesser creatures, we can fight our final duel a few centuries hence.”

  Tchazzar stood and thought about it for several heartbeats. Then he said, “All right. How do you want to proceed?”

  “Where is Captain Fezim?”

  “In a suite here in the War College. Cera Eurthos is with him.”

  “Excellent! Don’t do anything to alert him until the other dragons and I are in the city. We’ll surround the fortress and make it absolutely impossible for him to escape.”

  “I could kill or capture him right now, in his sleep.”

  “It’s better to wait and come at him with every bit of our strength. My companions and I will be there before he wakes. The only thing I want you to do now is deal with the humans I hear blubbering nearby.”

  “I’m sure neither of them speaks Draconic.”

  “They could still prattle about a strange occurrence in the war hero’s bedchamber. Somehow, someway, the tale could find its way to Fezim or one of his allies. Let’s not take the chance.”

  “I suppose you have a point.”

  “I’ll see you before dawn, then.” The flickering died, plunging the room into almost total darkness.

  But the casement let in a little light. Enough, evidently, to reveal the motion when Tchazzar pivoted and raised his sword. The daughters screamed but had time for nothing more.

  *****

  Some of the time, Jhesrhi knew she was dreaming. The knowledge seemed to slide in and out of her mind like cargo shifting in the hold of a rocking ship.

  Gaedynn was trying to kiss and caress her past repulsion into desire. Her reaction to that was inconstant too. At certain moments, his attentions were, if not pleasant, at least tolerable. She could appreciate how slowly and gently he was proceeding, and it made her want to want him.

  But at other moments, loathing welled up inside her. Her guts churned and bile burned in the back of her throat. She tried to focus on his face, tender and open for once, not armored in cockiness and mockery. But memories assaulted her. Huge and hideous, the elemental mages held her down. Tchazzar planted his eager mouth on hers.

  Then, suddenly, she realized that the person who was embracing her really was Tchazzar. He drew his head back and leered at her then opened a mouth full of fangs. A long, forked tongue slid out to lick her lips. Its surface was rough and blistering hot.

  It repulsed her beyond bearing, and she tried to push him away. But he was too strong and either indifferent to her unwillingness or too intent on his own satisfaction to notice. She spoke a word of power.

  Flame exploded between them, breaking his grip, flinging him backward, but incapable of actually harming a red dragon. That was why she’d chosen that particular magic.

  But then he started screaming and thrashing on the floor, and it wasn’t just clothing blazing but his hair. He was Gaedynn once again.

  His agony was hers
, yet it wasn’t the only thing she was feeling. A part of her rejoiced simply because flames were leaping and crackling. Maybe that was the reason that no matter how she strained, she couldn’t remember the words to put them out. Gaedynn’s face blackened, the fire gnawing it away-

  With a gasp, Jhesrhi jerked awake, and her eyes flew open. Tchazzar was standing over her bed. Even in the gloom, she recognized his tall, muscular frame and the long head with the tapered chin and pointed ears.

  She drew a ragged breath and let it out. “Majesty,” she said. “No one told me you were here.”

  “That’s because I sent your maids away.”

  Jhesrhi assumed that meant he’d grown impatient with waiting for her to overcome her dread of intimacy. Heart pounding, she told herself she could put him off as she had before.

  “If Your Majesty will excuse me for a moment,” she said, “I can put on proper clothing.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said, and with the nightmare fading, she caught the strangeness in his voice. Maybe it wasn’t lust that had brought him to her apartments, or at least, not lust alone.

  “Well, then.” Half expecting him to stop her but unwilling to keep lying supine, she tried to sit up. And when he permitted that, she rose and moved to pick up a robe to pull on over her nightdress. In so doing, she also positioned herself close to her staff. “Is there something urgent? Something wrong?”

  “You could say that. I’ve learned that Aoth Fezim betrayed me. It was his duplicity that made it impossible for Chessenta to march on Tymanther.”

  “Majesty, with all respect, that’s absurd. Aoth’s a sellsword. He earns his living-”

  “Don’t!” Tchazzar snapped. “I know he’s guilty. I suggest you devote your energy to convincing me you weren’t involved.”

  If there was no hope of persuading the Red Dragon of Aoth’s innocence, that might indeed be the wiser course. For after all, Jhesrhi couldn’t help her comrades if she was dead or locked up herself.

  “I truly don’t believe,” she said, “that Aoth would ever do anything disloyal. But even if he has, I’m not a part of the Brotherhood anymore, and I haven’t been with them. I’ve been here with you.”